Time Softens But Doesn't Heal

[Arthur Pendragon]

This was the day that Arthur had been dreading for the nine years that they had been happily married. He had purposely avoided this subject at all costs, and soon it became a memory in the back of his mind . . . rather than something that would cause upfront anger. He never spoke of the events of that night. She never spoke of her banishment. They hadn't even had a conversation where they agreed never to speak of it. It was just one of those mutual understandings. For talking about it would not help anything. He knew -- even without the words being spoken -- that Guinevère preferred to talk about any problems or tensions they had. But Arthur didn't. No good would come of speaking of that night and those months that followed. So it had been forgotten. Until today. Until their eight year old son Amaren had come into the room and asked about it. He said he had over heard someone speak of how the king had once banished the queen, and the young boy wished to know more about this.

First thing Arthur needed to do was hunt down the person who had said this and warn them that if were ever to utter such words again, there would be severe consequences. There were not many things that would almost immediately anger the king; except for this. The pain associated to that night was too great. It was too difficult to talk about. And yet, now . . . they would have to offer their son an explanation. Something that he wasn't ready to do; something that he wasn't sure Guinevère was ready to do. The only reason that they had a few hours to discuss it was because at that exact moment, Amaren's tutor had come for his daily academic lessons, and Amaren had gone off with him. Leaving him in a room with his wife, in several moments of silence that followed their son's departure. Arthur was sitting at his desk filled with papers . . . documents that he could no longer focus on because of the conversation that threatened to come up now. Arthur didn't want to talk about it. Even nine years later, he still wasn't ready to speak of such things. Did Guinevère feel the same way, or did she prefer to talk about it?


_{Setting: In the castle
Time of Day: Morning
Timeline: Eight years after Arthur and Guinevère get married
What If: Their young son starts to question the events of the past; events that Arthur and Guinevère had never spoken of . . . until now.
Tag: Guinevère}

[Guinevère]

Guinevère had knelt down before their son, and tried to make sure that none of the worry, embarrassment or hurtfulness appeared on her face from his words. To know that people still spoke of her weakness, and that her son was over hearing it made her wonder if that night would follow her around until the day she died. If not longer. Would the way people remembered her only be of the woman who betrayed her husband?

However, Amaren's tutor came in and saved her from thinking of a softened lie, or saying something Arthur might not want their son to know of. Standing after Amaren left, she kept her back to him for a moment, building up the courage to face her husband.

They never spoke of that night. Arthur wasn't the type to want to talk about his feelings on her actions, and there were a few things from their pasts that neither spoke of. Guinevère had learned not to speak of it, and over time she even stopped thinking of that night so they could be happy.

And happy they were--just this moment was one of the shadows their bright love cast. Turning to face him, she watched his expression for a short while. "I do not know what to tell him." She admitted in a low voice.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"I do not know what to tell him." So they were going to speak about it then. Or maybe there would still be a way for Arthur to avoid the subject. Just because his son inquired about it, didn't mean Arthur wanted to speak at length about it. Nor could he just dump it on Guinevère to explain to their son what had happened. He just . . . had no idea what to say to Amaren either. This was something that neither of them knew how to approach. And part of it was because they had never spoken of it before. They had anticipated many things while planning children, and even raising them . . . but this subject was not something they were prepared to talk about. Nor did Arthur regret the past years where such a topic was shunned. "Tell him that it was a complicated misunderstanding," Arthur finally answered, meeting his wife's eyes. His answer was purposely ambiguous and vague . . . hoping that his son understood from the tone of finality Arthur planned to use if it was him saying the words.

Although, it was not a complicated misunderstanding. He knew what he saw, and they both knew what happened that night. "And that it was rectified soon after." Because Arthur did not want to speak of such things. Because he didn't want to have to sit there and explain to their son what had happened that night. And he was willing to lie to him if it meant covering up the true events of that night. Arthur's eye contact broke from Guinevère's and he looked back down at his papers. "I will make sure that the subject is never spoken about within these walls again." And that was his way of concluding the subject. There. They had words to tell his son. It was resolved. That was it. Finished. Yet . . . even with Arthur pretending to read over his documents, he was not absorbing a single word for his mind was too preoccupied with the topic his son had brought up.

