Time Softens But Doesn't Heal

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur heard footsteps approaching, and knew it was Guinevère without having to look. He looked to the side, only seeing her from the corner of his eye as she set down the bowl of water near the bed. If Merlin was still here, then would she ask him to be the one to tend to Arthur's wounds? He didn't want to place her in an uncomfortable position. He didn't want her to feel . . . any sort of obligation. She was entitled to be upset, and this would not help. "It's fine," he told her dismissively. The pain he was feeling was not from any arrow, but from the emotional repercussions of his previous words. "It was already tended to and should be fine until tomorrow." When Gaius would check on it. He was not feeling dizzy from the loss of blood, nor had he noticed it seep through his shirt. He only felt exhausted from all the battles . . . and a bit weaker than usual.

But perhaps because that was due to the tension that now existed between them. Something he wished will all his heart he could eliminate. He hated what he had caused to be between them . . . and was frustrated that there was no possible way to take back his words. "It's late. You should get some rest." His voice was soft but his gaze was back to staring out the window. A similar place he had looked at for so long on the night . . . on that night. He could wash up himself. And just try to sleep away this uncomfortable tension. But it would not fade with sleep. Would it ever fade? The most obvious answer was one that terrified Arthur. Because . . . how would they be able to live like this for the rest of their life?

[Guinevère]

"It's fine," It wasn't fine! Arthur was injured and it appeared he was going to his his stubborn self about it. He was worse then there son on some days! While normally his stubbornness would humor her, and cause her to fuss over him all the more, Guinevère knew that tonight she could not joke or jest with him over his more charming personality traits.

"It was already tended to and should be fine until tomorrow." Tended too this morning perhaps but they'd been riding here for some time. "It's late. You should get some rest." "Arthur, you will be busy tomorrow, and working yourself too hard. Come sit," She gestured to the chair by the desk, where she was, "Let me bind it tightly. It will feel better once it's bound up, and will not pain you as much tomorrow." She would not rest while he was in pain.

"I know the recent events weight on your mind, but your people are safe, and your men are getting Gaius' full attentions below. So come sit, and let me help you . . . please."

[Arthur Pendragon]

She softly urged him to sit, and arguing with her had never been something he wished to do. They playfully argued with one another . . . but this time, it was different. It was, more serious than ever before. He had upset her, angered her. And he didn't know how to make it better. He didn't know how to fix this, when the damage was done and the aftermath of it was still weighing heavily on them both. He did not want her to feel the need to plead to him. Nor did he want her to feel uncomfortable. Perhaps he should have just gotten Merlin to stay so that he could have checked his wound and then Guinevère would not be in this position. So many mistakes on his own part. And he couldn't fix the last one, before committing another. He looked at her, giving a slight smile that faded only seconds after it formed on his lips. Slowly nodding his head, he made his way over to where she was sitting. Deciding he didn't want to inconvenience her, he brought his hands to the bottom of his shirt.

He lightly bit the inside of his cheek to prevent from cringing as he lifted the material over his head, setting his shirt on the side. Furthermore, he found where the bandage was tied and pulled it out, his injury now fully exposed. He couldn't help but look down at it himself. There was a strange sort of swelling and discoloration on his skin surrounding it. Arthur had not quite seen this kind of mark before, and he assumed it was just the angle from which the arrow struck him. After all, it had been done with enough pressure to pierce his skin through the metal of the chain mail. Though, the pain was bearable. It was not the most painful wound Arthur has had. "It looks worse than it actually is," he told her, a further attempt to tell her that she did not have to spend too much time on this. His sight shifted from his wound, and went to look at her. These past weeks he had longed to see her, often seeing her face every time he closed his eyes. And now that they were together again . . . while he was happy for it, he knew that things were far from perfect. Far from what they had been over two weeks ago.

