Not Letting Go Again [Arwen]

[Guinevère]

She was tired, dirty, and her wrist were as numb as her ankles. Guinevère wished she could reach her hands up to wipe the dirt on her cheeks off, but knew that if she tried her kidnappers would only tie her hands tighter, and she also feared they might end up behind her. Right now they were before her, to allow balance while they rode and ran quickly away. After the whole day of trying to keep up with their relentless pace,they had pushed her down against this tree, and began looking for food. Spending time running and time rising, would keep her knights guessing where she really was.

Tired, hungry, and afraid . . . it was a hefty physical pressure on her already tired body. She did not sleep well, even when she was tucked in her own bed. His bed. Their bed. Guinevère had nightmares, or worse--she would awaken from a dream of him and roll over . . . only to come face to face with the nothingness that filled her free hours. It made her push herself harder to attend to the kingdom; the only thing he had left her. It was his kingdom, and she would not see fall!

Normally she was strong enough, or did not let herself think enough, to block out the reminders of him. They empty halls, the empty chair at the table, or the cold place in their bed. Now however, tired, hungry, far from home, and so very alone; she had nothing to keep her defenses in place. Nothing to stop his memory from coming to her. Arthur. He had once made her feel so very safe; so very untouchable. That feeling had left when he died, and only came to grow in these moments. They would kill her soon, to make a point. Their king or general would want to do it--and that was only reason she was alive. Soon she would be with her husband, if there was indeed life after death. Either way, she knew it would be over soon.

[Arthur Pendragon]

The journey back to the city felt long and it was trying. Arthur was of course grateful for Merlin's company, relieved that it was his friend he saw when first entering . . . or perhaps re-entering this world. Along with Merlin's presence, it was Guinevère's as well that Arthur longed to see. Perhaps that awaited reunion is what made the journey feel so long. Amidst it, Merlin had updated Arthur with the situation of the kingdom, and the dangers it faced. It filled Arthur with guilt. Guilt for leaving Guinevère to deal with all this. Not even an heir to help fill the loneliness. Arthur had hoped that if nothing else, she would find herself with child so that she would have a blood remaining family. Even their family of heart had grown smaller, for it was brought to Arthur's knowledge that Gwaine did not survive. That Morgana had murdered him before seeking Arthur out.

He needed to get back to Guinevère. He needed to help her, for never did he doubt she was anything but a strong queen . . . however the threat of a two front war and enemies all around, was one that no single person should have to deal with alone. And while she technically was not alone, Arthur would still feel so much better, being at his rightful place by her side. For they ruled together, and now, could return to that dynamic. Though he was eager, they had to tread carefully, avoiding the patrols that seemed to be far more frequent than usual. Arthur sensed that something was wrong, however after knowing that it was Lot as well as the Saxons that threatened their lands, it made sense that there were so many surveying the land and ensure there were no impostors or those who posed to be a danger lurking about. And with that in mind, Arthur knew he had to keep his return a secret, just for now. Just until he reunited with Guinevère for she needed to be the next who knew of his return.

By the time he arrived back in the city it was late. Knights were returning from what he assumed was a patrol, and while looking at the castle, determining the best way to go to his and Guinevère's chambers, he overheard the men talking. Not just any men . . . Leon. Rushing down the stairs with Percival leading the patrol that had entered. "Any sign of her?" Leon asked, clear worry in his voice. Arthur froze for a moment, all other thoughts fleeing his mind as he focused solely on the words exchanged between the men. "We followed the tracks, but they split into three directions. We had to divide our men and could only afford to go into two." How many men were they following? From the sounds of it, a small army . . . yet not large enough to arouse suspicion when crossing Camelot's borders, for whoever they were . . . they did not sound like a friend of the kingdoms. "I came back to regroup. Once we gather more men, we'll ride out immediately." Arthur was still waiting for it; waiting to hear they were speaking of who he feared. Waiting for that confirmation. "We cannot afford to waste a moment. We must find the queen."