[Guinevère]

"Tell him that it was a complicated misunderstanding," Would be believe that? She was not even sure how much Amaren had over heard, nor what he'd heard, nor whom he had been over hearing. "And that it was rectified soon after." Because Arthur had forgiven her, but not forgotten it. It hurt to know what he had not, though she knew they were love and he loved her mistakes and all. That meant more then any hurt she could feel. She knew that fault only rested with in her for this, and she felt guilty that Arthur even had to deal with this.

"I will make sure that the subject is never spoken about within these walls again." Fighting rumors? Would that not only feed the fire? "We both know that stopping gossip is impossible." Arthur wasn't looking at her. She could guess he wasn't reading the papers, but trying to dismiss the topic. "What if he knows more then he spoke of. He was only in here for a moment. What should we tell him?" Not the truth, but nothing so ambiguous as a 'mistake'.

[Arthur Pendragon]

It seemed that the conversation was not over. No matter how much Arthur wanted it to be. Though he knew the question was a valid one. What if Amaren had heard more. While Arthur knew he could not stop people from gossiping, he would tell those who were in court to hold their tongues. He did not want his son to hear about things like this . . . speaking disrespectfully about the queen in their own home. While what the people were saying were not lies, they were events that should remain in the past. Where they belonged. Arthur's eyes remained on the paper though he set it back down on the desk, trying to think. "He doesn't need to know details," he told her. "Regardless of much he knows, we will inform him that it was, complicated. And that he need not worry about it." Because it did not effect their relationship now.

They were happily married. It had taken time to fully rebuild that trust, but they had two beautiful children and were nearing on a decade of being husband and wife. "Unless there is something you would like to add?" He asked, now looking at her once again. Did she actually want to tell him everything? Was she planning on formulating a detailed response of what took place that night? He hoped not. While he knew he could not dump the conversation solely on her . . . he doubted he could be in the room if the gave a detailed account of the events of that night. He had forgiven her, but that didn't mean that it was easy to recall. If he had personally heard someone speaking of that night, his reaction to it would have been that of anger. For he was completely intolerant of this particular subject and always would be.

[Guinevère]

"He doesn't need to know details," Agreed, but the more they hid then harder it would be when he learned of her past. Of how his mother was very human and had made some very strong mistakes in her life. "Regardless of much he knows, we will inform him that it was, complicated. And that he need not worry about it." Closing the subject would only make Amaren want to know more about it. Amaren was to much like his father, and they'd encouraged that. She feared of whom might tell him if they did not at least try.

"Unless there is something you would like to add?" Arthur was finally looking at her, and gave him an apologetic smile. "I think we should be a bit more honest with him. I don't want him to know, but I don't want him to hear about it from someone who will not tell him gently." She feared of what he might think of her. "I don't know what I want to tell him, but perhaps telling him that I made a mistake. Not tell him what or how, but be honest enough that he will be ready for one day when someone tries to say something to hurt him." Because boys fought, and other kingdoms would want to weaken them. Her past was a weapon to them if they ever thought to use it.

[Arthur Pendragon]

At least neither of them wanted their son to know about the true events. Which made sense. It was a horribly sore subject for them both and he didn't want Amaren to regard either of them differently . . . for no one apart from those who knew them, and had been through it with them, would ever understand. "I don't know what I want to tell him, but perhaps telling him that I made a mistake." A mistake. Arthur knew it was more than just a mistake; more than just a lapse in judgment. He hated the thoughts that flood through his mind now, and needed to force them back. He had not thought of that night in years, he didn't want to start now. He wanted to just . . . be happy. And embrace the life that . . . he had chosen from them. "A mistake great enough to have me," Banish her. But Arthur couldn't finish his vocalized thoughts.

