Recent Posts

Her words only made the guilt rise in him, though he was glad that she accepted the food. He wished she had not been there as long as she had. He wanted to apologize for everything. It was his fault she had been taken. He should have gone with her to her father's grave. But not only in that sense. Morgana was his enemy, and she was constantly finding ways to get to him. Guinevère had been a target of that; she had been used as bait. But right now, he didn't want to beg for her forgiveness. He knew what she would say. That it was not his fault. And that was the last thing he wanted to hear from her right now. He tried to smile when she said that, but it was failing. He was so happy to have her home, but that fear of what happened during her captivity worried him too much.

Instead of saying anything in response to her words, he instead took her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze. He remained in that position for several moments before releasing her hand so that he could prepare another spoonful of stew, moving it to her lips. "Elyan wanted so desperately to see you. He will come tomorrow, after you have had a good night's rest," Arthur explained, not wanting her to feel alone in any way. For her brother would be here if he could. And he didn't doubt that the others would wish to see her as well. But tonight, it was just the two of them.

Somehow, they had managed to get out the castle alive. Arthur had no idea what game Morgana was playing at. All he could conclude from this, was that they had been extremely fortunate to get in and out -- and most importantly, with Guinevère among them. They had to venture back through the woods however Merlin seemed to have some idea as to where they were going, as he did before. While the need to get there was not as urgent as coming, it was still an emergency. Guinevère was not well, and they had little food and water. Not nearly enough to restore her health. It was not just her physical health that Arthur was concerned about, but her emotional and mental one as well. She had been extremely quiet on the journey back, and seemed to be keeping a distance from most others. It made him all the more grateful that she allowed him to hold her at night. But her sleep was far from peaceful.

He didn't ask what happened in the Dark Tower, but it was effecting her so much that he wished he could make all her pain fade away . . . somehow. But for now, all he could do was hold her and let her crying, desperately hoping for a way to make it all go away for her. It seemed like ages before they were finally home, and he immediately called for Gaius, who was already waiting and ready. None of them were permitted in his and Guinevère's chambers, except for Merlin who was assisting Gaius. It felt like they had been waiting for hours, and both he and the men were silent. A couple went to quickly inform the council of what was happening, but the wait for Gaius to come to them was filled with silence. Each was lost in their own thoughts of concern for her. So when the silent hall suddenly filled with the pushing of a door, everyone moved toward it.

Gaius explained that there was no life threatening injury, and went on to describe reasons for her weakness. She had clearly been through some trauma but Arthur would not ask Gaius if she made mention of what had happened there. Not yet. Nor would he ask Guinevère. He would just make sure she recovered. It took Arthur a few moments to realize Gaius had stopped speaking and was looking to him for approval. "Thank you Gaius," Arthur said sincerely, though his mind was distracted. "I'll keep you informed Elyan," he assured the knight. It was best that she was not surrounded by too many people so that she could get her rest. Arthur trusted Gaius so he would comply with his recommendation. When the knights went on their way, Arthur entered his chambers, motioning for Merlin to leave, though he seemed to already understand.

When Gaius and Merlin were gone, the door closed behind them, Arthur looked at Guinevère lying on their bed. He had come so close to losing her, and she had endured far more than she ever should have. The past few days, the fear had been unbearable and while some of it had eased, it was replaced with pain for what she was still suffering. He moved toward the bed, pulling a chair so that he was sitting next to her. "Guinevère," he said softly, glancing at the bowl filled with stew and the pitcher of water next to it. There was so much he wanted to say to her, yet he would not burden her or force answers from her. She would tell him when she was ready, and tonight was not a good time. "Will you eat something?" He asked softly, reaching for the bowl of stew, ready to help her. She looked so weak . . . and it only made him angry beyond words at Morgana for what she did to his wife.

Hearing her speak was both reassuring and not . . . for her voice sounded hoarse and week. He knew it should be no surprise, for she was being held here as a prisoner. Morgana was keeping her captive so he doubted the woman showed Guinevère any kindness. But she was alive. That was what Arthur focused on right now. That his greatest fear had not come true; that he had not lost her forever. She may be concerned for him, but his concern was solely on her. And the men that came with him all felt the same. They had come for Guinevère. For their queen, friend and sister. And not a single one of them were going to leave here without her. Arthur better prepared himself this time, holding his sword up in a defensive stance as he waited for the magic sword to come at him.

