Echoes Of Who We Once Were

[Guinevère]

Camelot was healing. The three years since Arthur became king, were ones of peace until the recent months of war. Morgana had taken the throne the first time during the fall of Uther, and left him a broken and beaten man. She attempted to do it a second time by working with Helios, but the knights of Camelot had heard of Helios' actions to build an army an rode in to free and end his army.

Over the next few years Morgana alined herself with the Saxons, and did take over the kingdom. Two weeks later Arthur took it back and started to heal the lands from the burning and damage that Morgana did to the land. During the attacks, a trader, the king's own uncle, was reviled. The people welcome and rejoiced for their king to return to his throne.

All seemed well, and the kingdom began to heal. It seemed Morgana's failure and the trader's damage was done. Yet it was one night when the king entered his uncle's former chambers and began looking for signs that he should have seen this coming, and for other ways his uncle had broke his oath to him that the king found a hidden box, full of letters . . .

[Arthur Pendragon]

The past few years had been . . . indescribable. In both good and bad ways. Tonight was a rare night for the king, as he had requested not to be disturbed by anyone for he would be doing something that he had been putting off for the past several days. Not only because he had far more to do . . . but because it was not easy. The emotional distraught over discovering his uncle was a traitor was fresh in his heart and mind, and it made him feel alone. More so than ever. Not that he hadn't been feeling that way since before the almost war with Caerleon. When he had said those words to Guinevère. He had not forgotten that day, nor did a day go by where he did not regret his words. He had sent a couple of letters to her, apologies and pleas to come home. Yet she had not responded. They had been delivered and those who'd done so stated that she had no reply for him. That was when he knew he lost her. That his lack in judgment for that one day had cost him the person he loved above all others.

And tonight, he felt it. After the kingdom had been taken over by Morgana and the Saxons . . . Arthur had lost all faith. It was only partially restored by pulling the sword from the stone that Merlin had shown him, but he still had his fears and doubts, about everything. He no longer was sure if he trusted his judgment and decisions, for they had only caused harm to not only himself, but the kingdom and people . . . and the latter was far more important than the former. Again and again he kept failing them. Again and again he kept turning his family and loved ones against him. First Morgana, then he had left Guinevère, and now Agravaine betrayed him. Loneliness was not something that could be cured by another, and the pressure to find someone was great. With the visiting royals, Olaf returned with his daughter, Lady Vivian. She was still . . . as she had been. Yet this time, Olaf seemed less reluctant to allow them together. Perhaps it was Arthur's position as king and the strength of Camelot that made him consider the match.

But Arthur couldn't. Just as he was finding it difficult to come to terms with Nemeth and their suggestion of a marriage with the Princess Mithian. Yet none of these matches were ones he wanted. And he knew he would never want another. Tonight, he wanted to just isolate himself from everyone, and go through his uncle's belongings. It had taken him long enough to step inside the room, closing the door behind him. He just stood near the door for over half an hour before he could bring himself to start sifting through his things. His mother's brother allied himself with someone who had no relation to Ygraine. Someone who despised Arthur and all that the true Pendragon name stood for. Why? How? Arthur had known Agravaine since he was a child. And yet he would want him dead. It was a devastating thought. . . just as devastating as the thought of how much Morgana truly hated him. Arthur began to slowly go through Agravaine's things so that he could clear this room and never have to look at it again.

During his search he came across a box. Intrigued, Arthur opened it and the top held a folded piece of paper that Arthur recognized his handwriting on. More so, he recognized the name written on it: Guinevère Arthur just stared at it for a moment, knowing what it was but opened it anyway. It was one of the letters he had written to Guinevère. And underneath it, was another. And then another. These were letters that he had entrusted to his uncle and which his uncle assured him would reach Guinevère. It was the same letters that had come back with the response that Guinevère had no response. Yet here they were, in Arthur's hand. Had he not been distracted by what was in the rest of the box, he would have dwelled on it more. But instead, he found another stack of letters, not in his hand writing. They had Arthur's name on them and were written by Guinevère.