Instead, he decided on a different approach. "Just tell him that it was a misunderstanding on both our parts. That I acted hastily. And that we came to realize our mistakes." Without singling her out, maybe Amaren would have less questions. If they both took the blame for that night then maybe he would be less inclined to further question why Arthur had been angry, or why Guinevère was forced to leave. "He need not know more than that. And if he does, we will tell him it is not important." Because maybe one day when he was older, he would know the full truth. Maybe one day in the future, Arthur would be better prepared to tell him something. Just . . . not now.

[Guinevère]

"A mistake great enough to have me--" Send her away. Yes, her mistake was very big, and very wrong, but if they showed him that they were stronger then mistakes the he could be ready for when one day came and he learned the truth. "Just tell him that it was a misunderstanding on both our parts. That I acted hastily. And that we came to realize our mistakes." Both of their parts? More misunderstandings?

"He need not know more than that. And if he does, we will tell him it is not important." But this was very important, for it was the darkest point in their relationship and they could not even now speak on it. "It was not a mistake on both of ours parts." Only on her's. "If we make it seem such then he will want to know more. If we are honest, and tell him that . . . . that I made the mistake, and that we were able to past it then he will at least know part of the story. He will be ready when he learns more."

"I do not want to not tell him enough and he asks another." But nor did she want to tell him everything. Her voice was setting a little bit less apologetic, and a bit more worried and encouraging or pleading as she tried to convince him t help her think of something better then just 'misunderstandings'.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"It was not a mistake on both of ours parts." But it was. Just in ways that he had never dared express to her. He knew that that night, the fault lay with all three of them. Guinevère and Lancelot were the obvious choices to blame, but it was also his fault for being such an oblivious fool. Arthur looked at her, trying to find the words to say to . . . well, he didn't know what. He didn't want this conversation -- and the one with Amaren -- to be long and drawn out. He didn't want to have to talk about that night, about all the hurt it had caused. He just . . . wanted to keep ignoring it. Yet, it seemed she wanted to talk of it. "And when he asks you what mistake you made, what will you then tell him?" Surely, she did not want their son to know. That she had been in love with another man and had acted on those feelings. That his father had sent her away in anger, having the only other possibility of executing her -- which was never something that Arthur could do.

And then even upon finding each other again . . . it was only the death of another that had shown him how he wanted to keep her in his life. He never regretted a single day he spent with Guinevère since they got married. He would just forever wish that she had been more honest with him, and forever know that . . . she had feelings for another man. He had overlooked them, but wondered how different their lives would be had Lancelot not taken his own life. And those thoughts . . . were a prime example of why Arthur never wanted to speak of that night. "If you wish to go into detail, then that is your choice." Arthur hated this. Hated how one subject had the potential to put a wall up between them. Which was precisely why he had never broached it before. "I would rather be vague, then place blame on only one of us and tell him that one mistake nearly cost so much." He would rather sugar coat it, to protect them all.

[Guinevère]

"And when he asks you what mistake you made, what will you then tell him?" "I don't know!" She hurried to explain and it came out slightly frustrated and worried--though at herself rather then Arthur. "I don't know," This time it was calmer, "I do not wish him to hear it from someone else, I want t give him enough so that he knows it was serious and not to be overly spoken about but nor do I want to not give him enough that he might ask the wrong person a question and they tell him more then either of us are ready for."

"If you wish to go into detail, then that is your choice." No, it was theirs, they were the parents and united. "I would rather be vague, then place blame on only one of us and tell him that one mistake nearly cost so much." Her mistake, "I do not want it to end up costing me more. We cannot even speak of that night, nor the months that followed, Arthur, I do not wish him to hear of it and think it something so casual as a misunderstanding. . . . Yet I fear the day he learns the truth."

"There has to be some middle ground and I am asking you for help in finding it. I know it uncomfortable and hurtful to speak of but just once we need too. To know what to tell him before he comes back with questions that we are not ready to answer."

[Arthur Pendragon]

He could tell she was getting frustrated . . . and he knew that unless this conversation ended soon, it was going to get more intense. It was why he had never brought it up. Because he didn't want to fight. Because in all the years they have been together, they had been happy and had such a strong understanding of one another's limits. Of course every married couple fought but it was small arguments. The severe tension that was already building from this topic of discussion, was not one he wanted to add more heat to. "You're right. We have not spoken of that night." For good reason. "And I do not intend to start now." He wasn't going to speak of that night, at all. His opinions of why they shouldn't had not changed. And he wasn't going to replay the details of it.