[Guinevère]

He gave her a hesitant smile, before coming over to sit down at his desk so she could bandage him there. She would have gone to the bed as she always did but as she wasn't ready to join him there, she wanted distance from it. Arthur removed his shirt and the bandage, leaving the injury bare to her gaze. When she saw it her eyes went wide. "It looks worse than it actually is," She prayed that was true.

"Gaius needs to see this first thing in the morning Arthur." She told him worry filling her tone. "I have never seen a wound with a color quite like this." She reached her hand to touch the skin lightly. "It's burning. I am going to put some honey on it to help seal the wound and a herb poultice to draw out any infection." She had learned a few things while working for Gaius as a nurse in trouble times and from her year as the king's nurse.

Because Arthur did on occasion get small injuries--training, hunting, or from patrol--they had a small amount of both in the room. Most knights did for the small injuries that did not require Gaius to see them. Leaving his side long enough to fetch them, Guinevère brought them back tot he desk, and then reached for the warm water to wipe clean his shoulder.

She had not even noticed yet, that he was looking at her. "Are you sure this does not pain you more then you are letting me believe?" She asked, not seeing HOW it could not be killing him.

[Arthur Pendragon]

She said that Gaius needed to see it first thing in the morning, and he knew that while it was true . . . there was far too much to do. Gaius would give the same advice he always gave: drink this and get some rest. Perhaps he would take the medicine, but he knew he could not rest. Not with so much to do. He had speak to each family who had lost a loved one. He had to prepare the memorial service in those who had fallen. He had to meet with council. He had to check on the other injured men. He had to . . . do far too much that was only making him feel more tired in this moment. "The arrow struck in a peculiar angle. It must have bruised the skin far more than any other time." That was the only logical explanation for it, as he was not so consumed with pain that he couldn't move. He looked at her hand as it touched the skin, never needing to cringe from her touch for it was always soft and gentle. Always giving him more comfort than pain. Even now. Especially now. All too soon it was gone as she rose to get what she spoke of.

Sitting back down, he resumed looking at her intently, his mind trying to desperately search for the right words to say. Yet always coming up empty. Finding the right words was not something he was very good at. It had caused her offense in the past -- before they had fallen in love -- and just a couple weeks ago, he once again proved to be so reckless with what he said. "Are you sure this does not pain you more then you are letting me believe?" Yes. It was not physical pain he was feeling. It was all numbed by the emotional pain of what happened . . . or what was happening to them. "I am sure," he told her simply, not wishing her to worry for whatever pain he was inflicted with. "It will heal in a few days," he added confidently, not doubtful about that. It was as most other wounds. Apart from unique ones like the dragon claws which had poisoned him, as well as a few other arrows in the past. "Many suffered worse than I." Which was why he knew it was unnecessary to dwell over this one injury.

[Guinevère]

Went in at an awkward angel? Guinevère hoped that was all it was, for it looked a bit discolored. Arthur was talking about how others were more injured then him, but she could not bring herself to mind them, or think of them while looking at his injury. "Gaius will make sure they get the best care Camelot has to offer." She reminded him, so he would not worry.

She used the honey and the herb poultice to help seal the wound before she started wrapping ti tightly in silence. After a few long almost painful moments, Guinevère spoke. "Amaren was trying to beg every knight left behind to take him to join his father. It is a good thing that he did not know where you went, or I fear he might have tried to join you on his own." Speaking of their children would be a safe place to start. Since they could not spend the rest of their lives in this awkwardness.

Yet her heart had not forgotten his words, and she feared that everything she was would not be good enough. That he would always think that she did not love him, and everything she gave him he would think she was holding back while holding someone before him.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Gaius will make sure they get the best care Camelot has to offer." That much was true. He knew that Camelot had the best physician this world had to offer. He just hated the thought of so many men and families suffering. Yet, it was for the good of the kingdom . . . and they would have honored for their heroic actions. He gave the slightest smile when she spoke of Amaren, and how he wanted to find out where they had been riding to . . . so that he could join them. "He's a brave boy,' Arthur said in a low voice. And he both dreaded and looked forward to the day that Amaren would lead the men. Looked forward to it, because he knew he would be an exceptional prince, and one day king. Dreaded it . . . for the fear it would place in both his and Guinevère's heart. As well as Anna's.