And there it was. Arthur felt himself freeze with the fear of discovering his wife had been kidnapped. Without a second thought he looked around and fortunately found what he needed for the moment. He stole borrowed a cloak that was lying out on the ground. Now normally, he would be rather reluctant to take a dirty cloak belonging to someone else but right now, desperate times called for desperate measures, and he didn't have time to sneak into the castle and then sneak back out. He pulled the cloak over him, making sure to conceal his face with the hood, and his weapon with the fabric that now shrouded him. He proceeded to quietly enter the stables, taking advantage of the stable boy tending to the horses that had just arrived. Merlin helped Arthur ready his horse, putting the saddle on and such. Urging the warlock to stay here and guard the castle, Arthur would go and bring home the queen.

Charging through the gates, he heard voices attempting to stop him, but he did not stop. Perhaps Merlin helped him with not being followed, but Arthur lacked the time to find out just what he did. He was grateful for it, because when he looked back, no one was behind him. He rode without stopping, following the tracks and when it came to the divide, quickly determined which direction was the one with the least amount of tracks, for that would be the one that the knights did not follow. It would be the one that were set up as traps if they returned empty handed. Arthur was unsure for how long he had been riding. He stopped only to give his horse rest, but sleep eluded him. He knew she was alive, he felt that she was alive. But he feared to think the conditions he was currently under, and what they may have done to her. What plans they had for her. Hearing in the near distance the sounds of camp, and the smoke from the fire, Arthur slowed his horse to a halt and dismounted.

He tied the reigns to a near by tree, one that was behind a thicker bush for concealment, and put his cloak over the saddle. He cautiously made his way toward it, seeing a few men keeping guard. They were thinly spread out, so two or three stationed in each direction. Their first mistake. Arthur crouched behind a tree, taking a few rocks and throwing them one way. Two of the men followed the sound, moving in different directions. As one came closer to him, he quickly grabbed him, making sure there was no sound while doing so. He then took the man's uniform, pulling the vest and outer pieces over his own armor so that he matched his appearance. He took the fabric that the man used to cover the lower portion of his face, and tied it around his own. It was dark enough that his unfamiliar eyes would not be properly seen. Emerging from behind the tree, he gave a small nod and walked right past the man standing alone. He now was in the camp, and his eyes searched the vicinity for Guinevère. It did not take long to find her, for she was near a tree, her hands bound.

Arthur felt a surge of anger for what they had done to her, but knowing that claiming vengeance was not priority. He wanted to get her safely away from here . . . far away from here. There were not too many men around, and some were sleeping, while others conversing among themselves. So no one paid attention when one dressed as their own approached her. Guinevère's eyes were closed as Arthur walked closer, his heart beating faster for while he had been in darkness for these past three years, it felt like an eternity since he'd last seen her. He didn't know how to explain his return, and the pressure was on for him to do so now. He may fool the other men, but he could not fool his wife; she knew him too well. He crouched on the ground in front of her, just watching her, wanting to wipe the soot off her cheek, but really only needing a reason to caress her skin. But he couldn't alarm her. He subtly turned his head to make sure no one was looking, before pulling down the fabric over the lower half of his face, and taking a deep breath. "Guinevère."

[Guinevère]

Guinevère could not hear the footsteps approaching, for she had become to withdraw a little into herself as the on sought of emotions began to over take her. The feeling of being so very alone, and seeing their plan work as they took her more and more away from Camelot was making her feel more afraid.

When that voice spoke, she wondered how far she had let her mind go. That strong voice had always made her feel safer, stronger and more alive then any other voice out there. Even now, when she knew that it was impossible for her to be hearing it, it worked. She felt that glow of calm settle into her chest. At first she dared not look up toward the voice, knowing it would turn into another voice all together. The face would never be his. How many times had that proven true? How many times did she hear it, and rush to turn around, or look over, or even once, to her embarrassment she had dropped everything and ran to the window; thinking for one painfully foolish moment that he was there.

But he never was.