"We can tell him it is a serious subject, and that he should not talk to others about it." Amaren was a smart and obedient child. Surely, he would listen. "We only need to satisfy his curiosity to the bare minimum. So, we will tell him that you and I had an argument. That we worked it out. And that is it." Arthur knew his voice was getting slightly more stern, filled with more finality for he was trying to conclude this conversation was quickly as possible. He'd do whatever it took to bring it to an end. He didn't want to dwell on it, and he didn't want it to keep building up. She was growing frustrated, and so was he. He was just doing whatever it took not to walk out of this room to avoid it. He would not leave her with the difficulty of telling their son. But if she brought up that night, then he would have no other choice. For he never wished to yell at her again as he did that night.

[Guinevère]

"You're right. We have not spoken of that night." And perhaps they needed too. "And I do not intend to start now." More so now then ever before. They had lives together, children, and were happy! Arthur had forgiven her and other then pertinently not speaking of that night she thought they had moved on from it. She knew it would forever hurt him, but she'd thought that he had started to see it at least differently.

"We can tell him it is a serious subject, and that he should not talk to others about it." Did Arthur not recall what it was like to be an eight year old boy? How often had he done as his father said? He would agree with him, but then follow his heart--as they had raised Amaren to do so as well. "We only need to satisfy his curiosity to the bare minimum. So, we will tell him that you and I had an argument. That we worked it out. And that is it."

"Hiding this, and covering something will only make him wonder about it more, and tell him that he cannot come to us for the truth. I know it's hard to speak of Arthur, but we need too. We cannot avoid this forever . . . . "

"we never speak on it." Her voice was soft now, where his has been 'kingly', "We avoid it more then we do talking about all the mistakes in our past. I try never to bring them up--" Especially her own, or the few he'd made, "--but right now we cannot. If we avoid this, or ignore it, or lie too him then it will come back again, and again."

[Arthur Pendragon]

There were few things that they disagreed on. Usually, they were quite in sync. In terms of how they raised their children, of how they governed this kingdom, and so on. But this . . . this particular thing, was not something that Arthur was going to agree with her on. It was not something he wanted to speak of. Yet, she was pushing for the conversation. He understood why, but that didn't mean he agreed that they couldn't leave it vague. That they couldn't be ambiguous. "No," he said stubbornly, his tone filled with ever more finality than before. It was not a command, but it was slowly reaching that same authoritativeness that an order was filled with. "We do not need to talk about it." Why bother? What could possibly be said now that wasn't said back when he confronted her about it.

"No good will come of speaking about it." Especially with that growing tension between them. There was only so much he could deal with it while remaining this composed. He feared, that any more pushing and it would tip him over and unleash the hurt and pain he had suffered from her actions and decisions. "So I will say this one more time Guinevère. I will explain to Amaren with as little detail as possible. If you want to give him more information, then that is your decision. I will not be present to hear it." The second she started talking about it, he would leave the room. He couldn't bare to hear it again. They had moved on from it. They had left it unspoken. And now . . . it was haunting them once again. And he hated it.

[Guinevère]

"No," No? "We do not need to talk about it." Clearly they did. Avoiding everything was only hurting them. If Arthur still could not even finish a sentience about it, as he could not moments ago. It still bothered him, and that worried her. "No good will come of speaking about it." She disagreed, "We could finally let it go." She tried, "Stop letting it rest in the back of our minds. We have had YEARS of being happy--" Both before and after that night, "--surely if ever we can speak of it, it would be now? When we need to decide what to tell our son."

"You speak of explaining, and plan to leave the moment he asks more. What will that show our son but that it is not in our past. That it is still something between us." Was it? "We are happy, and have been for years! We need to make sure he see's it in that moment, rather then show him avoidance." That something was wrong. Was something wrong between them? Was that night still closer to his mind then her's. "I thought he had moved on, and I want to make sure that he knows that. . . . . that nothing is unforgivable." Be Arthur had forgiven her, right?