"He has much time before he need worry about such things," Arthur added, as reassurance for them both. He still had much training to undergo, and Arthur would not send him to join the men until he was positive that he was absolutely ready. "It will not be long before Anna understands as well," he added, in an equally low voice. His princess. He adored her, and he did not want her to worry the same as his wife and son did. But she was growing up fast . . . and in a couple of years, she would realize the darkness of war and violence. How he wished he could shelter her from that forever. That there was a way to protect her. But he knew there was not. And that was truly a day that he dreaded . . . having to explain to Anna that he was riding off to kill other men.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère finished tying up the bandage tightly around his h\shoulder and chest, making sure it wasn't so tight that cut off any movement or blood flow but enough that his skin would not move so easy on it's own. "He's a brave boy," Yes, he was. "Like his father." She reminded him softly, of where Amaren got his bravery from. Turning to carry the dirty things away to a table so they could be taken away later that night or in the morning, Guinevère used to space to clear her mind.

"He has much time before he need worry about such things," Thank goodness! "I will always think it's not enough time," She only half joked, knowing no mother wanted her son to grow up quickly. "It will not be long before Anna understands as well," Nor their daughter. "With an over protective father, and a brother trying to be just like him--I think it might be longer then you think before she sees the darkness in this world." In a way Guinevère envied children, and wished she could go back to not knowing. Morgana had been her friend, and now they hated one another. And for what?! Greed? The need for power?

"She has a strong heart, and when the times comes for her to learn of the world, then she will have a father to protect her and a mother to comfort her, and a brother to be there when we cannot." Guinevère's own brother had been both brother and parent at times to her. Protecting her, and guiding her until she was old enough to take care of her own life. "They both will be glad to see their father in the morning." As she was glad to see her husband, and wished her heart did not hurt to be in the same room with him. And knew it hurt worse to not be in the same room as him.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur looked at the now properly bandaged wound as she stood to carry the things over. He couldn't help but feel that she was distancing herself from him at every given opportunity . . . . and the awkwardness between them didn't help. He didn't want it to be like this, and he wished he knew the immediate way to fix it. Apart from finding a way to reverse time and take back what was so carelessly said. He gave a slight smile when she spoke of how it would take Anna long, for she had an overprotective father and brother . . . as well as a mother. Something that neither he nor Guinevère had ever had, and a role that she was doing a far better job in then he as father. "I hope so," he responded in a low voice. Wanting to keep her sheltered from it, but knew that it would be impossible to keep her so. "She is still too young now. And we will make sure she has a happy childhood." Not one surrounded by swords and other weapons, or violence and death.

While he had started training Amaren, he -- and Guinevère -- made it a point toe ensure that he was still able to be a child. That he was still able to enjoy his childhood. He looked at Guinevère as she spoke of the support that Anna had surrounding her. A comforting thought of course . . . though he knew that they would always be overprotective parents. Wanting to keep their children innocent. It made Arthur feel guilty, that it was because of his role that their children would be faced with such difficulties and pressures . . . as Guinevère had when she married him and had become queen. "They both will be glad to see their father in the morning." Arthur wanted to see them tonight, but as well aware of how hard it could be to get them back to sleep after waking them. "And their father is rather eager to see them too," he said with a faint smile as he rose to his feet. "It's late. We should get some sleep." Tonight, they would just sleep. He knew from what he had seen thus far, that she was not ready for . . . anything intimate tonight. And he would of course respect that.