Arthur,
There is a matter of extreme urgency that I need to speak with you. Please, I am in Longstead. Can you come here? I fear I cannot travel right now.
~ Guinevère.

Arthur,
I have not seen nor heard a reply from you. Please, I must speak with you. I cannot come to you, and what must be said cannot go into a letter.
~ Guinevère.

Arthur,
I have still gotten no reply from you. I am carrying your child. Please, Can you come?
~ Guinevère.

Arthur,
I have given birth to your son. He's beautiful. Please Arthur. Come see him, even if you do not wish to see me. I promise not to make a scene.
~ Guinevère.

I write and tell you that I give you a son, and your only reply is that you will come for him when he is of age? That is not like you Arthur, please. I beg you to change your mind! Come see your son. I named him our name. Please. I am actually begging you. Please.

He read the first, feeling a rush of fear go through them as she spoke of something urgent she needed to speak with him about. She was in Longstead? His uncle had told him that she was leaving Camelot. And . . . and he knew his uncle was a traitor. What else had he lied about? How much had he lied about? As Arthur read through the letters, it wasn't until he read the third one that he suddenly felt his entire body numb, and then weaken. To the point that he could no longer stand. He staggered to the side, not taking his eyes off the letter as he leaned against a table to brace himself up. His eyes repeatedly went over the words: I am carrying your child. His child. Their child. She was . . . she had . . . He just kept reading, her next two and the entire idea of having a child that he never knew about causing tears to fill his eyes. No. This wasn't right. His uncle wouldn't . . . he had . . .kept this from him.

Arthur suddenly found it very difficult to breathe. He felt winded; the realization of all of this far too difficult to bare as he just stared at the paper, the ink smudging by a circle of water falling onto the paper; a tear from his eye because . . . he was a father. He was a father and he never knew of it. Because Guinevère was begging him to do something he wanted more than anything else. Her. A child. A son. Amaren. Their child. She had given birth to Amaren. Arthur was unsure as to how long he had just been standing there for before he closed the box and immediately ran out of the room. He didn't care about the late hour, he rushed to the stable, not even bothering to wait for the stable boy. He readied his own horse, throwing the saddle on and rushing out of the gates, the guards seeming surprised about the king's sudden departure. But Arthur cared not. He didn't care about the visiting royals, he didn't care about Vivian or the tension with Nemeth; he didn't care about finding out what else his uncle has hidden from him. He needed to get to Guinevère, and his son.

Arthur had rode all night without stopping once. Longestead was half a day's ride and he did not intend to stop until he got there. It was the next morning when he saw it in a distance and he felt his heart beat heavier in his chest with what the village contained: the woman he loved, and his son. Staring at the village in the distance, Arthur heard a stick crack and his head jerked to the side. He quietly dismounted and quickly tied the reigns of his horse to a branch before carefully removing his sword from its sheath. He then quietly stepped toward where he head the sound, holding his sword out in case it was a threat or enemy. It did not take long for him to discover where that sound was coming from. For it was her. And seeing her, made Arthur freeze. He didn't know what emotion he was feeling. He hadn't been able to define a single emotion ever since reading the letters. And seeing her . . . he tried to open his mouth to speak but no sound came out. If she moved any closer she would be able to see him, and he didn't know how to greet her. How did one greet the woman they loved after two years; greet the mother of the child that you never knew you had.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère's life had not turned out anything like she assumed it was. The daughter of a blacksmith, whom was lucky enough to get a job as the former kind' ward should never had see and done some of the things she had seen and done over her life time. Many of which was give birth to the king's son.

She had thought then, that it was love. When she was honest with herself, she knew it was still love on her part. They had been happy together, built hope together, and planned a life together. Yet then one night, seemingly out of no where, Arthur had come to her. Told her that she was inappropriate. That he could not be with a servant. It had shocked her, and broken her heart. Guinevère had stayed for a few weeks in Camelot but then went to visit one of her friends in Longstead. Mary. She had thought it would help her heal, and perhaps even find a way to change his mind for she could not bring herself to loose him.

