Pregnesia [Arthur & Guinevère Pendragon]

[Guinevère]

The messenger had taken the only horse in the small village of Ealdor to the castle. It was normally a weeks ride away, but he drove the horse as fast as he could to reach the castle. When he arrived there he was told the king was not there at the moment, but three days north. He had turned and rode with a hand full of knights and a new horse to find the king. It took four and a half days to find the king who was moving quickly over the land.

It was just past the middle of night hour when the messenger ran through the camp to the fire which he could see the king at. Out of breath he could barley bow for he was so tired and exhausted. "We found her!" He pushed out. Hoping the king would remember him from his two trips to Ealdor. "She is alive, and the child too."

Found the queen who had been missing for just over a month. He managed to explained that hunters from their village had crossed her and a few of her guards when they were letting her go to the river. The guards had been killed, and the hunters were badly injured. He didn't know if they the kidnappers had followed or if the village was safe. He had come to deliver the message the moment they found her. . . . Five months along with the first Pendragon child.

[Arthur Pendragon]

There were no words to accurately describe this past month. The queen of Camelot was missing, having been kidnapped with no word of a ransom. Kidnapped, not dead. No. Arthur refused to believe she was dead, but that did not mean that he didn't fear it. He had never been more afraid of anything in his entire life. He didn't know where she was, he didn't know who was with her -- or what they were doing with her . . . and he wouldn't rest until he brought her home. As if that wasn't bad enough, she was expecting their first child. It only made him all the more afraid, not that he would have been any less so had it just been Guinevère who was missing. She was his everything, and to be without her, to not know her whereabouts, made him feel like he was dying a little more every day.

He was seldom in the city, for he could not just send men to look for her. No. He had to look for her. He had to be out there, searching. Searching to no avail. He had scoured the kingdom, even neighboring kingdoms, and there wasn't a trace of her. He had contacted Camelot's allies that he trusted -- Caerleon, Gawant, Nemeth and others involved in the various treaties established -- but they had heard nothing thus far. He even contacted Alistair, his druid ally to see if the druid people had heard or seen anything, but still, no success. Still, they were kind enough to aid in the effort, sending their own patrol to diligently search the land. But still, no success. Every few days he would return to the castle in the early morning, attend business, and then leave again. Sleep did not come easily to him, and even when he did manage to close his eyes, Arthur's fears flashed before his eyes.

Bodies of his wife and child, or seeing her in pain, or anything and everything that made him startle awake, and prepare to search for her again. The days felt like years, this past month felt like an eternity. He wanted her back. He wanted her home; he wanted to take care of her during her pregnancy. He would never forgive himself if something happened to her because her in the danger she was in, was due to his failure in protecting her. He had not take care of his family as he should, for if he had . . . then his wife and child would be safe within the castle walls. He was currently sitting in front of the fire, his eyes worn and signs of the lack of sleep and unwavering fear evident in the lines and dark circles under his eyes, as they lacked any happiness. And such joviality would not return until she was safe in his arms once more. Staring into the fire, lost in thought, he heard voices in the distance and within seconds, a man was in his presence.

"We found her!" That was all Arthur needed to hear to rush to his feet and stare at the man, waiting for more details because in this moment, Arthur was incapable of speaking. In the seconds it took him to further explain, he needed to hear that she was alive; that they had found her alive. But not only had they found her . . . they found her, and she was safe. She and their child was safe. Just as words could not describe this past month, words could not describe this moment. But for entirely different reasons. Relief. More than anything relief. She was in Ealdor, Lot's kingdom, and Arthur wasn't going to wait another second. Even if it was the middle of the night, he didn't care. He needed to see her. He rushed to his tent and didn't even wait to get assistance with his armor.

He began to hastily pull off his armor, and even more quickly pulled off his shirt and change into another one, then pulling on his dark brown leather vest atop. The last thing he needed was for Lot to get word that Camelot's army was entering Escetia. Rushing out of his tent, Arthur went to the messenger. "Rest here, and come with the men at first light." It would be more inconspicuous for Arthur to enter on his own. Plus, he would be able to determine whether there was a trap in place, or whether she would be placed in more danger if his whole army came. With that said, he mounted his readied horse, and set off toward Ealdor, with only his sword at his side. He hadn't even taken the time to inform Merlin or anyone else, apart from the messenger and the men who had come with him from the castle.