Finally she pulled her eyes to his face and her heart skipped a painful beat, as a few tears rolled down her cheeks. A soft smile pulled at her lips, and she looked . . . softly relived. As if she was not surprised to see him. "That was sooner then expected." She whispered softly, knowing the truth now. She was dying, and he had come to take her to the afterlife.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur watched with great anticipation until she finally met his gaze. The expression behind her eyes was not what he had expected. There was no alarm or confusion. Just . . . a peace. A serenity almost. And instead of her being confused, he grew slightly confused by it, as well as by her words that followed. A wave of perplexity crossed his features for a brief moment. Seeing the tears, hearing the calm tone in which she spoke . . . he needed to convince her that he was real. That they had to get out of here and return home. Unable to resist the urge, he raised his hand to her cheek, using his thumb to brush away the tears that fell. He wished they had more time; that their reunion could be more intimate, where he could properly explain things to her. But time was of the essence. For at any moment, one of the men could interrupt them.

"Guinevère," he said again in low and soft voice. "There is a great deal to explain. But right now, we need to leave. We need to go back home. And, I need you to trust me." Hearing someone walking from behind, he quickly lowered his hand from her cheek, and kept his head facing her. The man was just casually walking by and they remained uninterrupted. "Please," he added, a soft pleading in his voice. He didn't know how to prove it was really him in this short and extremely limited time. The only thing he could think to do was slightly shift back his cloak to reveal the hilt of his sword. Not the one he had taken from the guard, but the defining one that he had pulled out of the stone. The one that was unmistakable. "Trust me," he said, pleading once more with her. So that she would leave somewhat willingly with him. He knew it was a lot to ask in this moment, but all he could do was desperately hope that she would take the risk of going with him despite the impossibility of his presence . . . as oppose to staying here with this vile group of men.

[Guinevère]

He was speaking again, and Guinevère only half followed the words. They needed to leave this place, go on to where they belonged. Their new home. She wondered about her father, and brother. Gwaine. . . . her mother! She could embrace her mother again. In their new home, with her husband and whole family.

"Please," He whispered to her, as a man walked behind him, seemingly not taking notice of the long dead king a few feet from him. Another sign that he was truly gone from this world. And she to follow. "I trust you, Arthur. I will follow wherever you lead." As long as they were together. He had his sword, the blade that had never been found after his death for it had been put where no one could use it again. The one that killed Morgana, and had the power to save kingdoms when wheedled by a just and wonderful king.

Lifting her hands she brushed her tears away, and then smiled again at him. She was sorry that she and lost her friends, but she had gained more in her death. Soon they would join her too, and while she hated the though, she knew she could embrace them again.

[Arthur Pendragon]

"I trust you, Arthur. I will follow wherever you lead." It was clear in Guinevère's tone and the way she was looking at him that she wasn't fully comprehending everything . . . or was she? It was almost as if she was in some sort of daze. But if she was willing to go with him right now, then he was most certainly going to seize the moment. There would be a later time to explain. He covered the lower half of his face once more and gently put his hand over Guinevère's bound ones to help her rise to her feet. "The prisoner wishes to wash." He kept his voice low and tried to slightly roughen it . . . but even still, he would keep his words as minimal as possible. A couple other men rose to their feet, a gleam in their eyes and Arthur understood why. Revolting scum. He took a deep breath to keep himself calm and level headed, putting his hand around Guinevère's arm, almost possessively. If others took notice, their vile minds would lead to a reason for that . . . whatever kept them away from her.

He then began to lead them to where he had kept his horse. Fortunately, only a couple of men had gone with him, and overcoming two was manageable. "Where are you goin'? The river is the other way." Arthur didn't answer. He just silently kept walking forward and without having to look, he could hear them draw their weapons. "Oye!" One of them yelled out but before they could do or say anything else, Arthur spun around and pulled his own weapon. Not the magical sword but the one that had belonged to the guard who's uniform he had also stolen. As he predicted, both men were easy to take care of, and once they had both fallen, he quickly turned back to Guinevère and cut the ropes that bound her hands. Gripping the sword in one hand, he took hold of one of hers in the other, and began to hurry to where the horse was. Luckily, it was not far at all. They just needed to get there before anyone noticed what had happened.

