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mostnoblelancelot · 3 years

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not the way you planned it | g & l

@gxpendragon @ladyxguinevere

The sun was edging toward the horizon when Lancelot found a place for them to make camp. Despite wanting to put as much distance between them and Camelot as he could, it didn't make sense to wait until nightfall. They'd be stumbling around in darkness, and everything would take twice as long. He hadn't noticed any sign of their pursuers in days and wondered, perhaps, if there weren't any, if Arthur's heart wasn't really in their recapture. He wasn't sure whether to feel grateful or guilty about that, and settled on some of both. It was probably going to be both for a long while.

Besides, he'd noticed Guinevere dozing on and off on her horse, and he wanted to make sure they were settled in for a decent night's sleep, if that were possible. It would be no good for her to take ill from pushing too hard. It was a calculated risk to build a fire, but he didn't want to dip too far into their food supply until they had to. They were heading north; game would get scarcer, and he couldn't set up a snare line and preserve any fresh meat until it was safe enough to stop for a time. They were more or less set for the evening, a rabbit cooking over the fire for dinner.

Guinevere had officially lost count, but she was sure it had been days. It felt like weeks or months since they’d left Camelot, but it had likely only been days. As they dragged on, her cheer waxed and waned, along with her energy. She began to doubt herself as a travel companion, though she absorbed whatever he made an effort to each.

The shadow looming over everything though, were the unanswered questions. Was Arthur trying to find her? Did he have the resources to try? Did he have the desire to try? Or did he not care, yet again, and return his attention to other and more important matters, more pressing for the safety of Camelot as a whole? In that way, he had already sacrificed her time and again. Why should this be any different?

Then her emotions would complete the loop and contemplate the idea that her husband could be dead, killed by Mordred and left without adequate protection. She had the best part of his Round Table with her, after all, so it was more than possible.

She very nearly kissed Lancelot when she dismounted from her horse, free for a few hours. But kissing him out of relief alone felt wrong for some reason. Instead, she did her best to be a helpmate, though she knew relatively little about how to hunt or kill, skin or cook. She knew they were tucked away from the main paths enough to provide some seclusion. She knew the ground was under their feet and the canopy of stars were beautifully rioting from their hiding places overhead as the sky grew darker.

There was a stream very nearby. She scrubbed herself clean as much as possible without the proper tools to do so, rinsing the clothes she’d been wearing in spite of not having a line to dry on. She found a knobby portion of tree bark to hang it out, choosing to let her undergarment air dry on her person in spite of its lack of cover. It would dry quickly and, in fact, had managed most of the task by the time she sat down beside him. She sat close enough to touch, and that was partially by design. The emotional uncertainties, the long periods of travel, the tumble of feelings for him alone… it was all catching up to her. She wanted to be close to him.

“May I ask a favor of you?” She began, glancing over at him with no small amount of trepidation. They had been intimate on prior occasions, and it was probably ridiculous of her, but she was not fully in control of her feelings. She only knew what she wanted now. “Would you be willing to lay beside me?” She bit her lip, knowing her next words reached further back into time and space than just their last few days. “I… find myself rather tired of being alone.”

Despite his own doubts, Lancelot was a steady companion. He didn't allow his emotions to interfere with what needed to be done to ensure their survival. If only he'd tried that strategy sooner, he might not have entangled her in this mess. He explained things when he could, pushing down the feeling that he was condescending to her whenever he did, but since much of their focus was on speed and stealth, there wasn't time for as many lessons as he'd like. He'd assured both of them that there would be more time for that later, and he'd teach her whatever she wished to learn. She was a quick study at anything she put her mind to. He'd never found her presence trying in the past, and he didn't now. Regardless of moods or guilt or regret, there was no other company he'd prefer.

It was difficult to tear his gaze away from her when she reappeared in her undergarment. He couldn't decide if it was rude to stare or a bigger disservice not to. She didn't deserve to be ogled like a creature behind bars, but she was nothing short of ethereal stepping out of the trees like that. He'd always found her beautiful, but there was little time for admiring her while they were hiding their indiscretions. He figured his expression was somewhere near 'gobsmacked' and made an effort to compose himself. It was difficult. Harder still not to wrap an arm around her when she sat close. The want for physical contact came easily, but little about their relationship so far was easy.

She spoke before he'd managed to find his tongue, which was a relief, and it was an easy question. "Always." He could imagine few things he wouldn't be willing to do for her, if there were any. Some of the tension ran out of him at her request, the tension of not closing that small, final gap between them. It was the permission he needed to wrap an arm around her, press a kiss against her hair. "Yes. Always," he repeated, quietly but with emphasis, in answer to her second question. There was never any question of her welcome with him, but he understood the trepidation, the vulnerability of asking, since he felt it himself. They'd shared a bed, but the rest of this was all new.

She had sensed his gaze on her more than anything else, allowing it to warm her and embolden her in spite of the chill of the water drying on her skin and from her sparse clothing. Feeling uncharacteristically self-conscious at the weight of it, she kept her head down until she’d made her tentative request. Once he embraced her willingly, breathing just a single and perfect word toward his acceptance, any reticence disappeared immediately.

Instead, she was left with something a little closer to lust, deep affection and longing mixed in. Everything she had been disallowing herself flooded her senses at once, with his lips to her hair, and it was the best kind of overwhelming.

For a moment, this warmth was familiar. Whatever it was between them burned freely and unchecked in her, his kiss the spark that lit a flame.

She pressed her mouth to his neck, the closest skin available, and recalled him by not only warmth, but also taste. She recognized that she was being terribly forward, and perhaps a little brazen, but she couldn’t stop herself.

They were free.

While it wasn’t absolute freedom, it was enough for now. She could lavish him with affection based on nothing more than feeling, and it wouldn’t be undermined by fear of discovery or reprisal. The only demand on their time was the schedule they set. While it was possible Arthur, and many others, were wounded or dead – they had escaped. When separated from the negative emotions, it was freeing and lightness and perhaps even a little joyful. She could, and did, pour all of that into each touch of her lips to his skin, until she found his mouth.

Perhaps she wasn’t ready to speak the words aloud, but she was ready to at least reveal herself in a kiss.

I love you.

He didn't have time, at the moment, to ponder on why she should feel self-conscious, but in the many long hours of travel that lay ahead of them, he would have more than enough time to mull it over. He saw her unsure of herself so rarely that he hadn't been certain that was what it was until she'd spoken. Perhaps, in trying not to overwhelm her with his own affections, he had not been clear enough in his declarations. Or, perhaps, it had little to do with his affections at all. Distance and all that had transpired since their flight from Camelot had slightly altered his perspective of their king (as, he suspected, Arthur now felt very differently about both of them). He couldn't come right out and criticize him yet, not even in his thoughts, but he knew that much of Guinevere and Arthur's marriage had not been happy. It would leave its mark as surely as anything else they had been through.

In the moment, her hesitation was gone so quickly he could almost believe he'd imagined it. The warmth and longing that took its place was both familiar and not. It had every forbidden touch and stolen kiss in it, without the fear of discovery or the regret of having to part too soon. They had time. They had no audience to play for. They were days from Camelot with no sign of pursuit. He happened to enjoy both forward and brazen from her. It had always been that way between them, quick to ignite and overwhelm his senses. Some of the guilt and regret slid from his shoulders with each brush of her lips. He'd betray anyone a thousand times to have her in his arms. They slid easily around her when her lips reached his, and he lifted her gently onto his lap to deepen the kiss.

In addition to all the the other things that were new or unusual about their current unusual situation, one thing she couldn’t remember them doing in the past is lingering. Public exchanges couldn’t be too lingering, too overly familiar though they were known to be good friends. Private exchanges had more of everything, but still couldn’t last for too long lest someone notice one or the other was missing.

This, though, wasn’t desperate or pressured. This was unhurried, pure desire, unchecked by anything else. This was something entirely new, something she hadn’t always known she’d wanted until she had it. While she wasn’t thinking of Arthur in concrete terms as she shifted in Lancelot’s lap and kissed him back with a raw hunger that couldn’t be planned, she knew she’d never felt this way before. The only shadows of it she’d had were with the man beneath her now. It didn’t matter if it were too cool or too warm, if her clothing was sparse and still damp from her bath, if they were in the woods or the ocean. She couldn’t have cared less about the elements than she did presently. She poured everything she could into their exchange, everything she needed to burn through to feel well again. Love, guilt, passion, tenderness, anger, frustration – it bled out of her as she kissed him back with increasing chaos. She needed this, for so many reasons, and she was dedicated to not naming a single one, but to giving and taking in equal measure. It felt like a consecration, a vow, something solid to hold onto and keep, and she willed him to escalate it somehow.

So much had changed since the last time he'd kissed her like this. It had never been clearer that whatever was between them had also changed. This wasn't longing glances from across a crowded room or stolen kisses behind closed doors with the threat of discovery hanging over them. It also didn't feel like a desperate attempt to escape from their current circumstances, or at least not only that. The part of him that wondered if she chose to leave with him merely because she had no other choice but to stay and die melted under the heat of that kiss. What it felt like was, finally, the freedom to choose each other. Up until now, he hadn't been totally sure of her choice.

She poured everything into it, and he gave it all back: the longing, the wondering, the waiting, the fear of losing her, his total certainty that he would always want her over everything. His hands slid beneath her garment, seeking and warming skin still chilled from the damp. It had momentarily slipped his mind that they were outside, although it might not have mattered regardless. He couldn't be counted on to hold onto his reason when it came to Guinevere, and there was plenty he could do without undressing her completely.

#chat: guinevere #gxpendragon #ladyxguinevere #not the way you planned it #verse: no turning back

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mostnoblelancelot · 3 years

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you know these lonely games that you're playing? || g & l

@gxpendragon @ladyxguinevere

Guinevere wasn’t sure how she felt, first thing in the morning. Arthur and the knights had left early, before daybreak, and she had woken with him in spite of his best intentions. They were on thin, shaky ground – but it was better, at least. They had managed to come together, to spend a few quiet moments, to say a few things.

If only so much hadn’t gone unspoken before he had to leave again. She was back to not knowing who she could count on, who she could trust, exactly who was watching. She was back to pretending everything was fine, back to being a force of some sort, a presence, and holding her head falsely high.

In spite of the early-morning departure, the halls were still mostly barren. Life hadn’t yet begun, and for most, the lack of king or knights would come as a surprise. The departure hadn’t been announced, had been hastily arranged and executed, and so few had seen them off. As for Guinevere, she hadn’t been among them despite being awake. She’d accepted Arthur’s tender kiss and softly-spoken, hesitant words of goodbye, without dressing properly or leaving their chamber. She’d only emerged fully once he was gone, her dress simple and her hair tied in a plain knot. She wanted to greet the sunrise and hope it would tell her how to act or, perhaps, what to do with herself now that she was left to her own devices again.

She was not prepared to stumble on Lancelot. It drew her up short of her goal and she gazed upon him with a puzzled look. “Sir Lancelot?” She asked doubtfully, not entirely trusting her eyes. Then again, some strange things happened in this castle and around Merlin in general, so perhaps that was the source of her skepticism. Either way, she didn’t dare approach any closer until she had verbal confirmation.

To nobody's great surprise, Lancelot was an early riser and came with a painfully cheerful attitude, but he tried not to be obnoxious about it. He'd helped the knights prepare for the journey and saw them off before the sun was up. It was strange to stay behind and watch them disappear into the distance. For as long as he'd been a knight, he'd been at Arthur's side, and perhaps that was why his king trusted him to stay at the castle. He didn't resent the new assignment in any way, but it would take some getting used to. He hardly knew what to do with himself.

Rather than wander the castle, he'd decided to head out to the stables and see if he could make himself useful there. He wasn't expecting to run into Guinevere--or anyone, really--this early in the morning, and her presence brought him up short. He recovered quickly, wiping the surprise from his face, and gave her a short bow. He respected the space she left between them and didn't attempt to close it. "My queen."

A touch of concern crept into his expression. He thought it was early for her to be up roaming around, but perhaps it wasn't. He didn't spend enough time in the castle these days to be familiar with her habits. On the surface, everything was back to normal since they'd returned, but perhaps because he knew it was there, he was sensing the strain of that pretense. "Are you well?"

Though she still didn’t know Lancelot overly well, there were little tics and mannerisms that made him identifiable. Their location was one, and his small bow and greeting were others. She had still been watching him, had picked up a few things here and there during her silent observation. That was perhaps one of the greatest things about being considered mostly irrelevant – she could observe and no one thought anything of it.

“Tired, I suppose,” she ventured, stepping slightly closer to keep their conversation private. It was honesty, though just the bare-bones of it. She wasn’t planning to out the fact the entire caravan had left, apparently without him, without understanding his role. “And surprised. I wouldn’t have expected you to be here. I wasn’t prepared for anyone, but especially not for one of the knights.”

Lancelot had been observing both her and Arthur in the interim as well, but he seemed incapable of uncovering anything new. He'd only been able to reinforce things she'd hinted at, now that he knew to look for them. Perhaps the two of them were simply more guarded than he was, as they had to be. "Quite understandable." He nodded, keeping his voice low but amiable. He echoed the motion and took a half-step closer as well. They weren't yet discussing anything particularly secretive, but the castle gossip was relentless.

He nodded, concealing his own surprise that Arthur hadn't shared his agenda with her beneath a pleasant mask. "The king requested I stay behind for your safeguarding, and perhaps for the company as well. I hope that is not unwelcome." There was little he could do about it now if it was, but he found it slightly troubling that Arthur hadn't asked her. If they were going to be spending time together, she should at least have a choice in her companions, though from what he could tell, she seemed to favor none of the knights in particular.

Guinevere stepped even closer to him as he spoke. It was now obvious to him, probably, that he and Arthur had talked more of substance than she and Arthur had. There was no way for her to cover that, and the tone of surprise was faint in his words, but it was there. Maybe she was reading too much into it, too, for his face gave away nothing.

Her internal debate was immediate and conflicting. What was Arthur’s scheme in this? Was it as Lancelot said, for safeguarding and companionship? Was it because Arthur did not trust her, for whatever reason that may have been? She frowned. She barely knew Lancelot, and most of what she knew was because of his position in her husband’s favor. That was something, at least, because he was quite likely more loyal than some in the castle. “Not unwelcome,” she confirmed with some hesitation. “But I should probably get to know you so I know if I can truly trust you.” She glanced around to confirm they were alone, but it was both impossible and most likely given the hour. Her first question seemed like a good one; it would confirm his thoughts on safety versus treachery in Camelot, as well as his thoughts on her own awareness versus paranoia. “Do you think there is some reason I should need safeguarding?”

Lancelot rarely thought poorly of his king, and he didn't now, not precisely. Arthur had more pressing matters to attend to than arranging this guardianship, but he now felt woefully unprepared to explain it to Guinevere. It hadn't truly been explained to him, and it wasn't his place to question the orders of his monarch. A few words from Arthur might have saved them both this awkwardness. "Of course. What do you wish to know?" He gave her a small but genuine smile, not wholly convinced that she was as unbothered as she claimed, but not willing to challenge her on it.