Arthur rode quickly and swiftly, only stopping when he could feel his horse getting exhausted. Other than that, he did not stop. Not for food, nor water. He just wanted to get there; to see her with his own eyes. The anticipation alone nearly drove him to madness. But eventually, he began to see the familiar area, the village up ahead . . . and he felt his heart beat faster in his chest. She was here. His wife and child were here. Unharmed physically from what he was told . . . and whatever trauma she had been through, he would be with her every second to help her get through it. He dismounted before the horse even stopped moving and made his way forward, as he was then greeted by Hunith who stopped in front of him, though Arthur's gaze was fixated on the house she had emerged from, knowing -- feeling -- Guinevère's presence inside.

[Guinevère]

The little town of Ealdor was on full alert. They had so far not been caught harboring the queen but if the kidnappers found them then they could all be killed. The injured men were hidden in their homes, the queen in Hunith's. Everyone moved to look as if they were doing their normal things but in truth they where looking for strangers. When the king showed up, they knew they had done their job.

Hunith moved forward to greet him. "My lord!" She called and waited for him to dis mount and come closer. "She is unharmed and alive. A few bruises, and rope burns but nothing broken. The child seems well too." She assured him, "However . . . She seems to not recall anything . . . She knew not who I was, nor Merlin when I spoke his name. She knew yours but spoke formally as if she knew your name, my lord but did not know you." She thought she was a servant. "She seems frightened. And confused." Hunith gestured to her home. "We were afraid to allow her out of it, in case she would be seen." And with these words she stepped back so she could let the king greet his wife.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur was only half listening to Hunith. Not to be rude, but because his thoughts were entirely preoccupied with the desire to see his wife and hold her in his arms. Hunith spoke of how Guinevère didn't recall anything . . . and he just assumed that it was the traumatic stress of what happened. He would help her get through this; he would take care of her now. His eyes remained on the house, but he glanced at Hunith, wanting his next words to be sincere. "Thank you," he said softly. It was all he could say right now. He couldn't elaborate on how grateful he was . . . not until he saw Guinevère. For he had been praying for this moment every second of every day for the past month. When she stepped aside, Arthur walked forward, everything around him feeling surreal. His hand went to the door and pushed it open . . . to see her. Guinevère. His wife. His love. His everything.

Overcome with emotions, he felt his eyes moisten with tears as the door automatically closed behind him. He tried to find the words to say, but nothing came. She was alive. She was as well as could be expected . . . and he began to take slow steps toward her. His heart pounded heavily in his chest, for he'd wanted nothing more than this. Then to see her; to be with her once more; to take his wife home. Not thinking of Hunith's previous words as he was too overwhelmed, he stood right in front of her, before wrapping his arms around her and gently pulled her into his arms. It took him a moment, but finally, he closed his eyes as he slightly turned his head so that it was nestled against the top of her head, breathing in her scent, basking in that feeling of having her back in his arms, which was indescribable. So much so, that he felt a tear roll down his cheek. She was with him once more; she was safe now, in his arms.

[Guinevère]

Gwen wasn't sure what to think. Everyone told her she wasn't safe outside until the king of Camelot came. They had said other things but sadly she didn't recall most of them. Something about a husband?!?! At least that explained the baby growing inside of her. A husband? Why was the King coming for his ward's handmaid? Would Morgana come with him? Oh she hoped so, she needed a friend. Yet it was dangerous she was in Escetia. And apparently had been here before?

When Hunith discovered that she did not remember anything she had decided not to tell her more until her husband came. Was he coming with the king?

Hearing the door open she stood and forced a smile for her host. Then the prince walked in! Gwen sucked in a ragged breath and her smiled faded as the prince walked over to her and wrapped his arms around her. Even more confusing was when he seemed to take comfort from the action. Her hands hovered a few inches from him and she just stood there. He had looked older then she recalled. Tired. Less like the boy who dressed in new clothing all the time and more . . . serious.

Why was he so serious? Why was he hugging her?! Was it rude to pull away from a prince? she just stood there her breathing slightly quickened from uncertainty and a small bit of fear at what this could mean. After the longest of long moments he pulled back. Looking up into his face she took a step backwards and spoke in a hesitant voice. "It was very king of you to come get me yourself. Thank you; sire." But why had he? Her hand moved protectively to the baby, taking comfort from that. At least the baby was safe. Where was her husband?