Before she could return, she discovered she carried Arthur's child, and the morning illness that came with the blessing of a child left her too ill to travel for the first few months. She had tried letters, at first thinking they never reached him, until the darkest day came. They day a letter arrived and in a very un-like Arthur manner he told her that when his son was of age he would come for him. That if she needed coin, she should write to him and his uncle would see to it.

Not asking for updates. Not asking anything about his son! Just that if she 'required coin' she should write. He was trying to be like his father when he left her, and as far as she could tell from this letter: He was doing it.

Life did not end with him gone, but nor were the days whole. She could laugh and play with her son, but she felt as if that was the only thing holding her from turning into Uther as well. Only Arthur was becoming the cold iron strong king, and she feared Amaren kept her from being the broken man she had nursed for the year before his death.

Today she was picking apples so she could bake a pie for her son's two years on this earth. The day was two from now, and she wanted everything perfect. Lifting the heavy basket full of apples she began the walk back to the village. One of the farmer's dogs had followed her out here, and was romping around. When be broke the stick he was playing with, one of the ends flew into the bush that Guinevère was near and hundreds of the little white moths or perhaps butterflies even for there were blue on their wings took flight, and caused her to drop her basket, the apples spilling everywhere.

She laughed slightly before putting her hands on her hips. "Shoo now! Your causing trouble!" She teased, before bending to pick up the apples. THAT was the moment it happened. THE moment that changed her whole day from a bright one filled with excitement for her son to one of fear. Arthur was standing there. She saw him now. He had said that when his son came of age, he would come.

She stood up slowly, and with out thinking she through the apple at him. Then another. Then picked up her basket, and started to walk away. No! He could not do this to her! She would not allow him to just show up and take her son.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur stared at her, and just stared and . . . noticed her chuck an apple at him. He looked down at it as it landed in front of his feet. Looking back up at her, she hurled another apple at him. He didn't know how she was going to react to her seeing him . . . and it was clear she was angry. Understandably so. He just hoped she gave him a chance to explain himself. After throwing two apples at him, she turned and hurriedly walked away. That when Arthur got his senses back enough to react. Putting his sword back in its sheath he rushed toward her, his hand going to her arm to stop her. "Wait," he said softly, his voice slightly catching from the emotion there.

He slowly turned her so that she was looking at him, his eyes locking onto hers. He hadn't seen her for so long, and this was not how he wanted their reunion to be. He felt so overwhelmed in this moment, just gazing at her, his fingers wrapping around her arm to keep her from running from him -- something that he never thought he needed to do. Once again, losing concept of the time he was staring at her, he suddenly had a strong realization. Amaren. It was the only thing that broke his gaze from her, as his eyes looked around, wondering if their son was somewhere near. For the only thing his heart longed for as much as seeing Guinevère . . . it was seeing their son.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère felt his hand on her arm, and when he turned her so she had to face him the basket she was carrying dropped and fell to the ground, once again the apples spilling everywhere. She no longer cared. For a moment she looked up into his face, anger and fear there in her features. Looking up at him she tried to read the expression on his face but she could not.

Then he looked away and around them, looking for something. She pulled hard at her arm in his hand, but Arthur was and always had been stronger then she. So she stopped trying, and reached up to smack his cheek with her hand, as tears began to fall down her own. She knew why he was here, and she would not just give him her son! Was that who he was looking for? He was so ready to see finally see his son!? "Release me!" She demanded! She didn't want him touching her! She didn't want him so close! She could smell him . . . feel his warmth that she used to crave and now it only felt a reminder of what was inappropriate.