He noticed her continued glances around and guessed the reason for them. "I was going to take a walk around the grounds. Perhaps you would join me?" Though they would still be visible for much of it, it offered a little more privacy for conversation. He considered her question carefully, but Arthur had given him no indication that she was in additional danger. "No more than usually befits a queen," he answered honestly. After this encounter, he wasn't entirely sure Arthur would have told him if there was, but he saw no reason to further fuel her doubts. "Do you feel that you are in danger, my lady?"

Guinevere didn’t know what she wished to know; she simply wished to dispense with these kinds of things and get to the point she knew. She fixed him with a slightly stranded glance, caught unaware enough still to be ill at ease. She also didn’t wish to say she didn’t know what to ask, how to go about assessing his loyalty, so she stayed silent.

The offer to walk around the grounds was a welcomed one, and well-timed. It bought her a moment before she had to answer his previous question. She simply nodded and then fell into step beside him, glad they would be able to talk in relative privacy and that he seemed to have some measure of discretion and awareness. She offered him a small smile on his next question and prepared to use his own words against him. “No more danger than usually befits a queen,” she echoed. Once they were on the move and she could assess their surroundings better, she relaxed ever so slightly.

“I suppose I’d like to know what Arthur said to convince you to stay behind. Not as a matter of putting you in an awkward position, but because…” she let the words trail. The last thing she wanted to appear was unfaithful or, worse, treasonous. But she and Arthur had their issues and, once he knew of her miscarriage, those issues came in the form of an emotional wall. Whatever he felt or worried, he wasn’t sharing it with her. So she had stayed likewise silent, and nothing had been discussed or had changed before this latest departure.

The possibility of admitting as such to someone was also the possibility of relief from the tension. “Because he and I haven’t really been talking. We didn’t quarrel, but there hasn’t been much time together and, what time there has been, was mostly sleeping or silent. I don’t have any idea what he’s thinking.”

She looked as though he'd caught her off guard, and he could guess why. Knowing someone wasn't as simple as asking questions about their history, but that was something that would only come in time. "Should you think of something, you are welcome to ask," he assured her gently. He didn't talk about himself often, but he wasn't a particularly secretive person. If it set her at ease, he could think of few questions he wouldn't be comfortable answering. He was happy to be making their way outside. The castle could be stifling even when there weren't a lot of people around, and he suspected that was because they could never be sure someone wasn't watching or listening. He smiled when she echoed his words. "I'm pleased to hear it."

His expression turned thoughtful while they walked, but he waited for her to finish her sentence without interrupting. "There was no need to convince me. He asked, and I accepted. If he had reasons aside from safety and companionship, he did not share them with me." There was a note of regret in his voice that he couldn't make the king's motives more clear to her. Theoretically, the round table was a place where everyone had an equal say, but Arthur was his king. That he asked was only a courtesy. Lancelot was honor-bound to serve however he could. "I am sorry to hear that things are still strained," he added. "And sorry as well that I do not have the answers you seek. The king does not keep his counsel with me." He wasn't sure that Arthur truly showed his feelings to anyone. Perhaps Merlin, but there was something about the mage that Lancelot didn't trust.

“And I appreciate that,” Guinevere acknowledged with a smile. “I would say likewise, but I can’t entirely without knowing what questions you’d ask. I will say I am willing to answer whatever I can.”

She found herself watching him during his silence, getting to know his expressions as he thought. He wasn’t particularly difficult to be around, or to look at. She didn’t have the overarching feeling of foreboding that had come with some new-to-her people in Camelot. While she was a bit wary, that was more a force of habit than because of him or his aura and demeanor. If she was in pleasant company, however, that was where the security ended. His explanation wasn’t much of an explanation at all, even if he were polite apologetic about it. She sighed, too weary of it all to even bother with frustration.

“That is what I feared, at least in part.” She didn’t offer any more context, though. Her greatest fear, really, was that Arthur internalized everything and would succumb to emotional pressure and possibly madness in time. Only slightly less was the fear of what would happen if her husband instead trusted Merlin, who was not someone to trifle with as far as she believed. She offered him a small smile. “And do not apologize for things that are not your fault. I may find it preferable that we are on even footing that way. It makes you a bit less intimidating.” And a bit more trustworthy. “But only a bit, because I know how fervently the knights are trained for battle.”

He nodded his agreement, but he could see her dilemma. If it was difficult to think of personal things to share, it was even more difficult to imagine asking her personal things about her life. He'd always found her company pleasant, and in the coming months, he hoped they would find it easy as well. He had companions in the other knights, but she seemed to have no one. He'd like it if they could be friends in time.

Given his stature and his training, he could hardly fail to be intimidating, but it wasn't a quality he tried to project. In general, he went to great lengths to put people at ease, unless his job required otherwise. "Oh? Were you planning on challenging me in battle?" he teased, the corner of his mouth crooking in a smile. He hoped by lightening the mood she wouldn't find his presence so daunting.

The sun had risen outside but there was still a chill in the air, and mist lingered over the water. The slight tension he always felt from being in the castle left him at the sight of open ground and sky. He'd adjusted to having walls around him all the time, but he hadn't been raised that way. He would probably always feel more at home outside. He peered up at the sky where the sun was attempting to fight through the clouds. "Perhaps the rain has finally passed."

For some reason, his gentle teasing was unexpected. While even in their previous conversation, he had been sensitive and perceptive and kind, she hadn’t expected this turn. Something inside her sparked, some bit of spirit she’d been dampening here in all her uncertainty about how to act and what to project. The spark had her twisting her head toward him, smiling, even laughing a bit. Her gentle laugh matched his playful tone, all very subtle but definitely less wary than either of them had been before.

“Is that the sort of thing someone plans or discloses? I was under the impression the element of surprise tilts the odds into one’s favor.” Her eyes returned to the area in front of them. “But no, that would be stupid of me. You’re easily twice my size and probably triple my strength. I think maybe making an ally of you would be a better tactical move.”

Even with the joking and the relaxation that came with it, the further release of tension once they were outside the castle was palpable. She took a deep, clean breath, absorbing the freedom and releasing the need for show. “Good. I won’t feel guilty taking my horse and running away, in that case.” It wasn’t that the trustworthy and beautiful companion she’d been given couldn’t handle the rain, but that her own mood compelled her to stay indoors and locked away. Then again, that had its benefits, too. “And perhaps better weather will allow the others to have success and return with more haste.”

Lancelot found it unnerving how easily people warmed to him. Guinevere was the first person in a long time who hadn't. It was kind of a relief to have to earn her trust, and it was more satisfying now that they seemed to be making some progress. The soft laugh was a bit more than he'd been hoping for, and his answering smile reached his eyes. "In a fair duel, a man of honor would state his intentions and agree upon terms." Against a blackguard or in a war, they would take any advantage they could, but he didn't want to bring the mood back down now that they'd finally managed to improve it. "I make a much better ally," he agreed.

"Shall I join you, or should I look away and pretend I didn't see anything?" Riding did sound lovely. He was more fond of his horse, Concorde, than he was of most people in the castle, and an activity they both enjoyed might ease some of the awkwardness of tentative friendship. "One can hope. It is meant to be a short campaign," he offered. That could change, since their success depended on a number of factors, but he was optimistic. Given they hadn't been home long, he guessed she wished for a more timely return.

Guinevere listened to him lay out the proprieties of battle (or battle between two individuals at least), the smile still lingering on her face. Men were so ridiculous. “So assuming this is a duel, what would your intentions be? And state your terms.” And I’ll do my best to take you by surprise, she thought. While it sounded flirtatious, she largely meant it in an innocent way. She had just agreed to make him a friend rather than a foe, and he had echoed his agreement, but that did not change her course. The lighthearted conversation was extremely welcome, and she wasn’t in the mood to let it go just yet.

“By join me, I sincerely hope you don’t mean ‘get left behind in my dust’,” she challenged lightly. “Are you a rider, other than for utilitarian purposes?” She sighed, knowing she had brought up the freshly-departed soldiers. “Are you anxious to be out with them? I know how oft these trips end up being longer than planned.”

"Because you made the challenge, I would choose the method of battle and the terms," he conceded, nodding. "And since I'm almost certain I would lose a battle of words with you, I will have to think of something else," he added with a chuckle. Though she got on well with most of the knights, it was new to see her making jokes with him alone. It was a side of her he liked, even as he felt somewhat unprepared to keep up with her. He wasn't sure there was a man who was capable of it, except perhaps Arthur.

He raised his eyebrows, a smile touching his lips. "I am. Perhaps we've found our method." He was surprisingly non-contentious for a knight; he was secure in his own skills and rarely felt a need to prove himself, but a little friendly competition could be useful in forging bonds. "I am content to go or stay as my king wills it. I will not miss the long days of travel." Or the dead and dying, if the campaign went poorly. Chasing honor through fighting was a novice's pursuit.

The thought was at least a little intriguing, and there was something even better about his good humor. It was so different from conversing with Arthur, especially during their more negative turns of late. “Think on it and then let me know,” she volleyed back, still smiling faintly.

And then he did and her smile widened further.

“Well, I believe your king would be amused by this challenge in particular. He’s terrible in a horse race and I’ve beaten him one too many times to be an adequate competitor. I suspect he and the horse may be locked forever in a battle of wills because he is so stubborn.” Though it likely sounded, in words, like a criticism of Arthur, that isn’t how she meant it. She simply meant she had long been looking for the kind of companion who could do something of this sort with her. “Where shall we ride to?”

"Discipline can earn obedience, but understanding makes for a better relationship." He chuckled softly as he stepped into the stables. He was well aware of Arthur's shortcomings when it came to riding, though it was news to him that the queen had raced him often and won. He wouldn't go so far as to criticize his king, but he agreed that stubbornness was exactly the problem there. Arthur was too trapped inside in his own head to make that sort of connection, least of all with an animal. When it came to winning over human loyalties, however, few were more skilled.

"Hello, old friend," he greeted his horse, reaching out to stroke his neck. "This lady has challenged us to a race. Care to stretch your legs?" Though he'd shaped up into a fine, respectable stallion, there was something fey about the creature, like he might at any moment slip between the shadows, never to be seen again. Lancelot had watched him grow from a foal, and there was a level of trust and understanding between them that he had with few people. He glanced back at her with a smile that warmed his eyes. "To the far side of the lake?"

Guinevere nodded. “I believe you are correct, but I am only in control of myself. I cannot dictate what Arthur or anyone else should do.” She followed him into the stables. While the grounds at Camelot had ample space, there was one stable, and her horse was just a few doors down from Lancelot’s. She could hear that he was talking to his, but she could not make out the words. For herself, she was silent as she readied her horse to go out. She relied on her hands and her gentle actions to speak for her by way of greeting. With reins in hand, she led Eirlys toward freedom.

She turned her smile to Lancelot. “The far side of the lake sounds like a fair ride– and a good destination.”

"Far be it from us to dictate anything to our king," he agreed with a somber nod. Arthur wasn't unreasonable, but he was still a king, and Lancelot didn't give counsel unless it was asked for. When Concorde was saddled and ready, he led him by the reins to the stable doors.

It wasn't clear whether the horse understood him or was simply happy to be outside, but he snorted his appreciation and looked ready for the challenge. Lancelot mounted easily and ran a gentle hand down his neck, the horse stilling under his touch. He raised his head with a smile for her. "We are ready at your command, my lady."

Part of Guinevere wanted to snort, but he was so serious about it that she didn’t dare. They had not interacted sufficiently to tell her she could trust him not to discuss the impertinent or disloyal queen with Arthur. While she wasn’t either of those things, she also was not free of criticism for her husband. A lack of outlet for it all was a great part of her tension. Instead, she said nothing else on the subject, still testing where she could go with Lancelot by fits and starts alone.

Something about mounting her horse to ride cleared her head, as always. She looked at him with a mischievous smile, but she wasn’t going to do anything underhanded. After all, she wanted her victory to be clean. So she announced a countdown, and took off at the end of it as she’d intended and as Eirlys was so practiced with.

If she was being honest, she forgot about the companion and the race as soon as she’d entered it, enjoying the feeling of the wind in her face and the powerful creature she rode clearly enjoying the stretch and give of running at will. She only slowed to a stop as she reached their agreed upon destination, but her grin would not quit as she faced him.

He was quick to return the smile, a trace of surprise in his. He so rarely saw that expression on her face, especially lately. When she began the countdown, he turned his attention back to the task at hand, and they took off a fraction of a second after she did. It was a lead they never regained, but it was close enough that he wasn't troubled by the loss. The ride had cleared his head and lifted the gloom of the castle as it so often did, and didn't cast so much as a glance behind them as Concorde slowed to a walk beside the lake. Whatever problems it held, he preferred to leave them there. There was an answering smile on his face as she turned to him. "Congratulations. You could likely outrun most knights of the round table," he chuckled.

Guinevere chuckled, admittedly far more lighthearted than she had been in some time. She shook her head as she steered Eirlys into a trot next to his horse. “Maybe you are the only one who has an interest in trying.” It was an admission made without rancor. “Or perhaps you are the only one who has been allowed.”

It took some consideration, whether it was her lack of engagement and trust or their lack of interest that kept people at bay. While she would have described herself as kind, it was also true she did not trust easily. Her basic kindness was free, but anything deeper was carefully metered. She arched an eyebrow. “Perhaps I should steal Arthur’s knights for an afternoon once everyone has returned, if no one is the worse for the wear they face.”

He tilted his head, not sure what to make of that comment. He didn't recall being forbidden to ride with her and doubted that such a rule existed, but perhaps it did test the limits of decorum a little. As usual, he went with a small smile and the gracious answer. "I doubt that, my lady."

He didn't think of Guinevere as unkind either, but his initial impression of her queenly distance had dissolved into an overall sense of guardedness. She didn't give much of herself away freely, and the more he grew accustomed to castle life, the more he understood her restraint. It was wise of her to protect herself in a place where it was difficult to tell friends from enemies. His smile came more easily at her suggestion. "Perhaps you should. That would make for a lively--and humbling--afternoon." For many of them, at any rate. He chuckled to himself. It would have been a lie to say he wouldn't enjoy seeing some of them lose to her.

Guinevere tilted her head. “I think the king generally prefers to keep the knights with him, especially while the Saxons are threatening,” she pointed out, though she did it gently. One of the great divides between she and Arthur was likely her fault, for not speaking her thoughts often. That didn’t change the truth that she believed threats came from within, while Arthur was more concerned with threats from abroad. “I don’t pretend to understand his motivations for leaving you here this time. You are his most capable knight.”

Though her last statement had been more of a musing to herself, and the small smile had disappeared as she muttered it aloud, she renewed her smile and eye contact at the same time. “The real question is who you think would be humbled and who you think would be victorious. How would the knights themselves fair? I cannot admit I know you, as a group, all that well.”