[Guinevère]

He spoke again, but not to her. Confusion came over her at first, as he stood and spoke to the men behind him. To them? She pulled at the rope in his hands, not sure if she should go with him or not. Apparently she was not dying enough that Arthur had come to her, but she had gone mad! She was seeing him here, when she knew he was dead.

She walked with him, having no choice but to follow, as he and two others took her to the river. No. She knew what happens there. Guinevère pulled again, but he held firm. The men claimed the river was the other way, and man she had assumed was Arthur pulled a sword, she gasped and fell back. They fell with ease, as if it was really Arthur.

When the man she had assumed to be her husband came back too her, she tried to step away, but he cut her hands free of the rope. "Please," She whispered, bending her shoulders inwards, and wrapping her hands around her middle. He lead her away, and she wondered why. What game there were playing now. At the horse, she waited for him to busy his hands in getting them ready, then grabbed one of the swords at his side, while pushing him toward the ground, hoping he fell under the horse.

Guinevère ran. And Ran. Morgana had played this game with her before, trapping her into fear and giving her hope. Making her trust falusly. Ducking behind a tree, she lifted the sword and tried to silence her breathing, but she failed. She had never been as strong as Arthur. Never able to hold in her emotions like he could. When she thought she heard nothing, she began to try to run more.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Reality seemed to set in for her, because as soon as they reached the horse, she grabbed his weapon, pushed him down and made a run for it. He didn't have the opportunity to say or explain anything. All he could think about was that the men could catch up to her and . . . do who knows what. He dared not even think it. He scrambled to his feet and quickly mounted the horse. He followed the direction in which she ran, but soon lost sight of her. He knew it wasn't because she had outrun him . . . but because she was hiding. He remained silent, not wanting to call for her in case the men were nearby. He didn't seem to have to wait for long because soon enough, she emerged from her hiding place and continued to run. He steered his horse in her direction and grew closer and closer to her.

Instead of dismounting, or blocking her, or trying to stop and explain things to her . . . as he came up to her from behind, he leaned over toward her, bending down near her while still seated on his horse and maintaining a steady speed and with one arm, scooped her up and positioned her in front of him.He kept one arm firmly around her waist to hold her in place, and with her smaller height, his vision was not blocked. He then quickened the speed of the horse, urging it to go as fast as it could, so that they could far away from here. "It's alright," he whispered near her ear. She didn't believe it was him, and trying to tell her now would not do any good, so he could only reassure her of one thing. "I'm not going to hurt you." He wasn't sure if she would believe that either, and all he could do was speak with a soft assurance in his voice. Besides, with how he was holding her right now, it wasn't as if he was giving her much of a choice other than to come with him.

[Guinevère]

She could hear the horse approaching, but assumed she would gain ground when the rider dismounted. However, he did not. One moment she was running, trying not to trip over her gown, and the next moment she was being lifted! She wanted to scream but her voice got caught in her body. He held her too him, and she could not get away. Though she did not try. A fall from a running horse could end her escape attempt quickly.

"I have heard such lies before!" She told him, her voice finding strength once more, and she sounded more like the queen of a kingdom rather then the fearful servant girl. The shock of seeing their newest plan was awaking her from her emotional breakdown. "The knights of Camelot will find you. You cannot hide from them." Not from Leon and Percival. "And there is another who will come for me. One you will learn to fear." Merlin. He was not one to wish for others to fear him, but if you were someone who did evil this, then he would not allow it.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur had to hold back a smile. While there was nothing remotely amusing about the situation, her strength had returned, as was apparent in her defiant words. Her strength was one of the many reasons he loved and admired her. He also knew exactly who she was referring to. The idea of Merlin being this incredibly powerful sorcerer was still difficult for Arthur to comprehend. After all, it was not as if he had much time to grow accustomed to the idea. He knew he would adjust to it though. For Merlin was at the very least a friend, a brother of heart . . . for both of them. "Merlin," he saw in a low voice, not needing to speak too loud for her back was pressed against his chest and his lips not far from her ear. "You have nothing to fear Guinevère. Not from me." Again, he knew that his words would be difficult to find comfort in, but he still couldn't really explain everything while they were riding.