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur felt Guinevère almost stiffen under his touch and noticed how her arms did not wrap around him. But he was far too distracted just basking in the joy of having her back, that he wasn't overly concerned with this. She must be traumatized; she must have gone through so much. He slowly pulled back and just looked at her beautiful face that he'd longed to see in so long. It wasn't until she stepped away from him and then spoke to him far too formally and . . . added a title that he hated hearing. Hunith's words replayed in his mind, of how she did not seem to recall anything, and once again, Arthur assumed it was just from recent events. The chaos of everything. Perhaps with some rest and taking care of, everything would slowly come back . . . but he was not going to push her too much. Now that didn't mean he wasn't going to try to offer her comfort.

Despite the fact that she stepped back, he stepped forward, closer to her, unable to bare any distance between them. His eyes went to her belly that her hand covered, and a soft smile touched his lips before he looked back into her eyes. "Arthur," he corrected in a gentle voice. It would have held a bit more teasing, had the circumstances not been so intense. "Just, Arthur." He wasn't even sure how he was speaking right now . . . for he felt overwhelmed with every emotion of euphoria and happiness he possibly could. He moved his hand to rest over hers, which was still rested on her belly, and simply looked at her, relief in his eyes and the first hint of happiness in them that he had since he'd last seen her.

[Guinevère]

"Arthur," He said taking a step forward and---and--Oh. His hands were on her . . . and there . . . Oh. "Just, Arthur." Just Arthur? Gwen wasn't fooled. She might not be the smartest girl in the lower towns but she wasn't an fool. "Oh." She said in shocked tone, stepping back to once again remove his hands from her. The chair she had been sitting on caught her knees and she ended up half falling into her chair.

Turning to the side she stood up and walked quickly around and away from him. Had Hunith just assumed there was a husband?! No! No! She was no the prince's sinful woman! She would not! There was another reason he was doing this! Panic was sitting in, and everything was so confusing, and it was made physically clear by her rapid breathing. Nothing made since! Where was her father? She just wanted her father, and then he could tell her everything! Why could she not remember? Every time she tired it got harder to remember!

A few tears fell over her cheeks and she pressed her hands to her belly, feeling the child move as if to comfort his or her own mother. "Is . . . " Who could she even ask for? Morgana? Her father? Her supposed husband? Please don't let her be the prince's sinful woman! She didn't even like him! Well, she did but she didn't. She just meant meant that the prince was nice looking . . . and strong and brave. But he was spoiled and mean! "Is Morgana with you, my lord?" She asked, needing a friend.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur watched her as she stumbled into the chair, looked almost . . . afraid. Afraid of his touch, of him. While he was trying to close the distance between them, she was trying to expand it. He may have gotten his wife back physically, but he had not gotten her back emotionally. Nor would he rest until he did. He noticed the tears in her eyes, and wanted to wipe them away from her and hold her until she could recall everything . . . because right now, she seemed to be another woman. Calling him Sire, trying to keep away from him, looking worried and afraid, and . . . asking for Morgana. Hunith said that she did not recall Merlin . . . so how far back was her memory failing her? He didn't answer the question, but instead, just looked at her, trying to find the words to say. This whole month had been difficult, for them both and it did not seem like it was going to get any easier.

What mattered though was that she was alright, and the rest they would work through . . . together. "Guinevère, I think you should lie down," he suggested to her. Gaius had informed them that stress and worry was not good for the baby. Who knows what she had been through this past month and he didn't want to contribute to it anymore. Though it was not easy to keep such a significant distance from her. She was his wife, and was carrying their child. How could he just stand on the other side of the room and act as if they were strangers? He couldn't. It was impossible. After all they had been through, all the days and nights they were together . . . she was nothing less than his whole heart.

[Guinevère]

"Guinevère, I think you should lie down," Guinevère? Who called her Guinevère? No one! Well, sometimes her father and sometimes her brother. When he was home. No one else though. It was too fancy for a lower town girl. Now the prince was calling her by it and trying to take care of her. Shaking her head slowly, telling him silently that she did not wish to lie down.