"Perhaps a queen should have knights as well. The better to beat them in horse races." He returned a gentle smile. He'd said it in jest, but it wasn't the worst idea. She would have companions, warriors, and confidantes as Arthur did to protect her from threats both in and outside of Camelot. "He has many capable knights. He will not want for one." Lancelot knew he was capable, maybe even the best fighter and rider among the knights, but he wasn't so arrogant to think his presence with them would be a deciding factor. However, it may have made a difference here if it turned out he was needed.

He didn't pretend to know Arthur's motivation for leaving him either, but he didn't need to know. He trusted the king's judgment without knowing his reasoning, and if he felt that the castle was the best place for them, then it was. He considered her question against what he knew of the knights. "Gawain is an exemplary rider. He would present a challenge, but he would also be quite gracious if you won." A small smile quirked his lips. "Contrarily, Agravain sorely hates to lose and likely would."

Guinevere gave him a slow smile. She’d heard of queens who had champions, trained men who would fight for their honor if anyone were to question it, but it wasn’t something she saw the need for in her own life. The idea of sanctioned company, of a family of brothers who were kind instead of brotherly, was a nice one and it warmed her. She wondered in an abstract way if it were actually possible. “Do you think I would require more than one?” She asked, more curious than anything else what he intuited about treacherous moments within Camelot’s walls.

She chuckled as he deconstructed a small bit about the knights for her. “Then perhaps I should find a way to challenge Gawain. I must admit I’m a little wary of Agravain, though I’ve no valid reason why.”

"One may be enough within the city," he allowed, looking thoughtful. The more people in her confidence, the more likely it was to be broken, and one exceptional knight should be enough to defend her inside the walls of Camelot. Outside of it, he'd want more than that to see to her safety. "He is mainly bluster, though I would not like to challenge him with an ax."

While he started off with a contemplative air, he finished on a slightly more ominous note. Perhaps that had not been his intent, but it was her interpretation. In spite of herself, she laughed. “I appreciate the advice, but the real question is if you think I am actually a capable ax-wielder in the first place. Is that an impression I leave behind?”

He pretended to study her build for a moment, like he might assess an opponent (although he could do that far more subtly if he needed to). Then he chuckled, shaking his head. "No. They're unwieldy things that require considerable upper body strength. But if you ever wish to remedy that, I'm certain you could learn." He'd already determined that Guinevere was someone who shouldn't be underestimated. If she put her mind to something, he doubted there would be any stopping her. She and Arthur had that in common.

She felt the assessment in his gaze and had to admit, only to herself, it wasn’t an entirely unpleasant feeling. Something about his scrutiny was easier to bear, and she found herself standing a little taller as she knew he was looking, but otherwise tolerating it with silence.

“Do you think I need to learn such things? Or would I be better served to sharpen my wit and throw words like weapons?” She asked. “I’ve considered a need to wield at least a sword, perhaps, but nothing more. I’ve always thought reading people would be more of a skill worth nurturing.”

"An ax is not the weapon I would choose for you, no." He shook his head. He had no doubt she could learn it if she wanted to, but he didn't think it would be the best use of her time or talent. He debated a moment on the second half of her question, deciding how honest he wanted to be. He settled on the true answer. He wanted to establish some kind of trust between them, if not friendship. He couldn't do that if he was guarding every last piece of himself.

"If I can speak plainly, my lady, I have long thought that women should learn at the least the basics of defense. It makes little sense that those most in need of protection are least schooled in how to protect themselves." It wasn't an opinion he shared widely. No doubt, the ladies of the court would be scandalized at the suggestion that they pick up a weapon. He was trusting that Guinevere wasn't so easily offended, her sensibilities not quite so delicate.

"Both useful talents," he agreed with a small smile. "A sword could prove useful. Or a dagger, perhaps. It's more easily concealed." People would look oddly at a woman who carried a sword, if it was allowed at all, so she wouldn't be able to arm herself constantly with one.

Guinevere nodded when he asked-without-asking about speaking plainly. It was the only way she preferred he speak, and he seemed the only one who was willing. For a time, Arthur had been like-minded, but that had tapered with time and stress to the point she knew he wasn’t sharing things with her. Having Lancelot’s straightforward words was helpful, even if the subject matter was entirely different than what her husband would have offered up.

And his plainly spoken opinion, she found, was something she agreed with rather fervently. Perhaps it was because she knew no one in court and trusted only at a bare minimum, but self-defense seemed a practical skill.

“A dagger,” she mused. “I would need to learn how to get at it easily, were in concealed, but the element of surprise would be an additional tool in the situation.” Her gaze had drifted as she thought. “I know nothing of the other women in court. They seem, mostly, concerned with things I am indifferent to. But would you be willing to teach me? Are you able to do so?”

Unfortunately, speaking plainly was not a particularly useful skill in a castle, much as he might prefer it himself. The climate there was much better suited to secrecy and double-talk, and he'd made himself adept at it by necessity or learned to say nothing at all. Though he counted himself one of Arthur's closest knights, there were things he could never say to his king, and he suspected the reverse was also true.

"Quite," he agreed. Surprise would be a valuable tool at her disposable, one of the few she'd have against stronger and better trained opponents. But who would ever expect her to be carrying a weapon, much less know how to use it? "I doubt they would be of help in that matter." He smiled slightly. If any of the women of the court knew how to wield more than an embroidery needle, he would be surprised. Outside the castle might be different; he'd seen those people work hard for everything they had.

"I would be glad to. As for whether I am able..." he mused, a hint of mischief in his eyes. "I would not tell the story too widely, but I have not been specifically discouraged from it." In other words, he was willing to bend that rule if she was. He wasn't even sure it was a rule, although he was sure plenty of people would have something to say about it if they knew.

His view of the court was neither inaccurate in her experience, nor was it surprising. He was essentially confirming things she already knew – she was alone, she stood apart. It wasn’t just because she was the queen, it was also because of her attitudes, her thoughts, and her goals. As she oft did, she wondered if Arthur had wanted someone more like them and less like her. It was possible he was now disappointed with the realities of her, especially if she would be unable to bear a child.

To say she was grateful for the turn in his tone would be an understatement, and it allowed her to pull away from her own thoughts. “Then I believe we have an accord. Where is the best place to get a dagger?”

Her melancholy seemed to return when they discussed the court, and he felt a brief flare of recognition blaze inside him, quickly stifled by decorum and better sense. It was possible that Guinevere felt as out of place here as Lancelot did, if not perhaps more. He'd been trained and gifted so well by the Lady of the Lake that life among men came easily to him, but it never felt entirely natural. The trouble was that he was the only one who could see it. He constantly wondered if everyone else found him as big a fraud as he did himself.

"The armory has plenty for practice. I can find something suitable for you to keep. Or you're welcome to look for yourself." He added the last after only a slight hesitation. He didn't mind; he had more weapons than he could ever hope to use. He'd just never met a woman before Guinevere who had expressed interest in such things. Perhaps, in part, because he had never asked. "If there's nothing to your liking, there are always weapons available at market." It usually gathered in the square in Camelot once or twice a week. It wouldn't have as many options as a trade fair, but if all else failed, he knew his way to the blacksmith.

“It may be better for you to make the selection,” she conceded. While admitting weakness may not have been her fortitude, she could certainly allow for being outmatched in a skill. Lancelot had long been taught the ways of managing weaponry, of selecting the proper tool for the job. “Perhaps we could go to the market once I’m better inclined to select one for myself, if necessary, but I trust your judgment.”

She was unsure if she’d offered words of such high praise to anyone besides Arthur in the castle. It felt good to praise a good man, though – it felt like perhaps something she was doing right, no matter his reaction.

“Once the weapon is secured, where is the best place to practice?”

He nodded, conceding the wisdom of her answer. "Perhaps both then, in time. A practice weapon will be easier to learn on, but less effective in real conflict." Designed so she wouldn't slice her fingers to bits, she likely could kill someone with a blade that dull if she were very determined, but it would be messy and slow, and her attacker may need to lie still for a time. It was far from ideal.

He considered that for several moments, mulling over places that were readily available but where they would be unlikely to be disturbed. Not in the castle, then. It was too likely the noise would be overheard. "Perhaps the meadow, if you're not opposed?" It was mere minutes away by horseback, a place tucked away in the trees that he frequently visited by himself, and occasionally with others from the castle. It was known, but they would be able to hear anyone approaching.

The magic answer to her question was the meadow, and she didn’t entirely realize that until he spoke. The promise of a horseback ride to some form of combat or self-defensive training was unusually alluring, drawing a smile on her lips as he spoke. She didn’t know she’d wanted it until he said she she could have it. That was in its barest form. Coupled with her recent losses, it would also be time out in the fresh air, distracted from the things she was obsessing over.

“I’m not opposed,” she confirmed immediately. “It sounds too good to be true. How much time do you need until you would be willing to begin?” She pressed, ignoring any lingering physical need she may have for rest or recovery.

He chuckled, nearly as pleased by the prospect as she was, unusual though it was. It would give them something productive to do in the long hours while Arthur was away, and Lancelot was better when there was something to do. Idleness didn't come easily to him, and he thought their chances of forming some sort of friendship, or at least growing more comfortable with one another's company, were greatly increased by having a mutual goal.

"I'm free to begin now, if you like." He didn't know where the need for rest was eclipsed by the need for distraction. The second could be just as important when it came to recovery, but she knew her body better than he did.

#chat: guinevere #ladyxguinevere #gxpendragon #you know these lonely games that you're playing?#verse: original backstory

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mostnoblelancelot · 3 years

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there’s a siren somewhere | g & l

@gxpendragon @ladyxguinevere

tw: rape mention

Guinevere wasn’t one to keep a pulse on the comings and goings of the castle. She didn’t want to be part of the gossip in the trenches, which was especially difficult to avoid with her semi-recent role in the Queen’s service. Though Guinevere was somewhere on the younger side within the grouping of women and adults should know better, she did while they did not. They were merciless gossips and, she had a feeling, as bad as a pit of vipers if the situation called for it or they felt like being nasty. She didn’t really fit with them, but she excelled at keeping her mouth shut, so she didn’t fall out with them, either.

Somehow, though, she was always aware of Lancelot. He’d been the one who pulled her onto his horse as her village was ransacked and other, dishonorable men were trying to get at her. Without knowing her more clandestine role to the king himself, Lancelot had saved her from a terrible fate without a second thought. He’d covered her torn clothing with his own cape, and he’d then covered for her in every other sense over time in Camelot. It was not a difficult or fussy bond they shared, but it was real. Maybe because of her largely undetected place in the King’s bed, and all the complications that came along with that balancing act and secrecy, her deep friendship with Lancelot was a saving grace. She held him in the highest regard and she always sensed when he was around, when he needed something from her, and what it was he needed.

This particular sense told her he was out of sorts and would benefit from her companionship. Once the Queen was in her chamber, locked away for the night, and Guinevere was free, she managed the too-easy task of swiping a wineskin from the cellar (and hiding two more under cover of her dress, tied to her legs with thin rope) and settled herself in front of the dying fire in the knights’ designated area of the castle. Her own lodging wasn’t far from it, though she was slightly lower on the rungs of social hierarchy, and most of the knights were tending to their own social agendas at this time of night. They would have the space to themselves and be able to retreat with discretion at the end of it.

Somehow, she knew Lancelot was not among them, out gallivanting and being raucous and young, and he would sense her laying in wait. Like she knew him, he knew her. She tugged the rug as close to the fireplace as she could manage and waited, listening for his footfalls so as not to be surprised.

Lancelot rarely concerned himself with castle gossip, but perhaps he should have listened to it more closely. It might have warned him. He wasn't blind to Lady Elaine's affection for him, but he didn't realize how far she would go to win his favor. If he had, he would have kept at least an entire room between them at all times. When he was younger, he might have thought less of bedding a woman he had no intention of marrying, but he'd outgrown those habits long ago. As it was, he'd done his best to stay out of her path and not encourage her fancies. His best had not been enough.

He wasn't sure where she had acquired the magic to trick him into her bed, but he had some guesses--namely two--and they were nearly as troubling as the betrayal itself. He had no idea what either Merlin or Lady Morgana might have against him, but it was clear one of them had an agenda--or a very twisted sense of humor. Lancelot was less amused. In fact, he'd rarely been so angry. He'd never before shouted at a woman, much less threatened one, but not killing her outright had felt like a very near thing at the time. He'd left before he could harm her, but he made no promises if she approached him again.

His bloodlust had eased, but he was still seething. Sparring with a few of the other knights had done little to help, and there was no one he trusted enough with the truth of what had happened. Well, that wasn't entirely true. There was one person. Guinevere was easily his truest friend in the castle, and he knew very well that she could be trusted to keep secrets. Given the nature of Elanie's deception, he was going to find it difficult to tell her about it though. Anger and shame still pulsed through him at the memory of her face--that was not actually her face. He balled his hand into a fist and resisted the urge to punch something. Violence wasn't in his nature, and he wasn't comfortable with it now. He was rarely so out of control of his own feelings.

As if by some unspoken agreement, they'd both visited the wine cellar and made for the fire in the knights' common area, although she'd beaten him to it. He'd mistakenly thought some fresh air would clear his head, but since he couldn't clear it, he'd decided to muddy it further. He knew that she would be there even before he strode into the room. They had an uncanny sense of each others' presence and needs. After last night's events, he was fairly certain he knew why he was so aware of her, but he couldn't have said why she was equally attuned to him. He threw himself into the chair nearest her and took a long pull from the wineskin. "Keep it coming," he said gruffly.

Guinevere found herself lost to her thoughts as she waited, staring into the flickering flames that filled the common area with a gentle warmth. It was beautiful and its constant motion was one thing that could make her feel less solitary, less alone. The only thing that could pull her from the vague thoughts was a presence entering the room. She was unsurprised to see it was the person she’d been waiting for, but couldn’t glean any more information from watching him. He walked in and sat down, not quite like himself, and greeted her very briefly. But she had known he wasn’t himself already, so none of this was a surprise. She reached to her hiding place and retrieved a wineskin for herself.

“Perhaps you should just keep that one,” she said, her voice low but only vaguely amused. There was something appealing about him all the time, and moreso his rough, low voice. It sent a thrill through her she would quite likely never admit to feeling. His general demeanor, though, caused more concern than amusement and she frowned. “You seem unusually unhappy, and I fear the wine may not be enough to soothe you. How else may I be of service?”

"If that is a challenge, then I accept." He wasn't usually the kind to seek any opportunity for proving his fortitude, and that wasn't what he was doing now. It was merely a way to carry on doing what he'd already decided to do, which was to wipe this day's experience from his memory. More's the pity if it should prove to be temporary. He took another long drink and then shook the wineskin experimentally to see how much was left. It sloshed around the empty spaces inside. He was confident he could have it empty in far less time than usual. Drinking to excess wasn't one of his vices, but at present, he could see the appeal.

In spite of himself, her offer forced him to crack a smile, the trace of mischief in it signalling that he was about to take it way out of context. "My lady, I am far too sober to entertain such talk." She was one of few people, and certainly the only lady at the court, that he would have dared to be so cheeky with. It was a facet of his personality that was usually buried beneath honor and good manners. It was also a way of not answering her question directly. He still wasn't sure what to say or how much he could stand to reveal. The wine likely wouldn't help with that, but it would make him care less about how the words came out. At the moment, that didn't seem such a bad thing.