He wasn't sure how long they had been traveling for, but it was the rumble of thunder that had made him realize that they would need to stop for the night. Plus, she needed to rest. She had been through such an ordeal and while he wasn't sure if she would lower her guard enough around him to get a proper sleep . . . it would at least give them the opportunity to talk. There was a small cave up ahead that would provide them with some shelter, and thankfully, the rain would wash away the tracks that they left. They were not far from the city so he was not too worry about being found before they reached the safety of their home. Slowing down his horse, he brought it to a half and looked around before dismounting. He stood on the side of the horse and held out his arms, in preparation to help her down. "We can rest for a little while here. It will be safe," he assured her. But again, knew that his words could be meaningless to her.

[Guinevère]

The on coming storm made him seek shelter, and Guinevère waited stiffly--not responding to anything he said--until he dismounted. She sat there for a moment looking at his hand that he held up to her. She took in her fill of his face, knowing it was not her husband but also knowing that it was still his face. She would take the memories with her still.

Slowly she moved her hand to rest on the seat, refusing to get off. "You and yours made me afraid, more then I have been for years. Then your offer me kindness, to earn my reliance and trust. I have been fooled this way once, and I will not be this game's victim again." Kicking the horse in to action, she held on as it jolted forward, letting her escape since he was foolish enough to dismount first. However, Guinevère only made it a half dozen feet before lightening fill the sky, and the horse reared up. With nothing to hold onto, and her feet not in their proper place, Guinevère began to fall backwards.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur's heart filled with remorse when he heard her speak of how she had been fooled before. His mind went instantly to Morgana, and all the torture she had forced Guinevère to endure. If nothing else, he had died in peace, knowing that Morgana would never be a threat to Guinevère or the kingdom ever again. But before he had time to response, she urged the horse forward and took off. He froze in shock for a moment, wondering if he should let her go -- for if she continued that way she would be heading toward the city. But . . . no. He couldn't. He could not just send her off, assuming that the others would not find her. So he rushed after her, but his speed quickened when he saw in the distance that the horse was rearing up, and Guinevère was falling back.

He couldn't make it to her in time to catch her fall, but he quickly fell to his knees beside her. "Guinevère," he said in a voice filled with concern. He gently placed his hand behind her head so that it was not resting on the hard ground. "Are you alright?" Perhaps a stupid question. She had been kidnapped from her home, fallen off a horse, and in the company of a man whom she believed long since dead. He didn't wait for her answer. She was in no condition to travel further without some rest and food. Who knows if her captors even fed her. He gently lifted her into his arms and proceeded to carry her over to the cave.

The horse was well trained enough to not run off, too far, but Arthur would worry about making sure of that later. Once Guinevère was settled. He took her over to the cave, gently setting her down and then took off his vest which he bunched up as a pillow and placed it behind her. "I'll be right back." He meant that as words of comfort, yet at the moment they could certainly sound like a threat for she still not believe it was really him. He quickly tied the reigns to a tree, a large one so that the horse was sheltered from the rain, and then grabbed the cloak he had draped around the saddle. He then rushed back to the cave, having kept an eye on it to make sure she didn't run off again. "This will keep you warm," he told her, covering her with the cloak he had taken from the city.

[Guinevère]

Guinevère hit the ground, and the air left it. She did not feel his hand upon her, nor his voice spoken with such concern that it would have touched her heart. Instead she struggled to breath and remain with the world of the living. When she could see clearly again, and her breathing had returned to her, she was in a cave, and covered with a cloak that Arthur would never wear. A Sign that it was not he.

Pushing it off her, she sat up and touched her head gingerly, before pushing around to lean on the wall instead. Guinevère would take no kindness from him, for she knew it would break her heart. Looking for him, she found there near her, and thanks to the dulling ache in her head and backside she had not seen him a moment ago. "I have not fallen in years." She mumbled to herself, surprised that once again she had fallen while trying to escape. Morgana's magic had pulled her off the first time, now it was her own fault.