[Guinevère]

"I hope so," As did she, "She is still too young now. And we will make sure she has a happy childhood." Guinevère smiled softly, hoping that they were able to always make sure their children felt loved. She knew they would try, but she hoped the succeeded. "You will see how happy she appears in the morning when she finds you at breakfast." Anna was her father's daughter and would light up and run to him, and not let him go for hours! "And their father is rather eager to see them too," Arthur was the best father, like her own. Seeing him be an warm and open father, as well as strong and happy made her feel so much pride in him.

Though for the last few weeks she was fighting the constant doubts that said she had not done enough these years to prove herself, as well as the slight anger (at herself and him) for though of her even needing to prove things to him after so many years. "It's late. We should get some sleep." She could not join him just yet. Her heart was still hurting, and she knew that it would be hurting to join him, until she had spoken. Yet she wasn't strong enough to bring it up to him, so decided that he was tired and tonight wasn't the night. "You should rest, I feel so awake right." Which was true, for her day had not been active.

"I think I will sit for a while before the fire and finish my sewing. I promises Anna a new dress, and it's almost done. If I spend less the an hour on it tonight she can wear it to welcome her father home." Guinevère did her best not to make it should like she was holding back from him, but she knew that was what she was doing.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur looked at her when she said that she felt awake, and then went on to say that she would finish Anna's dress. It was just an excuse. He knew his wife better than that. From the moment he had returned, he knew how withdrawn she was being. In the way she greeted him, in the way she went to find Gaius, even in how she bound his wound . . . and now, she refused to lie next to him. Truth be told, holding her upon his return after any battle as the only thing that gave him peace. His family represented his sanctuary; all that was good and all that gave him hope in this world. And now, he had made it so that she could hardly even stand to be close to him. He just looked at her, forcing back any hurt in his eyes because . . . well, because it did hurt. He knew his words had hurt her but even after not being together for the past couple weeks, there was still so much between them. He wasn't even sure what to say. What words to offer.

He had apologized before he left, not wanting their argument to be the possible last memory of him. Yet now . . . he couldn't help but wonder if she needed more space. How much more space? "Is it so bad, that you can not even stand to be near me?" He asked, somewhat rhetorically, trying not to let his hurt and bitterness show . . . though he knew the implications in his words held such meanings. He was no fool. Maybe Guinevère was feeling awake, but even on nights that neither found sleep easily . . . they still found comfort in each other. And now, it was one sided for it appeared she wanted nothing to do with him in the moment. And was choosing her words carefully so that she did not have to say as much.

[Guinevère]

It had been an excuse, and he knew it just as well as she knew it. "Is it so bad, that you can not even stand to be near me?" Only Arthur wasn't going to pretend all was well with them with excuses and silent thoughts, like she had planned. Guinevère closed her eyes, trying to find the strength to answer, and she felt a few drops of wetness touch her cheeks. She was crying.

"It's not that," She whispered, forcing her eyes open and to his. She wasn't sure how to explain things, and had been trying to let him rest. She didn't want him to come home from fighting to fighting. "I want nothing more then to hold you in my arms and thank God that you are alive and safe!" There was a but in her tone, however. One they both could hear as plain as day.

Her lips moved, as no sound came out. She honestly did not know the words, or lacked the courage to use them, in order to explain how she felt. Anything she said, could only be turned back on her. He broke her heart! She'd earned it. He didn't trust her words of her love. She'd earned it. That one night would forever be between them. Her shoulders shook slightly, and it was easy to see she was trying to hold back some more emotion. "We never should have spoken of that night." She could have lived the rest of her life in blissful ignorance if she had not pushed him. "I am sorry," For that night, for the doubt he lived with every night and every day.