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur was feeling himself on edge. With every word she spoke pertaining to that night, he could feel himself more and more agitated. He didn't want to talk about it to let it go. It wouldn't change anything. They were happy. That was exactly it. They were happy, so why let something like this come between them now? He wanted to end the conversation and she encouraged it. She kept pushing for it and . . . Arthur was slowly losing whatever little calm he had in him. He had been so angry that night. He had lashed out at her, yelled at her . . . put his hands on her in a way that he never wanted to. It wasn't fair. He had never held this against her . . . not in the way that showed they were anything less than happy. The hurt would be there, knowing she had chosen another when she could. But he had never used it against it, he had never thrown it in her face. Had she not learned by now that he had forgiven her? Didn't she know that on the day he proposed to her again? Why now? Why did this have to come up? With her pushing for the conversation and all that anger and hurt from that night, his words became uncontrolled.

"Then tell him Guinevère," he snapped as he abruptly leaped to his feet, standing in front of the table now, unable to remain seated. "Tell our son how you settled for his father!" The second the words escaped his lips, he instantly regretted them. All the pain and thoughts from that night, were ones that he had kept in his heart. He had never spoken to anyone about it. He didn't even let Merlin say Guinevère's name at the time. And now . . . something that he held deep within his heart and mind, had come out. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, mentally kicking himself. He wanted to say that he hadn't meant them like that . . . but he had meant them. Because, it was something he had learned that night. Of how she settled for him, because she could not be with the one she truly loved. And now, it had come out when it should not have. He may have meant the words, but he still regretted saying them.

[Guinevère]

"Then tell him Guinevère," Arthur demanded, standing up from his seat, and she looked at him in that moment, pleading with her eyes for some help from him. "Tell our son how you settled for his father! The world seemed to grow cold, as she had to hake a small step backwards under the weight of his words. Arthur looked away from her, closing his eyes she felt her lips tremble fr a moment.

Apparently that night had not been in the back of his mind like she thought. That's what servant's are for. Apparently it had been for most there, for how else could he had said these words and . . .

Appropriate. Out of all the things that Arthur had ever said to her, either by accident or by others swaying him--this one hurt the most. Suddenly in her mind she was seeing the moment he asked her to stay, and to marry him. I don't care. He tough he was second in her heart and he's married her anyway?! How could he had been happy?! How could he had . . . .

She sucked in a shaken breath and only then did she feel the tears on her cheeks. Her own marriage suddenly felt fragile rather then happy. "Is . . . . Is that how you see our life together?" She asked, hurt, and angry and afraid! SO very afraid! And very hurt that he'd let things go this long without a word. Angry that she'd let it, and that their silence had done this. Every moment in their marriage meant one thing to her, and a complete other to him. "Wh . . . WHY would you marry me if you thought that?!" She asked, tears running over her lips now from the strength in which they fell. "I thought we were learning to be happy and had what we once did before I . . . but you were learning to what . . . live around it?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

He opened his eyes to see her tear filled ones. To see the tears flow down his cheeks . . . knowing his words had caused them. This was why he didn't want to talk about that night. Because he didn't want to upset her. Because he didn't want to upset himself. Because . . . despite what she thought, no good would come of this. He could not take his words back, no matter how much he wished he could turn back time to only a few seconds ago where they had spilled from his tongue. "Is . . . . Is that how you see our life together?" He was happy. He was. How could he not be with the woman he loved and two wonderful children? He only knew that . . . if things had been different . . . if Lancelot had not left in the woods that day, or if Lancelot had not died . . . then she would have been with him. "Wh . . . WHY would you marry me if you thought that?!" He kept his gaze toward the ground, hating that he had brought this up. Normally, he was more open to her than anyone else about his feelings and thoughts.