Her words had not been designed as a challenge, but his acceptance gave her some pause. He wasn’t normally a heavy drinker, which was a commonality they shared. It was generally something that made him easier to spend time with than other men. She very nearly opened her mouth to express concern, though not to request restraint, but his grin cut her off. Against her better judgment, she returned his grin with one of her own.

“If it is to be that form of assistance, not only are we too sober, but we are also too public,” she commented. She took a drink from her own wine, though not as long as his. The flavor was too strong for her to drink in a rush, and she refused to make something so wonderful leave a bitter taste behind. Life was more than capable of that feat, and wine was solace. The distinction, to her, was clear. Perhaps he didn’t feel the same, and she would not condemn him for that. Though she was quite curious what had caused his mood, that was still obvious to her in spite of his efforts to be a little tawdry and something resembling jovial, she did not press. “Perhaps I could propose a game for us to pass the time until we are not too sober for… whatever comes next.”

"Quite," he agreed, somewhat more darkly than usual. He doubted there was a non-public place in this saintsforsaken castle, but he wasn't feeling so bitter that he wished to get into that topic. Then he realized that, either way, he'd managed to lighten the mood and then promptly set it on fire. He wasn't accustomed to being unhappy. It was possible he didn't know how to do it properly. He didn't want to bring her down to his level though, so he took another, smaller, drink and tried not to brood. "By all means," he agreed, with a gesture for her to proceed.

She adjusted her position, moving a bit closer to him so they could speak in softer tones. She strongly doubted anyone would disturb, or overhear, but this particular game would require at least an effort at something resembling security. “So the game I am thinking of requires three pieces of information about you, given to me. It can be something generic or something very personal. Two of the facts must be true, and one must be a lie. If I am able to correctly determine which is the lie, then you drink. If I am not, then I drink. I take my turn doing the same, and the same rules apply.” She hoped this might loosen his tongue and his demeanor a bit, and possibly open the door to other confession. Whatever was darkening his mood, she didn’t want it to linger and fester.

The natural response was to shift closer to her as well, and he wondered briefly if the game required secrecy or if she was merely being cautious. The room was empty at this hour, but after the kind of day he'd had, he wasn't feeling especially secure about that. Clearly, things were not always what they looked like.

"Alright." He considered the things he might tell her. He wasn't a particularly secretive man, nor was he a very skilled liar. "When I was a boy, I stole roses from my Lady's garden. When I was somewhat older, I fell in love with a water nymph who did not return my affection." He smiled, pausing again to think. It was more difficult than he'd expected. "My horse, Concorde, is my closest confidante.

She toyed with the edges of the wineskin in her hand as she turned his words over in her mind, poking at them for weaknesses and twisting them into the things she knew of him to test which one felt wrong. “I cannot imagine you stealing, but I cannot imagine someone being loved by you and not returning the sentiment, either.” She turned toward him and narrowed her eyes. “And I resent the implication I am not your closest confidante. Are you sure two of these are truths?”

With a breath out and a gentle smile, she offered her answer. “I do not believe you fell into unrequited love with a water nymph.” Even though she had previously said she couldn’t imagine the sentiment not being returned, she successfully fought the urge to offer the opinion that he was naturally quite lovable, and the brief acknowledgement of what that might mean for her own feelings toward him.

He chuckled, his lips parting to answer her question before he caught himself. They were playing a game; he couldn't very well give it away by giving her more information. It was a success in one way at least, since his mind was temporarily off his troubles. When she guessed correctly, he took a long drink from his wineskin. "I've never been in love," he admitted. "But she was a lovely girl." Most of the nymphs were, if also rather flighty and moody. "I believe it is your turn." He found himself anticipating what she might say, as well as wondering how well he actually knew her. She seemed to read him effortlessly and always had, if the ease with which she'd guessed his lie was anything to go by.

When he confirmed her hesitant answer was correct, she beamed. Perhaps her reasoning had not been quite right, but that was rather beside the point. The smile faded into a moment of contemplation, one where she had no regard for what her face was doing, as she considered what to offer. Part of her thought of stating how fickle love could be, but she didn’t volunteer the topic. She couldn’t be fully sure what she felt for Arthur was love, because it wasn’t something that would ever have the chance to go the distance.

“Very well. I hope you are listening, because I intend to say this one time only.” She meant it to sound stern, but she failed miserably because she was smiling. “One: I once had the opportunity to marry a miller, but he opted out of accepting a woman who could read. Two: my favorite pet was a dog we had when I was a child. And three: if you were to kiss me behind my ear, you would find it the best place for such an act, though I have no control over the preference.”

The wine was beginning to set in. He wasn't usually one to opt for numbness, but it was a relief to take the edge off his emotions right now, even if that meant he was also loosening his tongue. If he wasn't going to share this experience with Guinevere, then there was no one left to tell. The castle was too full of gossip to risk talking about it with anyone else.

His mind had wandered briefly, but it returned at her attempt at sternness. He took another drink and set the skin aside. "You have my full attention, my lady." He couldn't help an answering smile, even though an hour ago he wouldn't have thought it possible. People were easily that close-minded, so he had no trouble believing the first. "One sounds like every miller I have ever met, and three is strangely specific." His smile widened slightly. "So I will go with two." She'd never struck him as much of an animal lover, with horses as the exception.

She watched him with something resembling concern as he took yet another drink of wine. It was so out of the ordinary for him that it doubled down on the thought she’d had that something was troubling him. It was a bit of a relief when he set the skin aside, if only because she knew he was still paying attention to what she said. When he confirmed he was with her, she believed him.

“Two is the lie. We had a dog, but the dog and I did not get along. He belonged to my brother, and was used as an aid in hunting.” The explanation was probably unnecessary, but she offered it freely because she knew, no matter the size of lie or truth about her, it was safe in his care. She took a drink from her own wine skin, but it was no more than a hearty sip. “I believe that makes it your turn – if you can find another lie to tell. This is harder than I imagined it would be.”

"Yet you get along well with horses," he observed. Maybe it was the nature of the dog's purpose, bred for utility rather than companionship, though the same could be said for horses. He personally found them companionable, but he got along well with most living things, animal or human. "I was never very skilled at lying," he admitted, taking another decidedly smaller drink. He was feeling the effects well enough already, but he needed the fortification for what he was going to say next.

"I was raised knowing I would one day be a knight in Arthur's service. I remember the faces of every man I've killed in battle." He hesitated. Perhaps his tone gave him away, but he wasn't sure he could say the next thing in the same voice. Putting words to it was far from pleasant. "The Lady Elaine once used magic to tempt me into her bed."

His observation nearly made her smile, but she reined it in at the last second by pressing her lips together. “Yes, well, horses have a quiet and noble intelligence. Dogs have noxious odors, loud noises, and are sometimes a bit too boisterous. I’ve also seen them get distracted licking themselves.”

In spite of the (truthful) joking, she was fully focused when he started listing his three items for the next round. As he finished, she knew what she wanted to state for the lie, and it wasn’t the last item he offered. Maybe it was his hesitation or his general demeanor. She frowned. “I do not believe you knew you would be in Arthur’s service,” she said softly. “But I do believe you would be extremely upset by Lady Elaine lying to get you into bed. Given your current affect, I think that statement is true.”

"One could say the same for people, if they were determined to be uncharitable." He said it at least half in jest, though his face didn't reflect that. That wasn't usually his perspective, but he wasn't feeling particularly charitable at the moment. He often found the castle too boisterous.

"Last night, to be precise," he confirmed with a small nod, chasing the confession with another drink. "I did know, from the time I was a child. Perhaps not the specifics, but the Lady raised me for it." He didn't usually have trouble with eye contact, but he stared at the floor, the pattern in the rug a little mesmerizing in his current state. "I couldn't see all their faces for their armor, but I remember the first. I remember enough."

The conversation had taken an unintendedly grim turn, but there was no way to flip any of those around into a joke. He decided a straightforward apology would be better suited, and he'd likely apologize tomorrow in more detail for saddling her with his moody company. He raised his head and made an effort to shake off his gloom. "Forgive me for the melancholy turn our game has taken. It is your turn, if you still wish to play."

There was a lot going on in their conversation all of a sudden, a lot to unpack. She watched him with open concern and affection, not flinching when he finally looked up. It didn’t feel like going back to the game would be a possibility, though he offered. She didn’t even bother taking a drink to celebrate being wrong because she was distracted, just watching him.

She shook her head. “I wanted to get at what was bothering you from a different angle than asking outright and the game has served its purpose,” she admitted. “I figured if it didn’t come up, we were at least spending time together and that will never be bad. However, now I know. All I can say is I am here for you as you have been for me so often. We may continue if we wish, or you may air your grievance and I will keep your confidence. I can only hope you will feel relieved of the burden if you do.”

He didn't usually squirm under scrutiny, and he didn't now, but he was finding it suddenly uncomfortable to be the focus of her attention. As soon as he realized it bothered him, he forced himself to raise his head and meet her gaze steadily. He was a lot of things, but not a coward, and he could face her while he spoke about this. As he'd expected, it was easier now that the words were out.

He nodded his agreement about the game running its course. In hindsight, it wasn't looking very fun, but he could admire her cleverness in getting information out of him. "Thank you." He paused, considering those options. He didn't wish to play anymore, but he wasn't sure he wanted to linger on the subject either. "There is little else to say. I was fool enough to fall for her trickery." He rubbed a hand over his jaw, his mind turning back over the previous night. He wasn't sure he wanted to share the exact details of that deception, for an entirely different reason.

There was a good, long internal debate. Neither of them were really the wordiest of people, and the closer they held something to them, the more true those patterns held. While he said there was little else to say, she didn’t entirely believe him. Instead, she believed there was little else he wanted to say. Should she pry? Should she let it come out at a natural pace? Or would he squander this moment, for whatever reason, and then be duty-bound to keep a secret that would eat at him? Even a drink yielded no answers for Guinevere.

“You are, as far as I know you, no fool,” she finally said. It was a bare statement where she could have elaborated indefinitely. “You have every right to be angry at her elaborate scheme, but please don’t fall prey to doubting yourself based on someone else’s actions. You are a good man, and you deserve kind treatment. The only fault here is hers for taking advantage of you.” She took another drink, unprepared for what he might say, but ultimately she had to make the offer. “I do not know if it will help you to unburden yourself, but if that is what you want to try, I am here to listen.”

How strange it was for the situation to be reversed. Usually, it was Lancelot who was trying to coax the words from her without pressuring her overmuch. Of the two, he was more likely to be forthcoming, although it was a somewhat deceptive trait. He made friends easily by sharing just enough, and still kept much of himself to himself. Because the silence had stretched rather painfully, neither of them filling their natural roles, he copied her movement and took another drink. It burned pleasantly at the edges of his feelings, promising to eclipse them given enough time.

"Perhaps I am the biggest fool of all," he murmured absently. Up until the previous night, he'd allowed himself to pretend that his feelings for Guinevere were nothing more than friendly. Perhaps if he'd acknowledged them sooner, he wouldn't have been so quick to fall for Elaine's trickery. He'd wanted it to be true, and it put a chink in his armor large enough to be visible to another. He considered her words with a quiet nod. He didn't know if telling the tale would unburden him either, but now that he'd started, it seemed better to let the poison out. He wasn't the sort of person to fester in his own unhappiness.

"She used magic to show me the face of someone I love. In my willingness to believe it, I doubt I even hesitated a moment." A small, unhappy smile quirked his lips. "Whatever spell she used was gone by morning, and had I stayed, we would likely both be dead for our trouble." Lancelot in a hangman's noose, and Elaine because he could have killed her. He'd managed to kill many people as a knight without thinking himself a violent person, but the memory washing over him afresh clenched his hands into fists. It was best they did not cross paths for a while, though he'd have preferred forever.

Guinevere shook her head, protesting yet again, but she did not give the thought voice. She’d already said she didn’t think him a fool, and yet he still murmured it to himself. He was beating himself up for this and there was little to nothing she could do to ease the pain of self-inflicted wounds.

It was almost a surprise when he spoke again. She hadn’t accepted his nod for what it was, agreement, until he found words. Any easing that happened when he started speaking, though, had disappeared by the time he finished. They spent more time talking, or skirting around, her involvement with Arthur than they did talking of Lancelot’s romantic endeavors. The face of someone I love, was enough to haunt her. Was she that horrible of a friend, of a support? He loved someone and she had no idea whom it was?

And why did that bring up something uncomfortable in her chest, eventually forcing her to swallow hard in order to even consider accepting it?

The good in the situation was the vaguely threatening curl of his hands, for it gave her a distraction as she reached over without thought to slip her hand into his. Though he was a knight, a good one, and had ridden in battle, she saw no reason for him to be tensed and ready for a fight here and now. If her grasp could help him release a bit of the tension, she would gladly provide it, although it felt insufficient.

“I am glad you fled, then. I am sorry she forced you into that situation.” She pressed her lips together, wineskin slid off her lap and largely forgotten for the moment. “How can I help you? For all the help you’ve provided me, I would do anything to make this less grievous for you now.”

Current circumstances aside, Lancelot had no romantic endeavors to speak of. When he was younger, perhaps he had shown less restraint, but it had gradually become clear to him that he had no wish to marry and, if he did, the woman he cared for was already spoken for. Even if Arthur could never truly commit to her, far be it for him to come between Guinevere and her happiness. Also, he'd been denying it as hard as he could to save them all the heartache. That particular wall was in shambles, but he expected he'd be able to build it back up over time when the feelings were no longer so raw.

He was so busy wallowing that he wasn't prepared for the proximity. He startled slightly under her touch and then thought perhaps the wine had worked better than he realized because he wasn't a person who startled easily. "You are helping, my lady. I could ask for little more than drinking, conversation, and good company." He gave her hand a small squeeze in return and then pulled it away on the pretense of reaching for the wineskin. For the first time, her touch sent tiny stabs of pain and regret through him, and he was newly angry at Elaine for ruining that as well.

Guinevere wasn’t perceptive enough, tuned though she was to him in the moment, to notice when he startled. She let him pull away without complaint, but her spirits slipped a bit. She had no idea how to comfort him, or even if he would allow it. It seemed he would only tolerate so much by way of attempt. She didn’t entirely believe his words, but they were all she had.

“Perhaps…” she trailed and reached for the wineskin she’d been drinking from. For reasons she refused to examine too closely, she was about to choke on her next words. She raised the wineskin to her mouth so she could drink as soon as she finished speaking. “Would the one you love be a possibility? Perhaps if the last hands to touch you were genuine, it would lessen the anger here.”

Lancelot didn't entirely believe himself either, but there was no more he would ask from her, even in his slightly drunken state. Far from taking the edge off his emotions, the wine seemed to have only sunk him further into melancholy. He wasn't sure how much longer he could stand to impose his brooding on her presence. He could hardly stand his attitude, himself.