But it was his words of the feelings and thoughts that he had hid from her for YEARS that was hurting her beyond her ability to cope with. "I do not wish this to be forever between us," but her heart was hurting to much right now, and she wanted so much for him to hold her. Just hold her right now. If he held her, if he walked toward her and just held her as she cried then perhaps it would help. But she could not ask it of him, and she was afraid he would think she cried for another man.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"It's not that." Then what was it? He didn't understand. If she was not hurt and angry with him . . . then it wouldn't be like this. He had said then that he didn't know what else to do. What could he do? He had tried to never blatantly lie to her, and had suppressed his emotions enough for them to never cause any issues between them. But, as that night had almost destroyed them once . . . it threatened to do the same again. For he did not expect that this would one day just disappear. It had been two weeks, and they could not even embrace each other as husband and wife. Who's to say that it would not take years for everything to heal. If it ever did. "No. We should not have." That was one thing they could agree on. He had told her that he didn't want to speak of it, because he had known no good would come from it.

They would just re-explore the heartbreak from it. It was in the past, where it belonged. And yet, now it seemed to be something that would forever linger between them. Haunt them, and endanger their very marriage. He reached for his shirt and pulled it over his head, hardly struggling with pulling his bandaged arm through for his wound was numbed by the stronger emotional pain. Standing there, his gaze went from her to the floor ahead of him. "Is there nothing I can do?" He asked. Anything to help salvage their relationship because now . . . there was so much between him. Did she feel that everything had been a lie? That he wasn't happy with her? Nothing could be further from the truth, but she was hurt enough to keep herself at such a significant difference. And he didn't know how to the fix that. The thought of not being able to -- never being able to -- terrified him beyond belief.

[Guinevère]

"No. We should not have." "I see that now," She whispered in agreement. She had thought it would be healthy for them to finally move past that unspoken night and those horrid few months that followed. "Is there nothing I can do?" She watched him for a moment, knowing that talking about it might only make things worse, but feeling as if she could not, not answer with out making them worse anyway.

"That is something I should be asking you." She whispered, her voice not able to be strong. She was afraid and felt very distant from the only persona that she had though she could not feel distant from. Even that night, she had not doubted in their feelings, only of her fickle heart and her stupid mind. Now she was doubting in everything. Her actions, her words, years of her life. "I am not sure how to prove myself to you." How to show him what was in her heart, "Had I know you felt how you do, I could have done something different to shown you how I felt, or expressed my heart better." She was trying to be honest, but she feared he would just tell her she did not have too.

Yet if he thought she was settling for him, then clearly she did. "I do not know how you did it." Lived so long with such a heavy secret. When Morgana had tried, it had eaten her soul, and turned her into someone else. Made her bitter, and evil. Killed who she was. "I couldn't have." It would have broken her.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur kept his gaze to the ground, when she went on to speak of . . . that night. Or well, the duration of their marriage up to now. How she wasn't sure in what way to prove herself to him. It wasn't about that. He did trust her. He did love her. And he knew that she loved him too. He didn't know how to explain what he felt. After the history of . . . her and Lancelot, how could be accept that he had not been second? It was not to say that he doubted in every single thing she had said. It only meant that he knew how different everything could have turned out. But, he understood the mistake in his actions. In the words he had chosen to say. And how it made it seem like he doubted her, when he didn't. His words spoken from the heart contradicted his emotions there . . . and he didn't know how to explain himself. "You don't need to prove anything," he said in a low voice, not wanting her to feel like she wasn't good enough. It wasn't like that. It never had been.

"It was not doubt in you that I felt, but doubt in myself." His sister and uncle had betrayed -- and at one point, Guinevère did too. Arthur knew it was not a coincidence. It didn't just so happen that three people he cared for so greatly had betrayed him. No. There was a reason. It was too patterned and it showed . . . that the fault and flaw rest in him. That he was doing something so massively wrong to turn two people against him, and to force his fiance in the arms of another man. It was a failing on his part, and . . . he just didn't know what he was doing wrong. Perhaps he shouldn't have kept it to himself, but he had. And now . . . everything was unraveling. He didn't want to speak of that night, but now, they had to. Because neither of them could live like this for the rest of their lives. "The day I proposed to you again, all was forgiven. I was not harboring any ill feeling toward that night." It was not burdening his heart to the point of being unable to forgive her.