"Hunith keeps telling me to rest. I am not allowed to leave this home." She was not the sort who could sit idly. She liked picking flowers and cleaning and cooking. She did not wish to lie down but go and find her father. "Can I not just go home now, sire?" She asked, trying to see if she was allowed to go home. Her fingers touched her wrist of the other hand, both moving over the roughened skin there. A reminder that she had not been safe. Yet the prince was a knight! The best one, or would soon be the best one. He was the best fighter at least. He would made sure she got home safely! That much she knew! "Please."

[Arthur Pendragon]

There it was again . . . Sire. He loathed that word, just as he did before because in the past, it had served as a reminder as to why they could not be together. But they were well past that. They were married, and were expecting their first child and . . . she had no idea who he was right now. But she was safe, and he just had to keep reminding himself of that. One step at a time. He would nurture her back to her full health, and ensure she and the baby stayed healthy. Because where he had failed before, he needed to compensate for. He had so much to make up for, and she did not seem to be allowing him to do so. "We will return to Camelot soon," he assured her. "In a few days time, when the army comes to escort us back." He wanted her to know that she would be safe and secure. He knew it was dangerous, being in Lot's kingdom . . . but they needed to make sure she was well protected. They could not risk another ambush and they had strength in numbers.

"For the time being, you must build up your strength. For yourself, and the sake of the child." If she would not rest for herself, then surely she would for the child's sake. "Please, lie down." Now he was the one pleading to her, hoping she would do it . . . as a favor to him if nothing else. He wanted her to be well rested and calm, and who knows. Perhaps after a decent night's sleep, everything would return to her tomorrow . . . and they could share a proper heartfelt reunion. One where he could beg for her forgiveness for allowing what happened to her; one where he just could wrap his arms around her, kiss her, and tell her how much he loved her; one where they could tease each other as to what sex the baby was going to be. Just . . . a reunion between a husband and wife, and not strangers. Which is what it seemed to be to her right now.

[Guinevère]

"Please, lie down." She wasn't tired and he looked really tired. He did. Oh! Right! Gwen--or apparently now Guinevère--looked at the table and reached for the cup to quickly dip it into the bucket to fill it with water. He had no water because Morris was not here to give it too him! It was her job at the moment. Walking forward she spoke, "Here, sire, you must be tired from your ride." She told him, handing him the cup then moving quickly away to sit down in a chair by the fire.

It was warm here. For some reason the cold bothered her, and she never really got enough heat. As if she wasn't used to being alone, but rather having someone to help warm her. Was that her husband? Or was there even a husband? Why did the prince look so tired? Hunith said the king was coming? "Why did you come for me?" She asked suddenly, then realized it sounded ungrateful. "Not that you wouldn't! Or well, I didn't expect it. I should have. . . . I'm sorry." Now she looked like an idiot. Like most the time. This is why she stays close to Morgana! Less talking needed.

"Hunith said the king was coming. Why would he ride here--of all places?" Left unspoken was 'for me'. Or was there something bigger happening? "Escetia is Camelot's friend now?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur just stared at her, his hand reaching out for the cup though more as a reflex than anything else. He wasn't thirsty, and he didn't want her to serve on him . . . just as he didn't want her to call him Sire. She was his wife and she took care of him, but this felt different. It felt as if she was extending the water to him . . . out of obligation, rather than love and the desire to care for him. He didn't want that, and didn't want her to think such was the nature of their relationship. But he had already seen what his touch had done to her; it had caused her to panic, back away and then cry. He didn't want to upset her . . . but how could he pretend that they were any less than what they were? How could he pretend that it was alright that she called him Sire, when he loved her above all others in this world? He set the cup down and continued to look at her, as she began to ask a series of questions.

Why had he come for her? A question that never need be asked. He had to use all the strength within him to refrain from giving the most truthful answer. He came for her, because he loved her. Because he would have given anything to be the one in her place: kidnapped, and fearing death. But instead, he had been the man who had allowed her to be in such a circumstance. How long would this stress and trauma cause her memory to be so shattered? Because while he knew it was selfish, he wasn't sure he would be able to bare her not recalling anything about them; and -- assumingly -- not even knowing that the child she carried in his womb, was theirs. He wasn't even sure what question to answer first. The first one may be best avoided for the time being, since she seemed to have backtracked it a bit. The last time she was this nervous speaking to him was . . . well, a time that he could hardly remember.