And it did. It was as if he was fighting an invisible opponent. There was no body controlling it. It just cut through the air with each deadly swing, and Arthur managed to block each attack. But he was a man, and the sword conjured by magic could easily do this until he tired. He needed some sort of strategy. Trying not to take his eyes too long off of the weapon, he quickly glanced around the room, seeing a window. He began to control the direction of the fight, slowly moving toward the window and when the opportunity finally came, he used all his strength to swing the sword outside, and then quickly close and lock the window. Surely not even the sword could burst through that!

Not waiting for an instant, he spun around to see Guinevère, and hurried toward her. While doing so, he unclasped his cape, and when she was in front of him, draped it around her. He put his hand on her cheek, slightly alarmed by how cold it was. How cold all her skin was. Now seeing her more clear . . . she looked worn. Exhausted. She looked . . . as a prisoner did. Yet he couldn't take his eyes off of her, as the relief began to finally sink in, and all he could do now, was pull her in his arms, holding her close to his chest -- though he knew that he was probably only making her colder with the metal of his chain mail. But that concern was not strong enough to stop. He lowered his head, his lips resting on the top of her head as he just breathed her in. Finally, he had her back.

(EH why not do this for fun !! )

• Chai actually means tea in several languages, so when people say 'chai tea' it really means 'tea tea!' (I always find that amusing !!)
  
  
• I still can't get over that Arwen kiss (Gwen kissing Artuhr's temple) from Saturday's episode and I keep thinking about it whenever I come on the site and my inner Arwen just explodes!!
  
  
• I need to drink some water but am too lazy to get up!
  
  
• How I have over 100 graphic requests to do and me in my insane self, loves every second of it!
  
  
• I have to rake leaves tomorrow and I hate yardwork!
  
  
  

She held the bread to his lips and knew that there was only so long he could deny her request to eat. Still not feeling hungry, but wanting to ease her concern, he took the piece of bread between his lips and ate it. Thankfully, she gave him something more welcome to help distract him as she shifted comfortably into his lap. This used to be a position that he would always encourage her in, as it had taken a bit of getting used to for her. But now . . . it was not something they even thought twice about. He casually put his arm around her waist from behind, keeping her close to him as she told him that he had not smiled for hours . . . that he had been extremely reflective. And that he shouldn't be doubt himself. He wanted to salvage the evening with her by not talking about the Disir or anything of the like . . . but could not pretend to have full peace of mind.

"There seems to be only one cause to smile these days," he said as he looked at her, making the meaning in his words fairly clear with his gaze. Her. In all the darkness that seemed to always surround their lives, she was the one light. "I'm sorry. I have been poor company this evening," he said, not about to deny that he hadn't been a very good husband. With everything they had just talked about, he was far more distracted than he wanted to be. "I do not mean to burden you with such troubles. But can not say I regret being able to talk to you about them." He wanted her to know that he appreciated all she said to him, even if he did a poor job of expressing that.

Her words meant a great deal to him . . . because he knew she believed them. He had believed them -- to some extent. But now, he wasn't so sure. He didn't know what kind of king he was if such harsh judgment was passed against him. And he could not ignore the intense feelings that the Disir's words had summoned. Nor the significance of the object he was given. "The Disir don't seem to think so," he said in a slightly defeated voice. No longer playing with the item in his hand, he just stared straight ahead of him, unsure what to do right now. He was so very grateful for Guinevère's support, and it was moments like these that he wondered how he had survived without her. He may not have gained the solution, but never did he feel alone in his troubles.

He hated that he burdened her as well . . . but it was important to have the support of your wife; as she always had his. They were united, strong . . . in love. The latter being what gave them that strength. He knew he should not be talking about this anymore. He should just let it be . . . despite that nagging voice in his head. His concern lay not only with what they said, but with Mordred who's life was being drained from him each passing moment. Why should others have to pay the price for him? He wished there was a way to save everyone . . . and to make everyone happy. That, he knew was absolutely impossible.