Had it been so, then he never would have been able to marry her; he never would have been able to make love to her; he never would have been able to raise two children with her. He debated whether to ask his next question . . . and knew that if ever there was a time to bring it up, now was it. It would help them move on, for it would give some perspective. And it had haunted him for so long . . . for all those months he had banished her. Slowly, he brought his gaze to her, hating this subject but hating the tension between them even more. "Just, tell me why Guinevère." If he was not second in her heart, then why had she done what she did? "Give me a single reason, and I will never doubt that I had always been first in your heart." A reason. A legitimate reason. Not that she was just drawn to him -- which is what she had said that night -- but a real reason. That she was scared of commitment. That she found overwhelming affection for Lancelot. That it was purely lust. Just . . . anything to help him understand why.

[Guinevère]

"You don't need to prove anything," Did she not? He did not believe in her heart, and he was doubting the strength of her love. Doubting that he came first. "It was not doubt in you that I felt, but doubt in myself." As if he could read her mind, he eased her fears. How did Arthur manage to always do that? Manage to make her feel better with just the right words? Her heart was still hurting, but for a moment, she started to feel the hope. "The day I proposed to you again, all was forgiven. I was not harboring any ill feeling toward that night." Good. Perhaps she was reading too much in to this? That, that night wasn't going to always be between them. All she had to do was make sure he knew she loved him.

"Just, tell me why Guinevère." She looked slightly confused for a moment, but next words drained the color from her face, and broke her heart wide open. "Give me a single reason, and I will never doubt that I had always been first in your heart." Staring at him, so lost in the hurt of his words that t took her a moment to realize why he faded from her sight into a blur of color. Blinking slowly she felt the tears that had blurred her vision fall over her cheeks, as she could see him clearly again.

All his current words had just been proven a lie. She had more to prove to him then he had let on. "What do you want me to say that I have not said?" She asked him, "If I loved him, then any time that year he lived here as a knight I could have gone to him. But I didn't. I was with you. Almost every one of them! I came to you! When I feared I would loose you, I asked him to make sure you came home, no matter the cost. I asked him with out using the words to die for you. Because I loved you. I knew how he felt about me, and I used that because I was weak and afraid of loosing you."

"When he died for you, and did as I asked . . . I knew that he was true to his words. That he would once again remove himself from our lives if it meant that you lived and I was happy. He was willing to die for that. Because I asked it of him."

Because she was weak, and played on his heart like a stupid little girl. His last memory of the woman he loved was of her asking him to make sure the man she loved came home. She'd hurt him, and she had known it. "I felt guilty, and I told you that. It ate at me to know that I was s cold toward one man, and so afraid to be with out you that I could ask that of anyone." Much less a man she knew loved her and would give her what she wanted.

"When he came back . . . . . At first I felt nothing but grateful. He was alive, and I had not cost him his life! felt guilty still, but there was no lost love there. I did not love him. Not like that. Never like I love you, Arthur." If he would believe that. "That night, I think it finally hit me. The guilt, the emotions. I was overwhelmed. I was stupid, and overwhelmed but I wasn't in love!"

She let the words hang there for a moment, the hurt anger that had been in her tone -though almost masked by the broken hearted tears tat came out--faded into a almost exhausted tremble. She felt so weak and wasn't sure how she managed to stand there before him. Feeling distant, and so far from being the girl that he had once seen her as. The servant who loved only him. YEARS before that night meant nothing after her actions betrayed them, and she was afraid that the years since would be damaged. "I think I have much more to prove to you then we both think, if you still ask me of that night."