Because it was hard to imagine a time without her in his life; a time where he had not realized how much he loved her. "Escetia is still no friend of Camelot's," he explained calmly, though made sure not to sound as if that would place her in more danger. "Which is why we must leave as soon as we are able." So that they could leave, undetected. He would not have Lot target him and the queen. She had been through more than enough. "What is the last thing you remember Guinevère?" He asked, knowing that he had avoided all her questions, and asked one of his own. But his inquiry was one of paramount importance. Because he needed to know how far back this temporary memory loss caused her to forget.

[Guinevère]

"What is the last thing you remember Guinevère?" Last thing she remembered? Which time? Or well perhaps most recently would be the first thing she remembered and the last things would be where she started forgetting? "I don't know." She admitted, her shoulders very lightly shivered a few times, and she reached for a blanket, wrapping it around her shoulders. "Everything is so dark and . . . and unclear."

"I try to remember, but then things get harder to remember. I know time has past, and I can even feel the time, but not see it." She was sounding like an insane fool she knew! "The clearest memory I have would be cooking for my father. He works at a forge! Owns it now even!" She was proud of her father! "I will make him a lunch to take. I wrap it in a cloth and he never remember to bring it home. I always stop buy and get it, and then pretend to ask him for it. . . . just so he can pretend to claim to have eaten it too."

Yet she knew this was an old memory, could feel the time that had past since then, only she didn't know what had happened in the time. "I think I went to work after that . . . maybe." Time had made the details of whatever day she was recalling faded. That was how she knew it was a long time ago. "Hunith said Merlin was your manservant now. That he and I were good friends. I don't remember him." She'd forgotten her best friend? "And a husband, I think." She hoped! Was Merlin her husband? But the prince was so touchy. But she KNEW he wasn't her husband. "I think . . . I think the king knighted Sir Owen and some others were knighted just before then."

Now for the hard question, "How long ago was that?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

Her father. Her most recent memory was of her father. Arthur wished it was not. For while he knew she had fond memories of him, he didn't want to have to tell her that he was dead. That he was no longer in this world. While one never healed from the loss of a parent or ever fully stopped mourning . . . she had progressed from that painful memory. One that had occurred years ago. She had no memory of him, of Merlin, of Morgana's betrayal. Such things only more confirmed when she said that she thinks she has a husband; one that was standing right in front of her. Yet how could she tell him that when she couldn't even call him by his first name. She spoke of the knighting ceremony that was so long ago, he couldn't even remember the date. But he knew he owed her the truth . . . who knows, maybe it would help her memory return.

"Merlin is an extremely good friend of yours," Arthur confirmed, though the husband part . . . he could not. Not without making his feelings known, though he knew he was doing a poor job of avoiding doing that. She was his wife and there was no longer a need to hide his feelings for her; least of all from her. "And your baby . . . " Their baby. He wanted to know if she knew. Well, she probably did. But . . . if all was well with the child. If she felt it moving healthily inside of her. But then came the difficult question to answer. "How long ago was that?" Arthur paused, wishing he could spare her any more pain . . . but he would not lie to her. For it would only leave her more confused and scared. "It was well over five years ago," he answered in a soft voice.

[Guinevère]

"Merlin is an extremely good friend of yours," Oh. What was he like? "And your baby . . . " And her baby what? At least he had not said their baby. So maybe she wasn't his sinful woman. Yet to confuse her more, he said nothing about a husband. Where was he? Why did the prince come for her? He had never answered that one! Why would he not? Did princes not answer servant questions, or was the answer too hard to explain?

"It was well over five years ago," Her lips parted slowly and she sucked in a large breath. Well over five years! Over five years! So long! So long ago! How many years? NO! No she couldn't hear more right now. She wanted her Papa, and Morgana! The familiar! She wanted the familiar! "My lord, can I go home now?" She asked, in a slightly shaken but pleading tone. "I just want to go home. I have been here resting with answers to anything for almost two weeks. Please. I need to home. I keep thinking that once i see it, I will remember." She only hoped that was indeed true. If not then surely her father would explain everything!