He was too preoccupied with his own self-pity to pick up on the subtleties of her mood. Even sober, she was one of few people who managed to conceal much from him if she wished to. "The woman I love is spoken for," he said, a trace of weariness entering his tone. He couldn't quite bear to meet her gaze when he said it, so he contented himself with gazing into the hearth. He wasn't planning to make that declaration, perhaps ever, and certainly not in these circumstances.

She was floundering on decoding his subtleties as well, as he often seemed a mystery. He generally was a man who chose his words carefully. While overall she felt they had that in common to some extent, she was more likely to speak to him without fear of impunity. If there were anywhere she would be free, it would be with him. That thought nearly stopped her completely.

The pang that filled her upon his admission only intensified when he was looking down as he spoke. No matter how close they were, this information was off limits and she didn’t want to push any more than she already had. His explanation made it clear there was nothing to be done about it, either. Rather than focus on the woman and the vague feeling she suspected was something like jealousy, she focused on him. “You of all men deserve to have your love returned, Lance. You are so… good. And not perfect, but so worthy. If she cannot see that and realign her choices, perhaps she is not worthy of you. Of course, my saying so and your accepting it are two different things. I’m sorry you’re in this position. I hate to see you hurt and wish there was something I could do to help.”

Ordinarily, he felt the same. If he had a confidante in Camelot, it was Guinevere, and he trusted her discretion as much as she trusted his. The fact that it wouldn't leave this room was the only reason this conversation had started in the first place. He was regretting that now, a little bit, but only because he'd inadvertently turned the topic to her.

The insane urge to laugh rose up in him when she spoke. She was being kind; he knew that, but she was also speaking about herself without knowing it. He contained it with a wry smile. Even lacking sobriety, he wouldn't do her the disservice of laughing at her kindness. He reached for her hand, clasping it between both of his, and it was easier to meet her gaze now. "Thank you, Guinevere, but you do her a discredit. She does not know of my feelings. But perhaps I will consider telling her, one day."

He gave her hand a light squeeze and pulled away, hauling himself to his feet. He was even mostly steady on them. He'd tortured them both enough for one night. There was no reason to stay and force her to be miserable along with him. "You have helped. Thank you for the wine, and the kind words. I could not ask for a better friend." He hoped she didn't hear as much regret in those words as he did. He could hardly be the person to come between her and Arthur's happiness, even if their king could never promise her anything more. Realizing that he wanted to was like being hit with it for the first time. Perhaps the wine had been a poor decision.

There was something in the hand clasp. Something stirred within her, but aside from noticing it, she couldn’t define or detail it any further. Before she had the chance to really think on it any further, he’d given her a squeeze and then departed anyway.

She wanted to press. She wanted to ask why he hadn’t been more forthcoming with this woman. She wanted to know whom it was. Perhaps it wouldn’t matter, but of all people, Guinevere longed to see Lancelot happy. Even if he couldn’t be happy, he didn’t deserve the misery and anger he was currently feeling. It was easier for her to rise with a modicum of grace, because she’d consumed less. She could feel the dismissal even before he spoke, and more acutely once it was issued. “Well, as your friend, I feel it would be a mistake to leave you before you are even a little cheered.” I don’t think you should be alone right now. She hoped he wouldn’t make her say it. “Perhaps a walk along the shore? And only safe topics when we’re out in something resembling public.”

Even somewhat intoxicated, he could tell that he was leaving her with a pile of questions. He also knew how out of character that was between them. Normally, they would drink and joke and speak freely. He didn't doubt that Guinevere knew more about him than even the knights. He couldn't share this with her, but he suddenly wasn't sure he could continue to keep it from her either. There was a heavy ache in his chest, and he suspected it was at least as much from the deception as it was from Elaine's treachery. He hated that there was a secret between them, hated more that he was the cause of it.

Of course, she couldn't just let him leave with the remaining shreds of his dignity. He would have been reluctant to let her go, had the situation been reversed, but in this case, it wasn't working in his favor. "Are you going to stay by side until dawn, or tomorrow's dawn?" He tried for a smile and couldn't find one. He wasn't sure how long it would take him to feel cheered again, but he was positive he couldn't endure a walk around the lake in this condition. "I cannot," he said gently. He took her hand, pressing a brief kiss to the back of it, and then daring himself to press one to her palm. "I wish things were different." It was the only truth he could give her right now.

Guinevere raised her eyebrows at his question, however gently he asked it. She wanted to protest that she could. Truth be told, she had very little keeping her in Camelot. The mainstays were Arthur, Lancelot, and the more subversive reality she had nowhere else to go. Her home had burned, her father was dead, her brothers were scattered and weren’t likely to care anyway. In some ways, Arthur and Lancelot were all she had. It wasn’t as though that tied her down or forced her to stay, though. She had moments where she wondered if Arthur would truly notice if she left; in reality, the reason she stayed is she knew Lancelot would notice.

“I could,” she protested, a feeble sound she barely recognized as it slid from her lips. He countered it, though, with only two words and a sweet gesture that left a hollow ache behind. It stole her breath, the intimacy a step beyond their usual when he kissed her palm.

She wanted to ask if she could change the things he wanted to be different, but she couldn’t make herself speak over the feeling curling in her chest. She couldn’t even name the feeling, let alone find other words. Her eyes searched him frantically for answers, but other than his mouth on her skin briefly, he yielded nothing. “Lance,” she whispered. “Please. If anything were to happen to you, I…”

She trailed. There was no more horrific thought to her, and not just for herself. She couldn’t bear to give it name.

She was being ridiculous, a silly girl. He was Sir Lancelot, Knight of the Round Table. Arthur’s most ardent and skilled champion. Nothing would happen to him because he was capable of any fight. She stepped back, tears heavy in her eyes that she found herself wanting, but unable, to blame on the wine.

“Very well. I shall go, then. This is your home.”

Lancelot would notice. Whether he willed it or not, he was always aware of her presence in the castle. Life without her there, even as Arthur's, would have been bleak indeed, but he didn't know that leaving was on the table. He'd never imagined she'd want to. He'd come to Camelot to serve Arthur, but perhaps his loyalties had shifted somewhat. If both Arthur and Guinevere were in equal danger, who would he save? He didn't know the answer. Actually, he knew the answer and didn't like it. He told himself he would save her first because she was more in need of protecting and not because he loved her. He didn't deserve either of them.

It shocked and appalled him to see her eyes fill with tears. Guinevere rarely cried. That he'd been the cause of it filled him with self-loathing and a kind of grim resignation. He would have to tell her, but not like this. "Please forgive me. You are the very last person I wished to hurt." It took more self-control than he thought he had to let go of her hand, but when she stepped back, he didn't try to stop her. "I swear to you that no further harm will come to me this night. If the offer stands, I would take that walk with you in the morning, and I will answer any questions that you have."

He took a step back himself, mirroring the action. "I'm sure Arthur is waiting for you." His tone was still gentle even though the words burned. He hoped that he was. He didn't like to think of her alone tonight, but he'd done enough damage with his own presence. He needed time to sober up and decide what to say to her. The truth, obviously, even though she might hate him for it. That would still be better than the hurt he'd seen on her face tonight.

She fixed her gaze on him for as long as she could without blinking, steady and more somber than she wanted. In reality, she was trying to buy time to close her eyes until either she was alone or the water wouldn’t fall. As he apologized for causing her grief, she would not allow one more thing to give rise to guilt within him.

But how to explain he had done nothing to her, at least not directly? She knew he was hurting, and that was the real source of her pain. She hurt because he did, and it was a feeling as overwhelming and confusing as it was tangible and undeniable.

“There is nothing to forgive,” she managed, her voice a little rough for the wear. That she could, and would, blame on the wine if necessary. “I am not upset because of my own hurt.” She bit her lip and dropped her gaze, unwilling to explain any further. His reassurance nothing else would happen to him provided at least a little comfort, even if she knew she was still far from rest. There was too much weighing on her mind and heart at this point. “We may walk in the morning if you wish, and you my choose our topic of discussion but I will have no further questions and wish to intrude no further on your private grievances.”

She swallowed hard against the bitter taste of that particular promise, blinking at last when her eyes burned and her tears would be reabsorbed for want of lubrication. Her vision didn’t clear as he stepped back, following her lead.

“He may very well be,” she confirmed, leaving the rest of her thoughts unspoken. There was no plan for tonight; that is why she’d been free to visit Lancelot. Arthur would generally receive her well, whether there was a plan in place or not, but there would be no spontaneous visit tonight. She already knew too many things weighed on her mind and served as distractions her lover would be likely to question. Even if Arthur were waiting, she would not be going to him.

“I bid you good night, Sir Lancelot,” she finished, more formal than their usual greeting, complete with a bow of her head before she turned to retreat, intent on walking the lake unaccompanied.

#chat: guinevere #ladyxguinevere #gxpendragon #there’s a siren somewhere #broverse

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mostnoblelancelot · 3 years

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my heart’s in two places | g & l

@gxpendragon @ladyxguinevere

She’d been staring at him so long his face didn’t make sense anymore. The series of events leading to here and now were overwhelming and she couldn’t make sense of those either, but that was mostly lack of effort. They’d been betrayed, beaten at their own game, and nearly apprehended. She’d been studying his face for hours, foregoing sleep with the idea that she’d leave after one last glance to commit to memory.

Instead, their fire went out. The stars were in motion across the pitch black night sky. The moon came out, stood out, and faded. Now day was breaking. Here she sat.

Why was she doing this? Why had she done all this? What did she really want to come from it?

She didn’t have any answers. All she had was the urgency of doing everything wrong, of wanting to run but having nowhere to go, and the inability to actually leave. She’d already broken one good man, or so she imagined. It was entirely possible Arthur didn’t care in the slightest. She hadn’t spoken to him, so she didn’t know. The fact they had a cavalry chasing them said enough, she supposed. Could she do it to a second man, a man who had done nothing wrong other than be her partner in crime?

Indecision prevailed, keeping her rooted and staring, even as he started to stir.

“Good morning,” she finally said, her voice unsteady, another betrayal in a series of betrayals. This one just gave away her emotional state, even though that was evidenced in her posture, her knees pulled up against her chest and her hands resting on them, making her as small as possible. “I have a feeling we should keep moving. Or figure out where we’re going.”

In hindsight, it seemed obvious that their betrayal would eventually be discovered in spite of how careful they had been to conceal it. A small, unacknowledged part of him buried deep in his brain must have known, because when the truth came out, he wasn't surprised. He didn't panic, although that may have been due to his nature more than any sort of forward thinking. He wasn't the sort of person who ruffled easily, but that wasn't to say he wasn't frightened. He was downright terrified that something would happen to her, but he forced the feeling down deep so that it didn't interfere with what needed to be done. The only thing that mattered now was protecting Guinevere, and to do that, he needed to get them both somewhere far away from Camelot.

He went through the motions of preparing what they needed for the journey methodically and at top speed, and still, they almost hadn't made it out of the city. He knew the forest where they had camped as well as he knew his own heart, and it had provided some cover for a time so they could rest and rest the horses. He'd slept under far worse conditions, so it hadn't surprised him that he was able to drift into a light sleep, his senses on high alert even in slumber. As soon as the sun broke the horizon, he stirred. His internal clock wouldn't allow him to sleep more than a few hours. They still needed to put a lot of space between them and Camelot before they lost their lead.

"You're staring, my lady," he muttered sleepily, even before he'd opened his eyes. He could feel her gaze on him like a weight. In other circumstances, it might have been nice. They’d never had an opportunity to wake up together, and he didn’t see one in the near future either. He opened his eyes, and even knowing that she was there, it was somehow still a surprise to see her. Perhaps it was a lingering dream, but a small part of him had thought she'd be gone when he woke. It was an errant thought, and he pushed it aside as he rose, shaking off the last dregs of sleepiness and dreams.

"I agree. We should continue moving north, if you don't object." Arthur's reach didn't extend that far, but not much else did either. It was mostly wilderness, which seemed like a safer option than civilization, at least until things settled down. The weight of everything that had happened and everything still to come settled quickly over him. "Are you well? Did you sleep?" The words were gentle, as he could tell by her posture that she was upset. She had every right to be. He was shaken as well, but he didn't allow it to detract from getting her to safety. Perhaps then he would have time to feel everything they'd done.

She’d never seen him sleep, never seen him wake. They had been friends, and they had been lovers, but there was no concrete basis for her to leave her husband and her home with him. Except somehow, deep down, she knew he would never hurt her, would never abandon her, would never let her be hurt or left defenseless. In the haze of overwhelming emotion, the truths she’d already embraced were what kept her with him.

Here, now, in the future, with him, she wasn’t a traitorous queen, or an unfaithful wife. She was Guinevere and he was Lancelot. He wasn’t a treasonous knight or her husband’s closest and trusted help. He was a man who loved her and had enough heart to proclaim that devotion openly.

As he fully committed to being awake, teasing her for staring and agreeing they needed to move, she finally let her gaze wander around their makeshift camp. He was also prepared for anything, unflappable and solid. He’d arranged all this, she suspected, to spare her. He didn’t seem to care overmuch for himself as long as she was well. And then he asked after her before he went anywhere.

She swallowed hard, doing her best to steady her thickening throat so as not to give away too much. The answer to both questions was no, of course. In the end, it was easier to shake her head. After a couple of rapid blinks, attempting to clear her vision a bit, she focused on him and provided bare honesty. “I thought I would return. On one hand, it seems the right thing to do. On the other… I couldn’t bring myself to leave you. Not now, not after everything.” She looked down toward her knees. “You are all I have now, Lancelot. I hope you know that is by choice. All you’ve ever done is care for me.” She swiped her fingertips over her cheeks. Now wasn’t the time for grief or declaration. “We should go north. I am not sure what awaits us there, but here I know we will be hunted.”

Truthfully, he hadn't been certain she would agree to leave with him, even with her life at stake. He knew that the things that had driven Guinevere to him were far from pleasant and entirely different from his own reasons, and he was aware that she didn't return his feelings. It didn't change how he felt about her. At some point, without his meaning to, his loyalty had shifted from Arthur to her. He didn't think there was any coming back from that, especially now. If he died protecting her, then he'd consider it an honorable death.

The look on her face twisted something painfully in his chest. He'd have spared her all of this if he could have. He settled beside her but didn't touch her because he wasn't sure yet whether she needed comfort or space. Her words brought a chill over him, his dream returning briefly. It looked more like a nightmare from this perspective. "You would almost certainly be killed," he said quietly. Try as he might, he couldn't see the rightness of that.

"I know you would not choose this life, and I would not choose a life of fear and running for you," he admitted. It was kind of her to say, but he wasn't sure it was the truth. Her life hadn't been perfect, but at least she had been safe before he'd interfered. He rested a hand on her knee. Maybe he was the one who needed comfort. "But I will never leave you, and I will do everything I can to make sure no harm comes to you." He leaned over to brush the tears from her cheeks. "I will find a safe place for us."