[Arthur Pendragon]

It still didn't made sense. And in all that she said, it still did not answer his question, that would have relieved all fears. She felt more guilt for Lancelot's death, and more relief upon his return . . . than she did devotion to him the night before the wedding. More guilt for what she had asked of Lancelot, then any guilt -- that was apparently non existent -- over betraying Arthur. Her words answered nothing, and he felt bitter disappointment in them. He was willing to overlook that night, and he had. He had set it aside, and not let it come between them. And now, it would tear them apart. She had admitted to him before in the past, that she had loved another . . . but not with the same strength she had loved him. And now she said there had been no love between them. It was not to say she had lied, or was lying now . . . it just further confused him as to why she had gone to him that night. It was not a spur of the moment. It was something planned. She had sneaked around the castle to meet him. It was thought out. It was not just a quick fleeting overwhelming and weak few seconds. They had made plans. They had purposely made them in the dead of night, where they believed no one would be. So how she could now stand there and tell him that she had just been overwhelmed?

Her emotions for Lancelot, had been stronger than any thought and happiness toward a future with Arthur. For she made a choice that night, and had Lancelot still been alive . . . then who's to say what would have happened. That was his point. That was what he had been trying to explain to her. But instead, his words made her doubt everything else. "I think I have much more to prove to you then we both think, if you still ask me of that night." It wasn't about her proving anything to him. He didn't need that proof. He had all the proof he needed that night, knowing . . . where she lay her loyalty in that one fleeting moment. Yet, such a significant one. Thankfully, he caught himself before he said such words. "You brought up that night," he reminded. This whole thing started because she wanted to speak of it. He knew he should be speaking his mind, as she was speaking hers. Whether the words were harsh or not . . . they needed to be said. Otherwise, they would never move past this. "I just wish you had come to me that night. To tell me that you were feeling . . . whatever you were feeling." But she had chosen to meet Lancelot, and that was his point. That she had chosen him, over her fiance at the time.

"I would have given your space, to sort out any conflict you felt." But she had not come to his chambers. She had gone to the arms of another man. So how could she claim Arthur had always been first in her heart, when her past actions showed the exact opposite? "I have had so many questions about that night Guinevère," he admitted, looking back to the ground. "How long would you have seen him behind my back had I not come in. Whether you would have told me had I not witnessed it. Why . . . you chose to do it the night before our wedding." So many question. "But I set them all aside, never to think of them because I wanted to be your husband. I wanted to be happy with you." And now, everything was coming out . . . and all the years he had worked to push out any bitterness of that night, was slowly reversing itself. Because it was brought up. "There is nothing that can be done. Nothing more then can be said. And if it makes it unbearable for you to be near me, then I do not know what to do or say to eliminate this discomfort." Because he had done all that he could, and clearly failed in every attempt.

[Guinevère]

"I brought up that night, asking about what to tell our son, and you admitted to feeling as if I did not love you first in my heart." Which meant that he felt she lied every time that she told him had loved him? That every time they were together, did he think she thought of another man? "There is nothing that can be done." Sucking in a deep breath, she tried to accept and reject his words at the same moment. "Nothing more then can be said." No, she wasn't done fighting for him. She just needed more time!

Her heart was breaking! "When you ask me after so many years to explain that night again . . . I fear you do not believe me. That you will always think what you do of my emotions and feelings." And that hurt her, so very much after being his WIFE for years! "I could not have been in your bed, as your wife if you were not my whole heart! I could not have been happy! Yet I was." Until he admitted he saw their lives differently. "I was so happy!"

She shook her head no, trying to adjust to the pain. "Yet looking back I keep wondering if I should have fought harder back then. Not just assumed you believed everything I told you and took the time to help us really heal from it before just trying to be happy with you. . . . . I could have done everything differently, Arthur I would have if I'd but known! Tried harder, been stronger."

Yet he didn't tell her. And her biggest fear was there. "If Isolde had not died that day, would you have asked me to stay?" She whispered, fear evident in her voice. "Would you have asked me to marry you?" Had he forgiven her because he meant it, or did he forgive her because it was easier then loosing her?