He knew her words were true . . . and would have said similar ones, had his instinct and this feeling he had in his heart not be telling him otherwise. "It was more. It was in his eyes Guinevère." He was trying to explain what was troubling him, though it was difficult. Not because he wasn't used to it -- as they had been married for three years and together for even longer. But it was just hard to form words, to explain why it was that he couldn't let this go. "There was no hatred there. There was something else." Some sort of emotion that . . . no. He knew exactly what it looked like. Though he had never seen such an emotion in anyone's eyes. Least of all a man who was mortally wounded. He had no anger, no bitterness, no rage . . . it was another emotion all together.

"Pity almost," he finished, finding that that word was the closest when it came to describing what he say in the eyes of the dying man. All he cared about was getting the object to Arthur. "Why would a sorcerer pity a king?" He asked rhetorically, for he knew Guinevère didn't have the answer. No one did. Except for the Disir. Should he try to petition them to save Mordred? Should he return, this time heeding Merlin's warning about respecting the sacred ground? He had to do something. He couldn't just let Mordred die. He couldn't let someone else sacrifice their life for him. He . . . couldn't lose someone else he cared about.

Arthur couldn't focus on anything apart from what was in his hand. Or well, what it symbolized. He had tried so hard to bring justice and fairness to Camelot. To treat everyone equally. Yet those who judged him . . . constantly told him of his failure. First, it was his father. Arthur had taken his words to heart, only to realize that he did not want to be the king his father was. But now, the Disir told him of his failure as a fair king. What if they were right? Was he really so oblivious? In all that he was trying to do . . . was he in truth, failing? How could so many think so? Surely, there had to be some truth to them. Arthur had hunted the sorcerer that had killed his friend, yet it seemed Arthur was the one who was pitied . . . not the dying sorcerer. It didn't make sense. What he did know, was that he should not be so dismissive of their words.

But what could he do? What should he do? It was moments like these that he felt so lost. And as if she had read his thoughts, Guinevère entered their chambers. Her close proximity and words broke him out of his daze as he looked at her and at the plate, then back at her. "Thank you," he said sincerely, though food was the last thing on his mind. He hadn't been hungry there and he had no appetite now. "That's kind," he added. He knew she didn't have to do these sort of things for him, and would never take it for granted. He feared that he had been poor company for her at dinner, as he was right now. Yet if there was one person he never had to pretend around . . . never have to suppress his true feelings and thoughts, it was his wife.

Guinevère apologized, offering condolence, and Arthur knew that now, more than ever he was completely undeserving of it. He had allowed this to happen. He had kept this from her. And yet, here she was offering comfort to him. It was one of the many reasons he loved her so very much . . . her selflessness, compassion and strength never failed to amaze him. Even still, after years of knowing her and years after their wedding. "No," he said in a low whisper. "He does not love me more than the kingdom." He had knocked Arthur out and . . . who knows what he would have tried to do then. Arthur wasn't sure how he felt about anything anymore. "He tried to kill you Guinevère." He had attacked her, and left her in a room to burn. He could feel tears threatening to fall, and tried to hold him back. The pain of knowing his father would do such a thing, when he knew that his son loved her . . . it was heartbreaking. "He knows how much I love you and he . . . " Attempted to end her life.

Arthur closed his eyes, wondering how his blood relatives had turned out this way. Morgana, Agravaine, and now his father. How could they all be so dismissive of everything they had been through together. Of the years they grew up, and protected one another. His family was now Guinevère, the knights and of course Merlin. For they were clearly more family than his blood one had ever been. Opening his eyes, he looked at her. "I have never felt more loved, than when I am with you," he told her, in response to her last words . . . and especially now. His father may have died for him, and Arthur would be eternally grateful and guilty for that . . . but recent actions had opened his eyes to so much. Uther's words and attacks . . . how could Arthur say he felt loved by him? "And that is all I need," he finished. Her. Just her, because there was no one else that could even compare. "I'm so sorry Guinevère," he added, placing his hand on her cheek, not even wanting to imagine his life without her . . . and he had nearly created such a life.