[Arthur Pendragon]

As he had been looking around he felt a hot sting on his cheek, feeling the burn of it. His face remained at the side, the unfamiliar feeling of her hand striking it having slightly startled him. As did her words, demanding him to release her. Another tone so unfamiliar yet, he could understand her anger. Though knew not what to say in this moment. He slowly turned his head, though his eyes fell to the ground. He was ashamed. Ashamed that her last memory of him had been that night. Ashamed that he had not realized his uncle's treachery. So oblivious to it, that it had cost him a son and the affection of the woman he loved. Could he explain himself? Was there any justification he could offer? Would she believe him, or was all trust lost between them.

Eventually, his eyes slowly raised to look at her once more, slightly moist but not from the slap. From . . . everything else. "Please," he said in a voice lower than a whisper. So low that he wasn't even sure he had said it out loud. Amaren. Was he here? Would she ever let him see their son? His grip on her arm loosened, unable to keep it firmly around her for the emotions he felt were burdening him too greatly. He had suppressed them these past couple years, knowing that it was the safest thing to do. And now, they were slowly unleashing . . . in front of her.

[Guinevère]

"Please," Arthur asked her in a tone that she had not heard in years. She pulled her arm free when she felt him loosen his grip. Taking a few steps backwards she looked into his, seeing THAT look on it. It was the look that she knew and . . . . and lo--loved. The one that said he was hurting--and she did not love that part--but it wasn't of a cold king. It was of a man who felt rather then did has he thought his father would have done.

Yet she it did not change this moment. For she wasn't even sure if that what she saw on his face. She doubted in herself that much as well, for she did not trust herself when it came to him and her feelings. She had thought they were in love! Happy! And he had left her. She had not even known he had been having doubts. He had not told her, he'd just let her! She had known then that someone put that idea in his head, but Arthur followed it. For years. He'd taken it to heart.

[Arthur Pendragon]

She took advantage of his loosened grip and pulled free, as well as stepping away from him. He hated seeing the anger on her, and hated what had happened between them . . . what his uncle had kept from him. He had taken from him something that Arthur could never regain: time with his son. He had deprived him of being there when his son was born and . . . who knows how old his son was. Who knew how long Agravaine had kept this from him. And he had kept her from him.

His anger toward the man intensified but right now in Guinevère's presence, it was not anger he was feeling. So many other emotions, but not anger. There were many things he needed to say to her, but he also knew that if he didn't partially explain himself, then she would not give him a chance to. She was still here, but he didn't know how long it would be before she would run again. "I . . . I didn't know." He hoped she would believe him, though would do anything to convince her.

[Guinevère]

Arthur told her--or tired to--that he didn't know. Guinevère watched him for a moment, trying to decide on what he was speaking of. Did not know what? What he gave up? What he was missing? He did not know what? She wanted to ask, for he looked very upset and she almost hated how that gave her pause. She hated how the open emotion in his face and eyes made her want to offer comfort even after all this time.

She looked down for a moment and saw her basket there. Moving she bent down so her knees rested on the ground and began picking the up. She cared not for the apples right now, but if she did not physically to something with herself then she feared what she might do. "Why have you come, Arthur?" She asked, her voice loosing some of that cold hate that she tried to cling too, but nor was it near the soft tone she used to speak to him with. No matter what he said, it changed nothing. He had still left her because of her rank in this world after claiming to believe in equality. He still had not claimed his son, nor even cared to ask if he was well.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur subconsciously held his breath, as if awaiting more rejection for him to explain himself. Would she ask for more of an explanation? Would she want to know more? She did neither. She just bent down to pick up her fallen apples. Not wanting to tower over her, he took a couple steps toward her and crouched down in front of her as she asked to know why he had come. He picked up an apple though just held it in his hand, looking down at it. Her voice had lost some of that demand to it. But he knew that his words explained nothing. He remained silent for several moments after. Why had he come. Because of her, and it caused his heart to ache for her not to know that she was reason enough for him to come.