Forcing her mind to the present she dropped her hand and looked at the stranger. Oddly it was not fear she felt. Or perhaps there was fear, but the anger from the hurt was stronger. How dare they do this to her, strike at her in such a blow as using her husband. Guinevère would not ask what wrong she had given him, for Arthur had often asked that of the people who tried to kill him. She knew that some people just wanted to watch the world burn. To own it, rather then rule it.

[Arthur Pendragon]

Arthur wanted to urge her to lie back down, but he was just relieved that she was not trying to make another run for it. She spoke of how she had not fallen in years, and it only made him think of when her life had been endangered before. Well, the instances that he was alive for. And how every single time . . . it had been because of him. It was his enemy that attacked her, an enemy of the crown. While he never for a moment regretted being with her, he wished he could have brought her into a life that would shelter her from all surrounding danger, rather than one where she would be the target.

She would never let him feel the guilt for this and would constantly assure him otherwise . . . and while her words were always ones of comfort, he would forever carry that guilt with him. "I'm sorry I was not there to catch you." This time, the last time, all the times. His words held deeper meaning than just referring to now where she had fallen from the horse. In general, he should have been with her. This never should have happened. "You should keep the cloak around you Guinevère. The night will be cold." And he longed for nothing more than to hold her for the entirety of it to give her that extra warmth. But he knew it was far too early for that. That they had a long way to go before she would allow him to touch her. And it was fully understandable. Though that did not lessen his desire to do so.

[Guinevère]

Her name. He said her name like Arthur did. He apologized for not catching her and Guinevère sent him a wondering look before looking toward the opening of the cave, as if waiting for the knights to show up any moment. Then he spoke of her being cold. "All my nights are cold." She told him in a heated, almost self pitting tone. Without her husband there to warm her, she was cold. Inside. Emotionally.

"Your good, who ever you are." She hated that he was. "You must have known him personally to have everything down the way he does things." Her name, the caring for her comfort. The way he looked at her. His manner of moving closer to her. "I do not know why you are doing this, or what wrong you think has been done to you; and I will not ask. Camelot stands for love, and what is just and fair. Just because you think someone wronged you, be it Uther or some imagined slight from Arthur--what your doing now is wrong."

Her voice trembled, as she almost cried but still that air of authority was there. "And you will not win. I will not harm come to this kingdom, I will not fail--" Him. Arthur. She would not fail him. "I have not seen your true face, you can leave now. Stop this spell, and go about your way. But if you do not . . . . " Her tone became harder, less of tremble from a moment ago. "Then I will have you executed."

[Arthur Pendragon]

"All my nights are cold." These words broke his heart and filled him with a kind of unimaginable pain. To hear her speak of a life where they weren't together. He could not even begin to imagine one. Guinevère was everything to him. Yet he had been the fortunate one. He had been the one sleeping for years, where she had endured the loss. Had he been forced to live a life without her . . . he would not have survived. All the more proof that she was so much stronger than he was. She always had been. He had not words to offer, for ones of promise toward a future where her nights need not be cold anymore was far too premature. First, he needed to convince her that it was really him, and her next words gave him an opening to do that. How to explain it . . . that he did not know. Her words revealed that still unwavering faith she held in him. And it touched his heart.

While he never doubted her faith in him . . . to hear it now . . . both honored him and saddened him. The latter, for he had abandoned her in this world. He had left her with the pressures of ruling a kingdom, when she should never have had to do it alone. He lowered the cloth that covered part of his face, having no intention of leaving. "If I cannot be with you Guinevère, then I am dead already." Then he would rather return to the darkness that he awoke from, for what was a life without her? "You have never failed me. You could never do such a thing. I can not explain how I am here, only that I am. I can not imagine what these past three years have been like for you." Years when he should have been by her side. "All I can do is urge you to see me for who I am. Arthur. Your husband. A man who loves you more than anything." Not a king. Not a knight. Not a warrior. But Arthur. Just the man.