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur's heart ached for her when she asked if she could go home . . . as that was all she wanted. What she didn't know, was how different her home was. Her home was with him. She no longer lived in a separate house, but in shared chambers. For she was the queen; his wife. But how did he explain all this to her? How did he explain everything from the moment her father passed away, to them falling in love, to Morgana's betrayal. It was all too much. "We will go as soon as we can, I promise." As he had said before, as soon as the men arrived at Ealdor. They would have to rest for a day or so, and then they would venture back to Camelot. "Home may not be as you remember it, for much has changed," he explained. She seemed to know she had a husband . . . she just didn't realize how drastically her life had changed after gaining one.

For she had gone from a citizen, to a queen. A transition that he knew had not been easy to her, but she had adapted well and helped the people. Just another difficult aspect of her current life to explain to her. "You should get as much rest as you can. For you, and for the baby's sake." No rest would be enough, even more so now that she had so many questions about the life she had awoken to. And Arthur was still struggling trying to figure out how to tell her about it. That when she returned to the city, she would not have a father waiting for her, or a mistress that she needed to tend to. She would have a worried husband at her side, one that had missed her . . . and prayed that whatever memory loss burdened her, was lifted as soon as possible.

[Guinevère]

"We will go as soon as we can, I promise." Why not now? She missed her father and her home. She missed her bed. She missed her friends. Morgana. She missed Morgana. "Home may not be as you remember it, for much has changed," Such as? . . . Such as a prince, whom showed kindness to a servant. Why? She needed to know why but the fear of what that might meant kept her silent. Uther would never allow his son to marry a commoner, and Arthur would never allow himself to dally with them. She could tell where she stood around the young prince and it was far below him.

Yet this man worried for her. Asked her to rest. Held her. . . . . held her in an embrace. Touched her child. Who was this man? Where was the spoiled prince? Guinevère wasn't even sure that she wanted the old prince back but, nor did she wish to be the new prince's mistress. "You should get as much rest as you can. For you, and for the baby's sake." Resting her hand on the baby she spoke, "The baby is ready to home as well, I think." She said softly, "They keep moving and turning . . . . " It had frightened her when she first felt it.

"You've been kind to me these last . . . well . . . " In the last half hour. "Thank you." Standing she walked toward the back of the house, where the bed she was using was. As she passed him she paused, and reached her hand out to touch his arm. It felt wrong to touch a prince, but it seemed to give him comfort, which could never be wrong. But it not feeling wrong, made her even more lost. Before she could let her thoughts think on it too long she let him go and started walking toward the bed. Pausing at the frame that held no door she looked back at him, "You should rest too." She asked of him. "I hear the ride to Camelot is a long one." And she hoped to leave soon. With that she turned and walked toward the bed, but knew she'd not be sleeping any time soon.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Hearing her say that the baby was moving, filled him with so many emotions. The first was relief, to know that everything seemed fine with the child. The second was happiness, that pride in the knowledge that he was going to be a father and she a mother; that the strong love between them had created another life. And the third emotion was longing . . . wanting so badly to put his hand over her stomach to feel their child moving. It was a feeling he had missed in all these weeks, as he missed the feeling of being near her, with her. He had to fight back the urge to ask, knowing it would seem rather inappropriate considering she did not know who she was to him. And still, his desires for such things were so strong. She altered the subjected, speaking of how kind he was being to her, and it made his heart ache all the more. That she felt the need to thank him for loving her.

Though he was aware that she did not know about the latter. It merely reminded him of how different they had been, how oblivious they were to each other . . . how much he had changed for the better, thanks to her. He just gave a small nod, unsure of how to respond to her gratitude when it was completely unneeded. He looked at her hand that had briefly been on his arm, and then watched her as she went to bed. Again, the desire to hold her tonight was so strong . . . and yet he knew he could not ask. He just looked at her for several moments, trying to remain respectful and knowing it was selfish to push himself on her. This was a true test of strength, more than any tournament or battle. "Goodnight Guinevère," he said in a soft voice, before leaving the room, and house really since it was a small one.

When he was outside, Hunith came to him to offer comfort, but Arthur was not in the mood. He politely thanked her, as she motioned to where he could spend the night -- since in Guinevère's mind, they were not married so could not share a bed. Once again, Arthur thanked her for everything, and said that he would remain here for a few moments. He leaned against the house, filled with so many different feelings that he felt overwhelmed. What if her memory didn't return? What if she had to relive all the horrific events in her life? How could he be the one to tell her them? What if they were never a family again? He could not force her to love him, especially since their relationship was not something that had developed over night. It had taken time: days, months, years to get to where they were. And what if it was only to remain a memory?