Yet how could he blame her when none of his letters had gone to her, and none of hers had come to him. "To see you," he answered softly, holding out the apple to her, his eyes finally meeting hers. "To see . . . " Their baby. Their son. Amaren. "Is he . . . where is he?" He asked in a low voice, so very desperate to see him, and even more desperate to earn her forgiveness for the last words he spoke to her, not even knowing they were the last words for the letters conveyed what was truly in his heart . . . for what was in his heart had not been what he said to her the night before he rode to war against Caerleon.

[Guinevère]

"To see you," Arthur told her after bending down and holding out an apple to her. "Is he . . . where is he?" His son. He was not here for her, but for his son. What did he not know? If he was here for his son--for she could not believe he was here for her, as he had been the one to leave her--then what had he not known about his son?

Looking at the apple for a moment, Guinevère stood up. "I have enough." She did not need anything from him! The letter from him rung in her mind, that if she needed coin she should write! She needed no coin nor an apple from him. What she had needed back then was a father to her son, and a friend at the very least to support her emotionally though the traits of being a new mother. "He's not here." She told him. "He's with a friend for an few hours while I came here to pick apple . . . . for his birthday in two days." That date Arthur ignored last year. "Why now?!" She demanded, "You said 'of age' and two is not of age! You cannot come here to take him I wont allow it!"

[Arthur Pendragon]

He stood up as she did, claiming that she had enough apples, which really meant that she would not accept anything from him. And just made him all the more aware as to how much damage was done. She went on to explain that Amaren wasn't here and . . . that it was his birthday in two days. How old was he turning? Was he a year old then . . . two? So old. And he had not seen him for a single day of his life. Arthur would be a stranger to his own son. Trying to absorb everything she then went on to explain things that only confused him further. Of age? When did he say that? He hadn't even known he had a son. How did ---- Agravaine. No. He wouldn't have dared. And soon enough that doubt was cleared from his mind for he knew Agravaine was capable of anything.

"I said . . . what?" He asked, genuinely confused as to what she was talking about. If Agravaine put words in Arthur's mouth, forging his name and a letter from him . . . then who knows what was put in that letter. "Guinevère I . . . I would never wish to take him from you." He wanted her to know that; that despite everything, he would never wish to separate her from her son. For Arthur may have been the one who helped bring Amaren into existence, but he was unworthy to claim the title of father, as he had been absent all of Amaren's life thus far. "How . . . old is he turning?" Either answer would break his heart, though one more than the other. For if it was more than a year . . . then Arthur would only be all the more aware of how much he missed in his son's life.

[Guinevère]

"I said . . . what?" He asked her, and Guinevère wondered how he could so easily forget someone he'd written to her. That was when she started noticing that something did not feel right with this. She didn't know what it was, but there was something that just seemed off. How did one forget such a cold threat? "Guinevère I . . . I would never wish to take him from you." That was no what he said in the letter. He had said . . . he had said that he would come for him when he was of age! She had almost left that day because of it. Fear of loosing her child.

But she had not. Why was still a mystery to her. "How . . . old is he turning?" He did not know his own son's age? Surely he could count from when he last received the letter. When he last saw her. Their son, conceived just days or a week before he left her. "Two." She answered not even sure why.

"What are you really doing here, Arthur?" She asked him again, for if he was not here to take his son she needed to know why. "And do not say to see me." They both knew that he had not come to her for two years for a reason, so surely something had to have forced his hand or he'd just happened by here, or . . . or . . . or some other equally bad idea that she could not think up right now while he was so near to her--too close! But so near. "If not to take him, then why now?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

"Two." Arthur closed his eyes when he heard this and took a deep breath. How could his family be so . . . untrustworthy. His father had lied about Morgana for their entire life, Morgana turned against her father and brother, Agravaine turned against him . . . and now, Arthur had unintentionally shunned his son, and the woman that he had wanted to one day marry. If he didn't know any better, he would think his family was cursed. He had wanted a family so much and yet it was his very family that destroyed it from within. Trying to compose himself, taking a few deep breathes he opened his eyes again, refusing to cry in front of her, though he could not mask all the pain. He had never been good at hiding his emotions from Guinevère, for she knew him too well. He only opened his eyes when she asked him a question about what he was doing here . . . what he was really doing here. And told him not say it was to see her, but he would not lie.