Her eyes traced his movement closely as he sat right next to her. She felt a little better just because he was there. Before they had slept together, he had been her most-frequently appointed body guard. He had become her friend. She wasn’t sure she was as adept at reading him as he was at reading her, but they knew one another. He recognized her signals of distress and addressed them with his presence. She leaned toward him, though she didn’t press any weight on him.

“I would’ve been burned,” she corrected, her voice low and certain. “At the stake. I’m the queen, so any act against the crown is treason.” She swallowed hard, attempting to diminish the thick, salty quality of it. “If it is any consolation, I’m not sure Arthur would have allowed it. He may be heartbroken, but he isn’t a savage. Then again, it’s possible he cares not about my role in everything, too. I wouldn’t know, because I don’t know him – not anymore.”

His tender promises negated the way they had both wiped at her tears. She blinked and there were more, a delicate trail on each side of her face appearing only moments after the feeling of his touch wore off. Though she couldn’t prevent the tears, she had no intention of addressing their presence just now. She placed her hand over his and nodded. “How can I help? If we are to be partners, that burden does not fall on you alone, but you may have to tell me what to do.”

When she leaned into him, he wrapped an arm around her. The gesture felt both strange and familiar at once. Offering her comfort came naturally, but they'd never have risked such casual intimacy if there was any chance it could have been seen. "I would have returned for you. I would have fought my way back to Camelot," he said softly. He'd have saved her from burning or died trying. Perhaps that made him little better than Arthur, since he refused to honor her decision if that decision was death.

"He may not have been able to stop it." He liked to think that Arthur would have intervened, but he knew only too well how often the king was forced to bow to the pressures of tradition and expectation, even at the cost of things that mattered more. Lancelot couldn’t judge him too harshly. He was a good king, and that role came before all others.

He couldn't help a small smile at her determination even in their grim circumstances. There were many things he admired about her, and that was one of them. He brushed away the fresh fall of tears with a thumb and pressed a light kiss to her cheek. "For now, we will erase any traces of our camp and continue moving north. There is a river in a day's ride, perhaps two. Our supplies will hold until then." He knew they should rise and get moving, but he lingered at her side. He wasn't sure her grief had subsided enough to move forward yet, and he wasn't going to rush her.

In spite of a sharp wave of guilt, she leaned into him. It was novel, trusting they were now alone after a long stretch of being unsure. They could touch, they could embrace, they could even kiss (or more) if they so desired. If there was one thing she had learned about herself through all this, it was the benefits of comfort through the flesh. Simply put, sex kept her attached to reality. She needed it. He was especially good at comforting her in that way, and now they were free. There were certainly feelings that came along with that, but she had been too afraid to explore it. Now…. there was opportunity in this as much as there was risk and isolation.

They quite likely needed to get moving, but she took a moment to lean her head against him anyway, absorbing his vows and promises. She had never doubted him before, and she trusted his sincerity now.

“He may not have tried,” she countered, slightly. She sighed and pulled back as he gave her instructions—and cleared her tears away as much as he was able. She wanted to turn her head, to let his kiss land on her mouth and become more than a simple kiss. They were free to do it now, and she was more in need of comfort than ever, but she had already forced his hand into enough risk. Even in her despair, she could see their precarious position.

She pulled back, swiping her hands over her face once more, though she knew more tears would fall. “Very well, then,” she stubbornly avoided. “Let us get on our way.”

If they weren't alone here, they had much bigger problems than someone seeing them being close. Supposedly, the entire kingdom now knew of their treachery. Being able to touch her freely was a very small silver lining to an otherwise disastrous situation. He hadn't really allowed himself time to think through all the implications, prioritizing their escape and continued survival above everything, but at the moment, it was difficult to see what they could have done differently. Everything that had happened had the weight of inevitability to it.

"Perhaps it is better not to speculate," he agreed softly. He didn't have it in him to speak poorly of Arthur, not when his own guilt was so potent. And it didn't really get them anywhere to wonder what the king might or might not have done when pushed to the limits by his court and, possibly, his own feelings on the matter. The urge to pull her into his arms and comfort her was strong, but it wasn't the time or the place for grieving. He'd have made exceptions--any exception--for her, but clearly she understood the stakes as well as he did.

"Very well." He gave her a small, reassuring smile and rose to his feet. Disbanding their small camp didn't take long, nor did erasing the traces of their presence. He'd tracked things through the forest before and knew what to look for. It would be harder to cover the tracks from their horses, but the weather was on their side. The ground was hard from little rainfall and covered in a layer of leaves. He offered a hand to help her up onto her horse, not that she typically needed help from him. “Shall we, my lady?”

As always, it seemed other cares and needs were slipping between them in some way. Maybe not between them, but pulling them apart physically. They had other things to focus on.

“And it does not matter anyway,” she agreed. At this point, what was done was done. There was no going back, no ‘what if’, there was only the present and the real. “Not when we need to focus.”

While she wasn’t entirely sure what she was doing, she followed him. It was easy enough to intuit his reasoning, even without explanation. He was hiding and destroying the evidence of their stay so Arthur, or his trackers, or anyone else would not be able to pick up their trail. He was obviously quite skilled at that, at a number of things she could only guess at. So she followed his lead, tried to look for ways to be a help rather than a burden, and then uncharacteristically accepted his hand. Her mind was still turning with the details of what they’d done, the broader strokes and what it all meant a constant backbeat in her mind to her actions.

All she could do was nod and let him help her up onto her horse. While the dress she wore, however simple, was impractical for the task, she hadn’t been able to steal a pair of his trousers as she would’ve done her brothers’ in another life. She made a note she likely wouldn’t remember later to help herself to something that would provide easier riding. “You will have to lead the way. I have no idea where we are.”

Though the words were empty, her tone was not. For, at the center of the whirlwind and the basis of everything else, was the deep trust she held in him to lead her, not to take advantage of her precarious state.

Lancelot hadn't allowed himself to think of a time where that might not be the case. Where it might not just be one bad situation after another, and the two of them could simply make their lives together. Until yesterday, that hadn't even been a possibility, and survival had taken up the bulk of his thought processes since then. Still, it was the kind of mental image that would bring him comfort in the coming weeks while they searched for shelter.

"No, I suppose it doesn't," he agreed quietly. For better or worse, there was no going back. If they ever saw Arthur again, it would probably be one of the last things they lived to see. He explained, briefly, when it seemed necessary, but Guinevere was a quick study. He wasn't surprised. He'd always known she was clever; she simply hadn't had a chance to learn the same skills.

He made a mental note about her dress as well as he helped her onto her horse. It wasn't practical for traveling, but if she preferred it, he wouldn't press the issue. He doubted that she did though, at least in these circumstances. He climbed onto his own horse and easily took the lead. "I can teach you, if you like. You would never be lost, at least not for long." He could teach her how to read the night sky like a map, find water and edible plants, build shelter. He was happy to do all those things for her and more, but if she had an interest in learning, he'd be more comfortable knowing she could survive on her own if she had to.

For all the stubborn pride she had crammed into one soul, she could recognize that her acquiescence got them on the road faster. She let him help, let him lead, let him guide, in spite of the rougher spots of her nature that would have previously denied the help and then struggled. She had just taken to wondering if it was all symptom of larger responses she was having to all that had happened, when he spoke.

Though her horse had fallen into step behind him, she smiled at his back. He’d seemed to have a hidden sense of what she was thinking or feeling at times; maybe he could feel the smile now. Again, she wasn’t prepared to put up a fight. She found herself wanting what he offered, wanting to find ways to be more self-sufficient. For someone who had been lonely and isolated for so long, she could see the clear difference in the ways he wanted her to be independent, rather than just wait on him. While she had no plans to compare their relationship with her marriage out loud, it was a compelling conversation in her head.

“I will try to learn whatever you would like to teach,” she said. She needed to inject some levity into things, though, and it happened before she could stop the teasing words from leaving her mouth. “I cannot promise to be an adequate student, but I can promise to try. I’ll only argue half the time at most.”

He'd noticed as well, but true to form he wouldn't mention it unless she brought it up first. It was too much like poking at a good thing to see how fast it fell apart. Under ordinary circumstances, he admired her stubbornness and her willful determination, but for now, all the finer points of their personalities seemed to have been put on hold in the name of survival. The odds were not on their side anyway. A kingdom searched for them. They couldn't afford to waste time. If it kept them moving, he would stay silent about it and be grateful.

He wasn't a mind reader, but a quick glance over his shoulder revealed a smile that he returned. He wanted her to be safe and happy, though the order might have shifted on a given day. If more independence was what she needed for that, he was pleased to help her get it. "Perhaps it will help to pass the time," he offered. Hours of traveling could be long and grueling, and it could help keep their minds off what hunted them, both physical and otherwise. "I'll look forward to it, my lady," he laughed softly. "If you feel the need to argue, it is likely for a good reason."

Some small part of her uncertainty lifted when he threw her an over-the-shoulder smile. It was a small, quick, exchange, but it was important to her. She and Arthur had been so stressed, as a pair, there weren’t many smiles or teasing exchanges between them as time passed. That she and Lancelot, as a pair who hadn’t exchanged true affection or declared an actual relationship, could be under so much pressure and still smile or joke – it meant something. It was something she felt, through the guilt and doubt and heartbreak, and it was clear, warm, and comforting. “Especially if it is something as unpredictable like your flower crown making skill,” she teased. “Learning about oddities will pass the time.”

He gave a warm chuckle at the mention of flower crowns. "I'm surprised you remember that," he admitted. It hadn't been unreasonably long ago, but it had been well before he thought they were attuned to each other's every move. Or maybe that was just him. He couldn't have said with any certainty that Guinevere was as hyper-aware of him as he'd been with her, at least when they were living in the castle. Their current circumstances were too new to say if that would continue. He valued their teasing and light-heartedness because it hadn't always been that way. Her smiles seemed like a thing he'd had to earn, and that she could smile now assured him that all was not lost. "I'm certain I can teach you some rather more useful skills." Flower crowns were charming enough, but they wouldn't do her much good for survival.

“I can’t say I remember everything,” she admitted, her voice low and vaguely amused. “But it is a rather odd variety of things that have stuck. They’re occurring to me now and, I’m sure, will continue to do so.”

It was a sudden switch from grief, heartbreak, despair, and panic. Now she felt a little more at ease, traveling with him. Even if his statement wasn’t a long-ranging sort of goal, it spoke to a future nonetheless. That in itself set her at ease. The rest, the horrors of what she’d done, would be there later.

“I may need a list of alternates. Not because I doubt you, but because I don’t know if we consider the same things to be useful,” she teased, flexing and testing their new limits a bit.

"I would be interested to hear them." The smile was evident in his voice. That was no surprise, as he'd probably be interested to hear every thought in her head if she wanted to share it.

Perhaps it was the change in their conversation or the fact that they were moving again, but the anxiety of the morning had receded into the background. He had no doubt it would crash back in at unexpected moments, but for now, he was content to be talking with her and getting more distance from what threatened them.

"That sounds perfectly fair. Where do you stand on trapping, navigating, and self defense?" There was a slight hesitation before the last one. None of those were particularly ladylike, but he had only the smallest idea of what they were heading into. He'd feel better if she were prepared for anything.

She fell quiet, not doubting his interest in her memories, but rather because she found herself sifting through them. Some were soft and pleasant, others were less so. While the flower crowns were innocent, she remembered plenty of things that weren’t. Her mind and her memory, especially at the present, we fraught with hazards at the moment and a misstep felt like it would be a critical stab into a fragile situation. In an effort to keep things headed toward the lighter topics they’d been angling toward, she tried to be non-committal with her reply. “Then I will share them as they come to mind.”

His list of topics heaped more for her to consider, things she had barely thought about previously, both as the younger sibling of capable and demeaning older brothers, and then as the queen. The skills he listed had never seemed overly relevant, save perhaps the last one. The last she hadn’t learned because she’d never had the courage to ask Arthur to train her, even if the thought had crossed her mind.

“I am good with navigation in familiar places,” she finally said, more for something to say than because it was a strong answer. “Remembering landmarks and things of the like. I know moss only grows on one side of a stone or tree and that can provide some direction. Otherwise, you will find me lacking.” It was another fragile admission, that not only was she a target, she was also a liability. The shame was both swift and appropriate, and it made her think not for the first time about turning back to face her consequences. It might be easier, for she knew what fate awaited her if she turned back. “I’m sorry.”

"Of course," he agreed with a small nod. He wondered if he hadn't unintentionally put her on the spot and didn't press the issue. It was against the code of chivalry to be boastful, and surely prompting a lady to speak kindly about him fell somewhere under that category. It was strangely lacking on the subject of sleeping with another man's wife.

Whether due to their first topic of conversation or the next, she lapsed into silence, and he didn't intrude upon it. Despite their efforts, there seemed to be very few subjects that were genuinely light-hearted. Everything had the weight of memory or uncertainty about the future tied to it. He turned his attention to navigating, choosing paths that would leave fewer traces of their passing and noting landmarks in case they had cause to backtrack at some point. He didn't anticipate it, but it calmed some inner anxieties to prepare for such eventualities.

"That will be helpful moving forward," he assured her. "If you cannot tell from the trees, you can tell from the sky." He gestured to a shadow of green on the side of a tree and then to the sky. "The sun rose there, so you know we're moving north." It sounded pedantic to his own ears, but he'd never tried to teach anyone before and had no idea how effective that was. He didn't attempt to hide his surprise at her apology. "Whatever for?" he said gently. "It is no fault of yours that women are rarely afforded the opportunity to learn such things." Lancelot hadn't been raised among men, and the Lady of the Lake's dominion was far more peaceful and effective than Camelot even before he’d unintentionally created chaos there. He'd adjusted to the customs, but he didn't always understand them. "You're willing to learn, and I suspect you'll be quite skilled at whatever you put your mind to."

His words and gesturing pulled her from more thoughts, and she was grateful for it. He knew her fairly well, and she was sure in the time he had known her, she’d always been a bit depressed, quiet, withdrawn. It was absolutely something Camelot had done to her, something that seemed far removed from the carefree and bold girl she had been. She didn’t like it. She didn’t want him to have that impression of her, suddenly, even though he had professed affection for the woman she was now.

“That means the sun rises in the east,” she confirmed, sure she had heard something to that effect at some point. She noted the tree he pointed to and its shape against the burgeoning daylight, but she wasn’t sure she would be able to distinguish that tree from another. As a result, her voice wasn’t certain but it was there at least. She was willing to be wrong in front of him, which was a stark departure from how she’d handled herself in the castle.

She shook her head, trying to fight off tears. There was something warm and soothing in his voice, his reassurance and justification, and it just made her feel more guilty. “Until I know better, I will be no better than a burden for you. And if they find us…” she trailed, her voice bright with tears and heavy with despair all at once. “I used to be so much better at not worrying, so much more impulsive and free. I used to learn what I wanted, either through spying on my brothers’ lessons or through teaching myself. It’s been so long since I felt useful or worthy.” During a horseback ride, and a fleeing, was not the time to express those thoughts and she found herself wanting to apologize yet again for being so changeable. Instead, she raised one hand to press to her eyes, hoping the pressure would stop her from crying again, and trusted the horse to steer for a minute, for the creature was much smarter and more adept than she was.