But all the emotions associated to that night, were ones that he had suppressed. "I thought we were learning to be happy and had what we once did before I . . . but you were learning to what . . . live around it?" No. It . . . wasn't like that. Yet, in a way it was. How could it not be after his admittance? He had forgiven her and moved on from it. He had married her. Why? Why had he married her she wanted to know. "Because I loved you enough to accept it." He loved her so much and he had known his decision to marry her had been a selfish one. "To accept that I would always be second." In her heart. That another would always be first. But, he loved her. And he was willing to overlook that fact, so that they could have a life together. He knew she loved him . . . but he also knew that she loved another above him. For twice she had made her decision. Once in the woods -- even though they had not been as close at the time. And then on the night before their wedding.

[Guinevère]

"Because I loved you enough to accept it." To accept it?! "To accept that I would always be second." Guinevère bit her lips and closed her eyes, afraid to move or breathe for fear of exploding in tear. How she managed to open them after a very long moment and look at was beyond her. She had not known she was that strong. To stay composed--well, standing at least.

"I had been worried of how I would convince my son about love and forgiveness, and I wonder if I ever will, as I apparently cannot even convince his father." She had never loved so much, and been hurt so greatly. And apparently she would never live that night down. It would forever be between them.

"I am not sure what to say. What to do." She admitted, hurt and angry at both of them. "What else to say or do to convince you where my heart has always been." In Arthur. "I could not have given my life to a man that I did not love above all others! I could not have been his wife in bed if there was another truly in my heart!" But apparently Arthur thought she could! Every moment, ever touch and kiss, and laugh . . .

The once before that night where cheapened by her weakness, and the once afterwards were cheapened by his.

[Arthur Pendragon]

While he knew their love was strong and they were able to overcome anything and everything . . . he feared the repercussions of this conversation. Would they be different how this? Would she perceive him and their marriage as something different? "I had been worried of how I would convince my son about love and forgiveness, and I wonder if I ever will, as I apparently cannot even convince his father." He slowly looked at her, wishing that they did not have to speak about this. He wished he could just walk out of the room, or find a way to drop the entire conversation. But now it was here. The conversation that had been inevitable, no matter how hard he fought to prevent it. "Do not say that I need convincing about love or forgiveness," he told her in a stern voice, though filled with . . . whatever sadness and pain had been caused by this subject. By seeing her so upset by her words. But . . . realizing how that night would never actually leave their minds.

"You know that I love you, that I have forgiven you." Because he would not have married her otherwise, and refused to be accuse of not having either for her. She spoke of how he was first, of how she could not have given herself to another man had she not loved him the most. And . . . he trusted Guinevère but, how could he believe these words when her actions spoke drastically differently? "I know that you love me," he in a bit of a lower and softer voice. He did not doubt that. It wasn't her love she was doubting; it was just the room in her heart she had for him. "But I also know that, things could have been different." That was the best way he could put it. The easiest way, though he knew that there was no real easy way to say any of this. Before him, there had been another. In a way, there had always been another. Had Lancelot not left that day, had he still been alive . . . then a lot of things could be different indeed.

[Guinevère]

"Do not say that I need convincing about love or forgiveness," Perhaps she should have spoken up sooner. "You know that I love you, that I have forgiven you." She thought she knew the later, and not was doubting the first--for she knew that he loved her, but she was starting to wonder if he loved her the way he used to.

"I know that you love me," And she doubted in that, and she felt angry that he had married her and not spoken of this before she VOWED to love and honor no man before him! "But I also know that, things could have been different." Perhaps.

"Yes, they could have." She whispered, hating this day so much. Almost as much as that night. "You could have married Sophia, or Vivian, or Elena, or Mithian." Se reminded him, not sounding bitter, but just almost apologetically angrily reminded him. As if she was angry but not wanting to hurt him with her anger.

"I could have Merlin." Another man from her past, only one Arthur never quite held against her. "But when I think of how my life could have been different, I only think of how I could have everything sooner, had I been stronger. Not of how we both could have been with other people!"

"I know that my actions on that ONE night gave you doubt in my words when I tell you that I loved no other above you had had since . . . . since before that spell with Vivian. Yet I thought you have started to believe in us again! That you knew I loved you! . . . not that you were being strong for us!"