There were two reasons he had come: to see her and to see their son. But it seemed that was not the answer she wanted, so instead, he repeated his earlier words. "I didn't know," he said softly, trying so hard to control the shakiness in his voice. Meeting her eyes they were wide with desperation, with the need for her to believe him. That he was not a man who would neglect his family like this. That what he said to her that night had not been what was in his heart, but rather the pressures of everything just falling on him at once . . . and yes, he had reacted poorly. "I swear to you Guinevère, I didn't know about him." About Amaren. He would have come the same day he received her first letter had he known. He would have begged her to come home, as he had in his letters. He would never have not come but that is how Agravaine made it looked, and that was the kind of man that she now understandably believed Arthur to be.

[Guinevère]

"I didn't know," He didn't know? "I swear to you Guinevère, I didn't know about him." About his son? Guinevère stared at him for a moment shocked and . . . conflicted. On one hand, if it was true then it explained why she had so much trouble believing he's gone so far from who he had once been. Guinevère had assumed he was trying to be his father and by not coming here he was just going it another way.

On the other hand, he had written her a letter. "I wrote you letters." She reminded him, her tone holding that conflict with the anger, "You even replied to one of them." This was not border lands! Londstead was a village not a city, but it was still a larger one. Should it keep growing it could be called a city in a few years. Letters were conceited reliable from here to the main city.

Shifting her heavy basket to better her grip she tried to sort out her mind from her heart. Arthur had broken the later once before and she was afraid he would do it again.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"I wrote you letters." If only he had seen them sooner -- somehow -- then so much time would not have been wasted. Yet he ha not. And no matter how much he wished he could, he couldn't turn back time. She spoke of how he had replied to one . . . which only confirmed his assumption that Agravaine had forged it. That he had sent something harsh in return, especially if Guinevère was acting this way toward him. Not that him being absent from her or their son's life wasn't a legitimate enough reason to be mad at him. "I never received them," he said in a low voice. "Nor did I . . . write one back." He hoped it didn't sound like he was just making up excuses, and prayed that she knew him well enough to be able to realize that. "Had I known Guinevère, I would have come immediately." He knew that these were just words; that his actions had proved otherwise. But right now, it was all he had.

"Agravaine . . . " He didn't even know how to describe it. Did she know that his uncle was a traitor? Surely news of such a thing would have spread to Lognestead, as the Saxons -- or mainly Morgana -- had taken over the royal palace. And, he hadn't been here to protect Guinevère, or their son. Two years. He was two years old, and Arthur could not even say what he looked like. He hadn't been here when he was brought into this world, or when he made his first sound; when he took his first step -- if he was walking -- or what his favorite pass time was. He didn't know what made him cry, and what calmed him down. He knew nothing of his son, apart from his name. And he wondered . . . if Guinevère would ever trust him enough to give the opportunity to get to know his son. To Arthur, it wasn't even about the importance of the kingdom and the fact that he was an heir. For if Guinevère did not wish that life for him, then who was he to dispute it? All he asked for, was the chance to see his son.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère waited for him to explain, and as he did she noticed it seemed hard for him to even speak of these things. "Agravaine . . . " He ended with and she wondered what else his uncle had done. Guinevère had heard of how the man had sided with Morgana rather then his flesh and blood. She had been shocked but also afraid. If it was the trader then why had he not told Morgana about Amaren? Surely Morgana would have sought out a Pendragon child for fear of a threat on the kingdom she thought was her's.

Or had his Uncle not been able to kill a child, so instead made sure no one knew? Elyan did not even know, for Guinevère had not wished to harm her brother's feelings toward and standing in his home. Elyan had found brothers and a life that he could be happy in. She had not wished to remove that from him.

She needed to think. What Arthur was telling her changed so much. Changed how she saw the last few years when it came to his son and his behavior toward him. She knew now however, that he had not come for her. He'd come to see his son, for if it was her he was looking for then he could have just sought her out.