[Guinevère]

He began speaking and she whispered a "Do not," but it was almost unheard as he continued on. Explaining what he said was in his heart. The words were all the right ones. The voice, the tone, the love behind his eyes--everything. It was Arthur. But she knew it was not true! If this man was Arthur then--NO! She would not even think it! He was NOT Arthur. He was a lair.

And she would prove it. "Anyone can speak pretty words, and my husband made no attempt to hide what he felt for me." Everyone knew their marriage had been a love match. "You think because you know how pull at my heart, that I would believe you?" Turning to look at him she continued, "I can prove you are not him. For while everyone knows our story by now, there are many things we told no one. When you fail to know them, then will stop this game? No more pretending? I rather you kill me honestly, then pretend this lie and let me live for years."

[Arthur Pendragon]

His heart continued to ache at her words; at the torture she believed him to be putting her through. But at the same time, seeing her strength and the guard she kept up . . . he was proud of her. He was always proud of her. "If I speak a single word in answer with untruth, then I swear to you I will leave and you will never see me again." The reason he could made such a deal was because he knew he would not answer anything with lies. He remembered everything about them. While he may forget the date of their anniversary, he remembered that gilliflowers were her favorite. While he might forget to pick up his clothes and leave less of a mess for Merlin -- upon her request -- he remembered that on their first year anniversary, she had recreated their wedding night.

He knew her. He knew them. He would not falter in answering a single question, because he lived for her . . . and yet had died for the kingdom. He had wanted to make mention of this place, of a certain memory it held: their first night together, all those years ago. But he dare not speak of something so intimate. Not yet. Not when she still believed him to be an impostor. He needed to convince her first. That was the most important thing right now. While waiting for her questions, he pulled out his sword from the stone and set it on the ground. If she wished to take it, it was within her grasp. If she wished to see it, the light from the moon was enough to make the gold on it glisten.

[Guinevère]

He would answer her questions, and that wound prove to them both who he was and who he was not. "Everyone knows things that are public knowlage, and as a king everyone wanted to know a great deal about him. Even some of the little know secrets about him, have become common knowlage." Such as his time as Sir William. Apparently anything that happened from before her . . .time . . . with Morgana, could be subject to common knowlage. She did not know what had been told, to whom, and what information Morgana found important.

"Instead tell me something that no one would know. Something about the last months of his life." She knew what she wanted to hear. Nothing that Arthur would have told anyone. "We were going to name our son after father, but our daughter, after his nurse. What was her name?" It was a lie, their son's name would have been a name not from either family, while their daughter would carry her own mother's name.

Some people knew the names, but most did not. "Then tell me who Emrys is." No one knew about Merlin, no one but her, Gaius, and Arthur before he died.

[Arthur Pendragon]

She asked him to tell her something that no one else would no, and thankfully he did not have to think for too long as she continued with questions about the child they had longed for. It was a reminder that she had not carried one. That he had not left her with that precious gift. And how he so wished he could. The thought of a child caused the slightest smile on his lips, though it was one that held both happiness and sadness. "You asked me if I wished to name our son after my father. And I had asked you if you wished to name it after yours." He of course knew the trick in her questions, which was why he was giving a detailed response for her remembered that conversation they had about their children perfectly. "Neither of us wanted to name him after our fathers. So we decided upon Amaren." A strong, fitting name for the son of a Pendragon.

The thought made his heart ache even more. They had no child, yet maybe now, fate could bless them with one. "Anna," he said in a soft voice, keeping his gaze on her. "After your mother." Not his own, for the memory of her was too painful. Morgause had tainted it. So they had decided to honor Guinevère's mother instead. It took him a moment for her next question to register in his mind. Emrys. A name he had heard before . . . now one he knew to whom it belonged to. "Merlin," he answered in a low voice. "The druids, call him Emrys." Apparently he had many names. Arthur had even called him a few . . . idiot, buffoon, imbecile . . . none so serious as to what the druids called him. What others apparently called him. Suddenly a thought occurred to him, and his expression went from recalling the past, to slight curiosity. "You know? You know that Merlin has magic?" He both asked and stated. She had discovered it then as well.