In part, it was Guinevere's sadness that had drawn him to her. He admired her quiet strength in keeping her feelings hidden from an entire kingdom. She'd suffered so much, and he wanted to do whatever he could to ease that suffering. Regardless of what had attracted him initially, he would do a great deal to see her happy. Nevermind that, in his attempts, he'd brought down much worse upon her. He couldn't let his mind to wander too far down that path right now. He suspected that guilt would always lay heavily on his shoulders, but allowing it to bury him right now would do neither of them any favors. He couldn't afford to be so impractical, and it wasn't in his nature.

"It does. And sets in the west." He nodded. "Nighttime is more complicated. A compass is best, but I can show you how to navigate using the stars." It wasn't the most reliable method since England was often overcast, but he'd found it useful in the past. He'd been raised in nature, in a place with few walls, and he felt at home there. He paused, not mistaking the unshed tears in her voice, and he worried he'd only added to her grief--and continued to add to it for as long as he kept her on this daft mission. Suicide was not in his nature either, and to return to Camelot would surely be that, but there was every chance that running would lead to the same end.

He spoke gently. "Your company is never a burden, my lady. I knew what trials awaited us when I asked you to leave Camelot. Perhaps it is I who should be apologizing to you. I cannot hope to offer you the life you deserve while we are fugitives." He lowered his head, turning over the rest of her words in his mind. "One cannot hope to be free under such conditions, and to be impulsive would likely get us killed. But I hope that when you find something you wish to learn, you will feel free to tell me. You are far from useless. The furthest thing from unworthy," he added quietly. She was everything to him. He didn't say it, but his voice and his recklessness likely said it for him. He had many flaws, but he wouldn't have betrayed his king for less.

She let his patient words sink into her fragile psyche, let them soothe the parts of her that had been neglected for so long under her refusal to speak and Arthur’s refusal to listen. How Lancelot could access her deepest insecurities with ease, she would likely never fully understand.

“I don’t know what life I deserve,” she said. “But this offers me the greatest chance to someday return to myself at least. For that opportunity, you owe me no apologies. It is likely I owe you.” The rest, the confessions that she felt useless and that she struggled with her self-worth, he attempted to repeal but she couldn’t comment on it. He had never proven himself blind to her faults, or to anyone’s, but he was kind enough to her that she wouldn’t have expected an unkind assessment. “I’ve done nothing to deserve that fealty,” she remarked instead, still feeling ashamed and more than a little uncertain. “I don’t know what you see in me, other than a queen who would betray her king and a wife who would betray her husband for some sort of selfish validation. Those are the only things to see.”

"You owe me nothing," he said softly. He wasn't sure the danger he'd put her in and the potential freedom it offered her balanced as well as she suggested, but if he did manage to give her the life she desired, then he might be willing to reconsider. Much as she couldn't see past her own flaws, he couldn't shrug off his own failures so easily.

A thoughtful frown creased his brow. It was troubling to know that she thought so little of herself. If he had to continue to reassure her for the rest of his life, he thought he was up to the challenge, but it didn't seem to be helping much in the moment. "Is that all you think of me?" he asked instead. "A knight who would betray his king and put his queen's life and honor in danger for his own selfish happiness?" He wasn't offended if she did, and there was no self-pity in the question. It was one way to look at things. He acknowledged the fact that he was a villain in this story, or at the very least not the hero. He knew his own biases, but it wasn't what he saw when he looked at her. It was the truth, but it wasn't the whole truth.

She couldn’t help the small smile on her face, however fleeting it was. “We’ll see if that holds true when we’re not still making our escape,” she replied. She longed to ask what kind of life he was really imagining lay before them, both the idealistic and the realistic, but it seemed like it would bring some kind of disaster upon them to speculate until their situation wasn’t quite so precarious.

Besides, his next question gave her plenty to consider. She had carefully defined her thoughts on many things, especially people and happenings in Camelot. In the case of Arthur and the case of Lancelot, however, she’d been too close to the situation or too caught up in the people and the relationships she shared with them, to form a true opinion. Trying to decide now what she thought of him was like trying to grasp water in a stream. She could get close, she could touch on certain things, but the vast majority of it slipped through with meaning but no words attached.

“No,” she decided eventually, quietly. Whatever she thought of him was nowhere near the simple terms he’d described, even if she couldn’t articulate it well. Absolutely none of it was something she’d been free to speak aloud. The only affection she’d been able to show was private and physical, which was a better medium for communication in some ways, but lacking in others. “I’m a little ashamed to admit I haven’t thought of you in narratives. My true thoughts of you are more emotional. I only know how I feel when I am with you – and I know it’s good. I hold you in high regard, and I’m sorry if I haven’t told you before or made that clear.”

"It will." He returned the small smile with one of his own. He was confident about that, if very little else. They were past the point of counting what they owed each other. Lancelot wasn't allowing himself to think too far ahead. He had plans and contingency plans, but most of them at present revolved around putting space between them and their enemies and survival. Anything beyond that was a luxury, and it didn't help them right now.

"You need not, now, unless you wish to." He raised a hand, gently stopping her explanation. "Praise was not the purpose of the question. I only meant to show that there is far more to you than the simplest definition or the worst things you've done. It would be easy for you to see me as such, but you do not. Likewise, I could not see you that way, even if I wanted to."

“That is a bold, confident statement,” she pointed out, more bemused than anything else. As they worked through their escape, she found her doubts lessening. It wasn’t that all this felt right, but it felt like maybe this had been a long time coming and it was necessary. She found herself believing him, trusting in the slim possibilities they would have some semblance of a life beyond their current status. And maybe it would even be together.

“I can’t see you as a simple definition or a sin when you have long been the only person who makes me feel complete or valuable,” she admitted. “I know you weren’t seeking declaration. Perhaps that’s why I feel I should share it with you. I’m just afraid I’m still processing, so I don’t have much to relay yet.”

"It is one of few things I can afford to be confident about at present," he said with a small smile. If nothing else, he knew his own heart. He didn't envy her trying to navigate her feelings for Arthur alongside her feelings for him, whatever they were, in addition to the dramatics of their betrayal and escape. The ground had suddenly become very shaky in a metaphorical sense. He would take certainty where he could.

"Perhaps that is the real sin," he murmured. Happy as he was to know he made her feel that way, she deserved more than a single person who helped her see her value. "There is plenty of time for that." He wasn't going to pressure her to express her feelings, but it made him wonder if she wanted him to do the same. If she doubted his love or his loyalty for even a moment, then he hadn't made himself clear enough. "Would that be helped or hindered by declarations of my own?"

“I may need to ask after those few things and borrow some of your courage from time to time,” she admitted. It wasn’t necessarily meant as a statement of self-doubt, but more as a need for reassurance he was in a unique position to provide. “But you need to know, in spite of my initial reticence, my decision is made, Lance. I’m not going back. And it isn’t only because of what awaits me there.”

It was so different, this time with him versus any other potentially similar situation she’d faced with regards to feeling. Lancelot was willing to say these things, did not shy away from the conversations, never promoted any awkwardness by making his overwhelm obvious. “I think… helped,” she ventured. She’d said more in the past three minutes than possibly ever before, but it didn’t stop her from wanting to form words to attach to the tender feelings when it was just the two of them out in the wilderness. Even if she didn’t know what those feelings were, she could at least begin the process of sorting through it. “Never hold back if you feel inclined to declare, at least not on my account.”

"I am happy to lend them whenever I can." Courage he had, along with strength and faith, but he wasn't sure how much of that would linger without her. He would go on because that was the way he was made, but in the past few days, his purpose had narrowed down to her. In a way, it was a relief. He didn't have to pretend to divide his loyalty anymore. "I am relieved to hear it," he admitted. "I would hate to die trying to save you from a death you had chosen." He suspected if she returned they would both lose their lives, but that didn't change his mind.

He nodded, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. She'd been forthcoming, so it was the least he could do to be the same. Whatever lay ahead for them, communication and honesty seemed essential. "Then you should know that I have made my choices as well, and I will choose you every time. I understand that this is not about love for you." He hesitated. He'd said those words to her before, but only once. He wouldn’t have betrayed their king for less. "But it is for me. Even if you never return those feelings, that will not change. I have sworn to protect you, and I will stay with you until you send me away."

Every answer he gave was steady, simple, something she trusted. He didn’t hide behind elaborate promises or overly eloquent words. He was kind and direct in a way that seemed to be solely his. She wanted to absorb those traits, to learn from him. The thought of him dying, as a result of his reaction to her choices, was nearly unbearable even in this distant way. She realized as he said it that she was counting on them having time after this mess, to get settled and to be together. She wasn’t sure when she had come to associate him with freedom, but maybe she had. “I would hate that, too,” she admitted, an attempt at openness and honesty that were unfamiliar to her after a long time in an unreceptive environment.

I will choose you every time.

…not about love for you… but it is for me.

His straightforward admissions cut straight through her, burying themselves somewhere deep within her and acting as a salve on long-injured and tender parts of her psyche. His actions had long supported those words, but she’d long been looking to the wrong source of that kind of support. Everything she had wanted from Arthur, none of which she had received, was laid bare. It flashed through her mind, a montage of memories. It had always been right in front of her. And Lancelot’s motivations were about as pure as they could be. It actually choked her up a little, which was not ideal timing considering she was on a horse in front of his horse, and they were forced into perpetual motion through the middle of nowhere.

She wanted to reply that it was about love for her, too, but the realization that was even possible was overwhelming and not something she was entirely ready to voice.

“I won’t send you away,” she promised. It seemed feeble and inadequate, but it was all she could offer at the moment. And he had just said he could accept and tolerate that. “Feelings will take some time to sort through and understand, because I have a lot of them. But I can say with certainty you are important to me and I will not send you away. I’m here with you now, which means I choose you, too.”

There was a very real chance they were going to die anyway, either from the knights of Camelot catching up with them or through their travels, but it was a weight off his shoulders to know she wasn't planning to turn back. He hadn't realized until she said it how much he'd worried about that very outcome. As long as they were still moving, he was cautiously optimistic though. He'd do everything in his power to see them to safety, and he trusted his own skills enough to do that. Perhaps it was his pride making claims, but he'd have gambled on himself over most people. If skills were enough, he wouldn't have worried at all, but they also needed a bit of luck on their side.

He didn't mind putting words to his feelings, though he preferred to let his actions speak for him. It was one of the reasons he didn't feel the need for declarations from her. She was here with him, and that alone spoke volumes. For a moment though, while her silence stretched on, he thought perhaps he'd said too much. He didn't take it back because it was true, but he could refrain from stating such things in the future if it made her uncomfortable. He hadn't expected to hear unshed tears in her voice, and he risked a glance behind him to gauge her well-being. "Good. I would find it difficult to leave you." He gave her a small smile before he returned his attention to their path.

Her mind was still running too quickly for her to keep up, and she assumed it was a byproduct of the enormous amount of change happening in her life. ‘Upheaval’ barely seemed an adequate word to describe what was happening. While it was true some of the changes had been in the works for some time, such as the emotional separation of her from her husband, that didn’t make the current situation any less total.

And, as he confirmed he would struggle to leave her, she knew she felt the same about him. As much as this was about changing her circumstances, as much as it was about seeking the safety Camelot lacked, it was also about two men. She hadn’t actually hesitated to leave Arthur, given the chance. She had been unable to let Lancelot go without her.

It was slow going through the wood, and she fell silent as she concentrated on what was around them, familiar smells and types of trees. The most familiar thing was the sight in front of her, the hind of his horse and the back of him, this man who was so sturdy both physically and emotionally. She concentrated on those things in an effort to avoid letting her mind wander. She waited for long enough to speak that she had to clear her throat before she could. “How long do you think it best to continue before we stand on our own two feet?” She asked, almost idly, not expecting or needing the answer to be any time soon.

You could know a thing for a long time without ever acknowledging it, and that was what their exposure and escape felt like to him. Everything buried was coming to light. It made sense that this conversation would follow shortly after, before they were even certain of their survival. It made sense that everything changed all at once or not at all. He kept expecting the fallout to hit him at an inopportune moment, but perhaps it wouldn't. Perhaps he was the kind of person who would simply keep moving forward, regardless of the upheaval around him.

When the silence fell between them, he didn't find it uncomfortable. They'd both said a lot of things that would need time to sink in. He kept his attention on navigating a route that would leave behind the fewest signs of their passing and noting landmarks in case he needed to make his way back. That was seeming less likely all the time, but it was a habit, and he found it comforting to occupy his mind with the usual things. "It is perhaps a month from Camelot to Lothian. I think it best to leave England altogether, if you don't have any objections." His own estate was almost that far, so the journey wasn't unfamiliar. It was long, but not so arduous as it would have been in winter.

She had obviously never left England, choosing to stay in her own realm as she traveled. The thought of doing so under these circumstances was no different than the thought of it at any other time - a little anticipation mixed with uncertainty. Trusting his capabilities and strengths, though, made a world of difference. Trusting herself to at least keep up, if not learn as she went, also mattered and tempered the uncertainty. She believed it was possible they could do almost anything together.

“I do not object,” she finally said, almost too quietly. “If Camelot is falling, England will dissolve into something rather unstable.” She had lived through the bulk of that once and had no desire to do so again. Still, she didn’t know much about the land. “Do you think Lothian a safe location?”

Traveling, both within England and outside it, was part of being a knight. Admittedly, he usually had the company of at least a dozen other men, if not hundreds of soldiers. Traveling alone could be dangerous. The further from Camelot they were, the more likely they were to be killed by bandits rather than anyone chasing them. If the group was large enough, they could easily overrun even Lancelot's capabilities, but he'd choose a possible death over a certain one, and staying in Camelot was a certain death.

"We do not know that for certain." He lowered his head briefly, as though the idea carried a physical weight. Camelot had not been at its most stable when they left, with Mordred's forces threatening the city. He knew that their betrayal had opened the door for his conquest, but he still held out hope that Arthur and the knights would rally to defend their home. Depending on how far they got and how well they hid themselves, it might be a long time before they knew its fate. "It is as safe as we are likely to find, unless you wish to get on a boat." He smiled briefly. That wasn't a safe option at all, but he could see the appeal. There was a part of him that never wished to settle, that would have been happy to roam the earth for the rest of his life. It wasn't a large part, but the wanderlust was there.

Guinevere sighed, trying to relax her inner tensions and accept his optimism. “No,” she finally admitted, though it was a bit thin for agreement. The fact remained that she felt somewhat responsible for Camelot’s fate. She had been the queen and she was running for her own life from her people. Arthur was heartbroken and alone, in addition to being without his most stable and trusted knight. Those were facts and they were her fault and her burden. Without being able to say as such, because she simply didn’t want to, she let a controlled breath pass her lips and then tried to let it go.