[Arthur Pendragon]

His first mistake. Revealing that she had settled for him. As it was firm belief in his mind, though not something that had ever hindered his love for her. He felt felt that he loved others far more; that it was seldom reciprocated. Morgana. Agravaine. And that night . . . Guinevère. Even Lancelot, for Arthur had regarded him as a brother. "I do not doubt your love for me Guinevère. Otherwise, I would not have asked you to marry me." He would not have forced her in such a situation . . . which was what he had felt like he'd done before. He prayed it was never like that, but also knew that in the woods that day . . . he had already loved Guinevère more than she loved him. Because she had chosen Lancelot. And while he knew he had no claim to her, his heart had broke at the seemingly easy choice. It was not something he spoke of. Not something he would ever speak of. Though he should really have learned by now that keeping such thoughts in his mind were not healthy. Though at that time, he and Guinevère were not together. It was not a betrayal in any way . . . just a strong realization. It had not been a betrayal until that night; the eve of their wedding. He wanted to believe they were happy . . . just as he had believed it back then.

No. They were happy. They had to be. They had two children, they had been together these past years . . . they were happy. But he had thought that exact same thing before, well before they were wed, and the return of one man, contradicted everything. "If you tell me that you are happy, then I believe you. Whole heartedly." Because it was never about that. It was never about his lack of trust for her -- not anymore. Not as it once was. It was about . . . choice. Choices she had made that had revealed things in her heart that she had kept from him. "You have been strong Guinevère," he assured her, wishing he had not made her doubt her strength. "I never doubted what a good person you are. What a strong heart you have. It is not about fighting harder for us." Even though that night, she had been so willing to give up on them. Even if she never meant to be discovered. "I would not have spoken of that night. Even if you had attempted to bring it up." Because it was too painful. Because as he had said, it was forgiven after he had proposed to her. It was her next question that caused him pause however. For he knew the answer was not as simple as a yes or no.

"If Isolde had not died that day, would you have asked me to stay? Would you have asked me to marry you?" It would never be a simple answer. Arthur paused in thought, knowing he would have to choose his words carefully; with extreme caution. "I would have asked that you stay." That much he knew. That no good had come from her banishment. That too much had happened in Camelot to just send her away. "In time, I would have forgiven you." Not as quickly, for Arthur was a man of circumstance and it usually took a strong event to make him change his perception about something. "I believe, that we still would have found a way to each other." He had to hold this belief. Because he fought so many years for them. And had he not believed in it -- in them -- then he would have married Mithian. "What would you have done, had Lancelot not died?" Could she look him in the eyes, and swear to him that she would not have sought a future with him? Would she had fought for them, and not found a life with another man? There were so many what if questions that could have changed circumstances, but just as she had asked him one . . . he had asked one in return.

[Guinevère]

He might believe they were happy, but he would not believe that she was as happy as she would ever have been with him, baring none from the list. He would always see that one night, that one kiss as proof that she would rather be with another. When in truth, she had rather be fighting with him, then not with anything else. Even when he was breaking her heart, she was happiness with him, then with others.

He said he would have asked her to stay, and in time forgiven her. In time they would have natural found each other. Would that have happened. They could have been happy. "What would you have done, had Lancelot not died?" Guinevère did not pause to think. She knew what would have happened. "Married you." Because she did not love Lancelot the way he thought. He was special to her, in the way all first loves are, but he was not her heart and soul. He was not her destiny.

"Had he lived, I would have still gone where I went." And done so alone, for she had been too ashamed and angry at herself to face anyone. If he'd had offered, she would had asked that he not come with her. Her weakness had killed his honor, and now it was killing her marriage. "You would still have ended up here." Fighting with him. "I do not love him, Arthur." She whispered, "There might have been a point when I thought I was in love but then we close and there was never anyone else for me."

"I know you disbelieve me, but there has never been another that I loved even close to how I love you. . . . . "