Guinevère wasn't sure what to say, or think. She watched him for a long moment before she looked down at her basket, trying to sort out her feelings from her clear thinking. She knew however that she owed it to her son to hear Arthur out and at least try to discover the truth. "My home is this way," She began, "You can come in so we can speak." It was a bit of a walk, and she knew she would have to wait for him to get his horse so she didn't start walking just yet.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Guinevère seemed to deliberating, deciding what to do and how to proceed. Once again, Arthur felt himself holding his breath, as if his life depended on her response. Which in a way, it did. After several moments of silence, she spoke . . . telling him that her house was near and that they could talk there. Arthur felt a wave of relief wash over him, for he knew he would have a chance to explain things and not be so overwhelmed with emotions. Though, he wasn't sure if it was possible not to be. He was seeing her after so long, and in all these years . . . he still loved her. More than anything. The kingdom had been cold and lonely without her warm and caring presence. Every moment of every day, he missed her. He wondered if she would believe him if he told her that, and most likely would eventually find out. For now however, they would go to her house where they would have more privacy.

"Thank you," he breathed, his tone filled with genuine gratitude. He went to get his horse and quickly untied the reigns, leading him over to where Guinevère stood, waiting for her. He did not however mount, for he wasn't sure how comfortable she would be riding with him. He moved to stand alongside her, eying the basket of apples she carried as he extended his hand, placing it on the handle -- making sure not to touch her just in case she was not ready for that. He wished he could just pull her in his arms and tell him how foolish and ridiculous his words that night had been. He'd realized it too late, and by the time he'd returned from his almost war, before he had a chance to speak to her . . . she had left. And thanks to Agravaine, Arthur hadn't the slightest clue where. "Here, let me take this for you," he said softly, once again unsure if she would let him, but felt the need to offer anyway.

[Guinevère]

"Thank you," Arthur said and she watched while he ran to get his horse. Guinevère exhaled and bit her lip for a moment, fighting the emotional tears this might bring. When he returned she was looking away, having turned to look toward the city rather then him to take the moment and clear her mind. "Here, let me take this for you," He offered reaching for the basket. "It's fine." She told him, not moving her grip.

Heavy while it maybe, Guinevère could not bare his kindness while he had broken her heart. She only hoped she was doing the right thing--for Amaren--by letting Arthur in to their lives. She had not believed he would be so cold to his son even if it wasn't appropriate, and she was praying that her heart was indeed right.

Walking forward so he had to let her basket go. Guinevère waited until she heard him walking near her before she spoke. "Your uncle wrote that letter?"

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur did not ask to take the basket again. They were already at odds and he wasn't going to start a frivolous argument about carrying her basket. He just lowered his hand as she walked on . . . clearly wanting more distance from him. Her next question broke the silence. "Your uncle wrote that letter?" While it was not written by Arthur's hand, it was still Arthur's fault. He had trusted Agravaine so much, and had massively misjudged him . . . which seemed to be becoming a pattern with him. "He did," Arthur confirmed. He couldn't even say what was in the letter, for he only knew what she had told him . . . that he threatened to come and take their son when Amaren was of age. A horrible thread indeed.

"I searched his room and found a box filled with letters from you. As well . . . as ones I had sent for you." His eyes went to her face as he said this, wondering if she would believe him. He wanted her to know that she'd been on his mind . . . that he hadn't just forgotten about her or dismissed her. That even with pressure from council to marry -- especially during these dangerous times of war -- Arthur could not imagine his life with another woman. He wished he could go back to that night and take back what he said. He had stated that he was his own man and made his own decisions . . . but that had no been him. He was not a man who would give her hope for so many years and then wake up one day and tell her they could not be together. Just as he wasn't a man who killed a man in cold blood. He could only blame Agravaine to a certain extent, for it was Arthur's naivety that had caused him to be so easily manipulated . . . just as it had been with Morgana.