Arthur's head spun at all the possibilities, and feeling the need to sit down, he did. He sat on the ground with his back against the wall of the house Guinevère was sleeping in. If he couldn't hold her, and this was the closest he could be to her, then so be it. He spent the entire night in this position, hardly sleeping as every time he closed his eyes, he would open with with a jolt, startled and paranoid for no reason whatsoever. He was quite thankful when dawn came and the sun began to rose. Even more so when he heard his men arrive. Only a handful of them came, the rest were waiting concealed in the woods, as they did not want to draw attention to Ealdor with the arrival of Camelot's knights. They all rested, preparing for the journey back, and managed to commence the following day. Arthur tried to stay as close to Guinevère as he could, though knew he had to be careful.

He'd informed only a few of the men what had happened and they in turn would warn the rest. To not use titles, or make assumptions right now. Arthur knew he would have to discuss such things with her, but not right away. Their journey back went smoothly, with no attacks nor any ambushes. They managed to get out of Estecia undetected from Lot, and went through to the borders of Camelot. Soon enough, they were a day or so away from the city, and as they made camp for the night . . . Arthur knew he could not put it off any longer. He had to speak to her. It was one thing to tell a few men that her memory was lost; it was another to tell an entire kingdom. The people would show their love to her as they would a queen . . . and she would have to know why she could not return to her house: because she now lived in the castle. He would not stay in their chambers with her of course, aware of the space she required. But she still needed to know the truth.

It was late and most were asleep. Arthur sat in front of the fire, waiting to catch site of her so that he could ask for a moment of her time in private. Well, perhaps more than a moment since this wasn't a conversation one held in a few seconds. They had some conversations during the travels, but it was all very casual and still very formal -- as she spoke to him more like a servant to a prince than a wife to a husband. That was something else he had not told her, that he was king. Which would make her queen. There was so much to say, and he felt nervous and afraid for it. Not wanting to scare her yet knew . . . there was no other way to go about this. She deserved the truth, and even if it would only make her more confused, at least she would know. And perhaps -- hopefully -- it would help with the recovery process.

[Guinevère]

The days were long, and trying. Not for the company, which was shockingly pleasant but for the constant holes she had no way to fill. She longed for her father. He would be able to fill in these holes and surely once he started then she would recall the rest. So much was different. Such as the prince. He was different--so different she would have almost guessed he was a new person. He was giving her his tent to use these nights, and that was only one of the ways she noticed him different.

He would stop his men to allow her to rest. He would ride beside her and speak of passing things such as the weather and her health. He helped her mount and dismount. Took care of her like no one had done before. Guinevère took care of the people in her life, but this man took care of her. It was different and a bit . . . . Was it wrong to like it?

Guinevère walked to the edge of he tent and peeked out. She tried to see if she could join him, finding his company something she had grown to enjoy. Perhaps even look forward too. But she was married!? No! No, she could not welcome his attentions. Pulling back she walked toward the bed.

His bed.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur was not sitting far from Guinevère's tent so when he heard a bit of movement, he turned his head, just in time to see the flap close. He looked at it for a while longer, wondering if that meant she was still awake. Deciding to check, he took a deep breath and rose to his feet, standing out her tent . . . well, what should have been their tent. With her mindset, he knew he had to respect her distance and need for privacy, so he couldn't just waltz in. In case she was resting or not dressed to receive visitors. Ordinarily, that would not be an issue between them . . . but now it was. And something he had to constantly remind himself of. "Guinevère?" He said in a voice not loud enough to wake her if she was sleeping, but with enough volume that she would hear him if she was awake.

He would have to wait for permission to enter, and in the meantime, spent those moments mentally preparing what he was to say to her. It had consumed his thoughts these past couple of days, wondering how to phrase things. And now he had no more time. He had to just come out with the truth. All he could do was offer his comfort if she needed someone during her moments of distress upon discovering the true nature of their relationship and all the heartbreaking events of the past that would now resurface, as would the hurt they'd felt due to them.