She volunteered nothing else and instead latched onto the small grin. Perhaps she was too eager for something a bit more lighthearted, but she took the opportunity. “Do you wish to get on a boat?” She asked, with maybe even a little amusement. The idea was terrifying but a bit enchanting at the same time. She was, after all, the woman who had left her lifelong home to marry Arthur before she’d ever really seen Camelot. Adventure and the unknown didn’t scare her. “There is no rule or law that requires us to stay and there is much that compels us to continue moving.”

He could see the thin veil over her agreement for what it was, but he didn't poke at it. It was true that Lancelot defaulted on optimism, and Guinevere was much more the realist, and he enjoyed the differences. It was hard to imagine either of them otherwise, as though something essential would have been lost. He also felt responsible, perhaps in large part because they were responsible. If their actions, indirectly or otherwise, led to the fall of their kingdom, they would both carry that guilt for the rest of their lives. It wasn't the moment to dwell on it, but its lurking presence was there for him as well, and it likely should have been. Betrayal shouldn't sit easily.

His smile widened a bit more as they moved on to lighter topics. "I would not be opposed. Winters are colder in Lothian." He preferred the summer weather, which meant he was altogether on the wrong continent with England's perpetually chilly, wet climate. He'd never been elsewhere except the nowhere-place of the Lady of the Lake, and the idea of such an adventure certainly had its appeal. "That is true. There is no law that requires us to settle at all, should we choose not to. Do you wish to leave the continent?"

She knew they would circle back to the topic of Camelot, of their choices and the consequences, their individual and collective culpability. It was a topic they would likely revisit for the rest of their lives, no matter how long that time was. For her part, she was sure she would never be free from the guilt or the pinging conscience of her own choices. Maybe she never should be entirely free.

However, the choices had been made and she was here; there was nothing wrong with salvaging the good she could from it so she could continue to live. Just the mention of winter, and colder, made her shiver. While she’d grown up in England and was well-accustomed to its weather extremes (especially the harsher realities), she wasn’t attached. “Colder weather means thicker blankets, and more fires. Staying close – for warmth, of course.” If he needed any more proof she was all over the place, now she was flirting, unable to stop her voice from dipping when she thought of staying close and sharing that space with him. Somehow it made the thought more bearable.

“We’re already on a bit of an adventure,” she pointed out. “I am open to whatever comes, but all I wish for is that we stay safe.”

Continuing to live and ensuring she did the same were the only things on his agenda for the moment. Afterward, they would decide whether they could actually live with themselves. He raised his head, surprised to hear a flirtatious tone in her voice, but it--and her words--filled him with an unexpected warmth. There was a very small, very unacknowledged part of him that thought perhaps she was only with him now because she lacked other options. To stay in Camelot was to die, and he wouldn't have faulted her if her motivations were that self-serving. Even if it were true, it didn't change the fact that he loved her and would see her to safety regardless of how she felt about him.

"Of course," he echoed. "I'm feeling fonder of winters already." It was a cozy scene she conjured, and he didn't fight a smile. Imagining such a future together took some of the weight off their current situation. Practical though he was, Lancelot didn't discount the power of something like hope. "That is true. Perhaps we can simply take those opportunities as they come to us." If they failed to find safety up north or circumstances became less safe over time, it was good to know they had other options available.

When he spoke, there was a change in his tone she couldn’t place. Whatever it was warmed her and gave her confidence. So much of the way they related to one another had been concealed out of necessity. She had employed nearly all of the restraint she possessed in an effort to avoid even more impropriety. Such measures being unnecessary now would take some adjustment.

But surely, she wanted to make those adjustments. She wasn’t with him just because he was the only option, but because he was the better option. That was tied firmly to her feeling for him. He offered refuge and safety, warmth, and love, and promise. He offered her things she hadn’t felt for a very long time anywhere else. The idea of exploring those, of making adjustments as the need arose, was so appealing. She forgot to circle around back to guilt at all she’d left behind while it was dying. They had a future, or at least the chance at one. Everything was wide open.

“Regardless, I think I would go anywhere with you. Except maybe to live among the Saxons. They are very unkind to their women and I think you would be an anomaly. Other than that, so long as we are together, I think we may be just fine.”

Lancelot hadn't quite allowed himself to imagine what their life together might look like. He took little for granted: that she would leave Camelot with him, that she would stay with him beyond that, or that they would even reach a safe place at all. It wasn't until her words conjured a warm image of the future that he realized how closely he'd been guarding his expectations. It was a conscious effort to let a few of those walls fall away. If she could dare to let herself hope, then the least he could do was the same.

It wasn't that hard, since those were things he wanted, deep down where he couldn't help wanting things he'd previously thought he'd never have. "Likewise, my lady." His voice had softened without his meaning it to, but he smiled. "A most unpleasant lot. Perhaps it would be best for us not to draw attention," he agreed, as if that were the only thing going for that plan. They'd sacrificed a lot for this freedom. He wouldn't see her returned to another life of compromise, preferably ever. "Together is a very nice thought," he mused. He liked hearing her say the words.

She knew it was risky and possibly ill-advised, but the quality of his voice or something in his words themselves had her wanting to be by his side for a moment. She could recognize the way her moods were ebbing and flowing, could admit to herself at least that she hated it and her lack of control over it. She minded less the way he seemed to be able to temper it with his steady presence alone.

As the path widened for a moment, she slipped into place beside him and turned her head to regard him. She trusted her horse not to steer her into a tree or off a cliff as a show of intelligence and power, and so she regarded Lancelot fully. “Do you think it possible to be just the two of us together somewhere, alone and unbothered? If so, I might like that place in particular. I do not know how far we would need to go to make it a reality.” She gave a shaky sigh. “I wish it were possible to have a rich life together, richer than just I can give you, full of friends and laughter. I am unsure if we can manage that, but I would like very much to try and strike a balance in our respective happiness.”

He would have been more concerned if her emotions hadn't been in flux. It was the appropriate response to everything that had happened, and she'd had far more to lose than he did. He didn't think he would ever stop regretting how much his actions had cost her and his king, even if he'd managed to set it aside for now to focus on survival. There was more to lose if he let himself wallow in guilt, so he couldn't allow it.

It was easy to find a smile when they were side by side, though he kept at least part of his attention on their direction. The horses were well-trained, but he was trying to leave the smallest trail possible. It seemed like a serious question, so he gave it serious consideration. He'd traveled extensively with the knights, and there was a lot of nothing in between most of the settlements. And that was only what he'd seen of it. "I do. It's a very big world. Surely, there is a place in it somewhere for the two of us."

He was quiet a moment longer. He'd had a life of friends and laughter. He'd been happy in it, but when it came down to it, he'd willingly given all that up for her. He didn't expect to get it back, and he didn't think it would stop him from being happy as long as they were together. She was close enough for him to reach for her hand, though he wouldn't be able to keep it long if the path narrowed. "A life with you is what I want. I care little about the rest of it," he said simply. "If we can find a place where no one has so much as heard our names, I don't see why friends should be out of the question."

Every argument or doubt she had could be countered and dismissed, but in a reassuring way. His hand in hers, however brief it had to be, was the most reassuring thing she’d felt since his embrace as she fell apart a little while he woke. If she weren’t so attached to the horse she rode, she had a moment where she could think of nothing more reassuring than sharing a horse with him. For a moment, she felt it would be quite possible she would be enough for him, and he for her. It could really be that simple. Anything else they could manage to build or find would be extra. She swiped her thumb over his skin before the path demanded she release him and fall into step behind him. The quiet exchange did her heart good and she didn’t feel pressured or compelled to speak for a long time. How long, she couldn’t say, because the canopy of trees and interspersed clouds hid the sun from them. With some modicum of peace and content, that she tried to will herself out of because it seemed foolish, she felt her eyes grow heavy as the sleepless night caught up with her.

#chat: guinevere #gxpendragon #ladyxguinevere #my heart’s in two places #verse: no turning back

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mostnoblelancelot · 3 years

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homecoming | guinevere & lancelot

@ladyxguinevere @gxpendragon

tw: miscarriage, grief, suicidal ideation

The feast was raging on inside, as these things had the tendency to do. There was a cool distance between she and Arthur. Maybe it wasn’t a visible one, but she could feel it all the same. At a certain point, everything was too raucous for her to handle anymore and she slipped out, doubting anyone would notice. She may have been the queen, but she wasn’t the center of attention tonight.

Actually, she was banking on that as she wound through the corridors, gradually putting the noise behind her, and made her way to an isolated balcony. It was on the side of the castle where the sea was visible all the time. In the evening, all she could see were whitecaps. With a deep breath, she leaned against the stone wall and contemplated going down closer to the beach, letting herself get swallowed in the waves.

That thought waned when she felt the presence of someone approaching. In spite of her heavy thoughts, she turned to him with a small smile. “Welcome home, Sir Lancelot. It seems you have served your King well.”

Given the underlying cause of their return, a feast felt somewhat insensitive at least and outright offensive at most. Perhaps few could see it, but Lancelot could tell that neither his King nor his Queen were in the mood for celebrating. He could hardly blame them, and he couldn't fail to notice the distance between them either. He doubted anyone was privy to all of Arthur's secrets, but he knew the king better than many and how the news of their lost child had struck all the joy from his eyes. It wasn't his burden to bear, but the knowledge weighed heavily on their party as they returned home in spite of their success.

The mood of the feast didn't so much as flicker when Guinevere slipped out. He gave it several minutes and followed, guessing at her destination from previous encounters. He returned the smile with a small one of his own as he stepped out onto the balcony. "Thank you, my Queen. It is an honor, as always. I only wish the circumstances had been better."

Her eyes tracked him easily as he stepped toward her. She was grateful for their proximity and for the distant soundtrack of the ocean’s churning. It would be easier to speak privately, if she decided she had something to say. She still wasn’t sure that was the wisest course with Lancelot; he was so close with Arthur. It wasn’t that she didn’t trust Lancelot with her life, or possibly her secrets, but she didn’t want to force him into an uncomfortable position. She also didn’t know what he knew. He seemed to intuit plenty, as he had followed her in the first place. His words stabbed at her a bit, because a bitter part of her wanted to ignore the possibility that Arthur had come home just for her – not with his distance over the evening, and the fact the campaign had also ended in victory beforehand.

“Victorious circumstances and a feast aren’t to your liking? How would you like things to improve?” She asked, trying to sound curious instead of harsh or acerbic. Maybe distraction would be good. “I will see if I can accommodate your needs.”

The atmosphere was much improved from the contained chaos they'd left behind. The ocean set up a lulling background noise, and he found her a typically peaceful presence, if currently a sad one. He hadn't had a clear agenda in following her here, only a vague intention of smoothing whatever rift had occurred between her and Arthur, if that were possible. He'd sworn to protect their lives with his, but it was more than that. He wanted to shield them both from suffering as well, and that was beyond his power. For all his gifts, he was still just a man.

He lowered his head at the veiled criticism in her words, even if she hadn't intended for it to be there, because he knew the truth. If they'd returned to Camelot purely because of her misfortune, they would have been home sooner. It wasn't until the campaign was successful that they'd been able to find adequate reasoning for it. "I would like my King and my Queen both to be happy," he said quietly. He was in no position to ask her for anything and didn't want it to seem like he was now, but that was the honest answer.

She sighed, instantly shamed at his reaction. Of course he’d known what she was saying. It wasn’t subtle. While she hadn’t contained her emotions since her loss, she hadn’t shared them with anyone either. It had the same bottling effect, and now it all seeped out through her words. While she sincerely doubted Arthur would notice, Lancelot was more sensitive and had clearly done just that.

His answer was maddeningly proper, though, and gave her no insight into how open she could be without imparting new information. “I don’t know if Arthur is. I can only speak for myself, and I am not – but it is not anything you can change. You bear no responsibility for my current state. I apologize for taking it out on you.”

"You need never apologize to me, my lady. Certainly not for expressing your feelings," he said gently. He didn't hold her accountable for what she said in grief. Perhaps she was right and there was nothing he could do, but he saw an opportunity there to try to mend things between the two of them. She clearly had no idea of Arthur's feelings. He tried to determine whether it would be betraying Arthur's confidence to tell her so and decided it wouldn't hurt to share his observations--but it might very well help.

"Arthur is very much grieved. He hides it well, but the loss affects him greatly." He also knew, as well as she did, that Arthur would never let his feelings get in the way of duty. It occurred to him how much more difficult that must make it for Guinevere. No matter the circumstance, he could never put her first even if he wanted to. He would always be a king before he was a husband. Sadness for her stole through him as he imagined how lonely that must feel.

Guinevere wasn’t sure if she was grateful for Lancelot’s description or if it was torture. Either way, it wasn’t something Arthur had shared with her. But it laid to rest the wondering if Lancelot was informed. Any words she could’ve said caught in her throat. She quickly redirected her focus out to the night sea, hoping she could avoid dissolving into yet another puddle of tears. It would be more humiliating in front of him, her husband’s knight, than it had been when she was by herself. Ultimately, his words didn’t provide comfort; they just added to her grief. She knew Arthur would never share them with her.

Maybe she was too angry, too isolated, too frustrated. She was too tense. Maybe it was her fault their child was forfeit now. There was no way to know. The midwife had only said ‘these things happen.’ After that, there had been no more explanation. The only possibility she’d been able to imagine was her own culpability. Arthur hadn’t even been home.

Finally, she twisted toward Lancelot again. She’d kept her eyes from spilling onto her face, but her throat was thick. “It means little if he won’t tell me that himself. You know that. I cannot do anything with the information second-hand.”

He waited while she wrestled her grief back into manageable form. He'd have felt guilty for bringing it up, except it had already been there, unacknowledged but easily the largest thing in any room. He marveled a little at her strength when she turned back to him and her eyes were dry. He had the sense that he'd taken a misstep, but he wasn't sure exactly what it was until she spoke. Then he knew. She thought that Arthur confided in him more than he did in her, but he wasn't certain their king confided in anyone. If he had, Lancelot had not been privy to it.

"He tells no one. You have much in common that way. But perhaps you need not suffer in isolation," he offered quietly. He was out of his depth here, trying to mend a marriage that he wasn't a part of. He was half-expecting her to remind him of his place--not that she was prone to such things--but relationship counseling was far outside the description of a knight. Still, he suspected that Arthur needed consolation nearly as much as she did, and there was no one better suited for it than the other.

Maybe because he’d sought her out, she didn’t feel he was prying or speaking out of turn. He was clearly concerned. She almost believed, through no fault of his own, that it was for both she and Arthur. With a sweeping glance throughout their periphery, at least as much as she could see, she verified they were alone. “If he tells no one, then how do you know its the truth you’re speaking now?”

She asked, not aggressively but curiously. “The simple truth is I am already in isolation. I know it isn’t the typical way a queen, or a wife, acts, but I have little trust in those here and the only one I’ve relied on is Arthur. But he’s here less frequently these days and he has other things pressing on him.” She glanced down at her feet. “Though I will go to our shared chambers tonight, I am alone with this.”

Warranted or not, his concern for Guinevere was as real as his concern for his king. They didn't know each other as well, had spent far less time together, but his loyalty to both was deep-rooted. "Because I have eyes to see," he countered gently. He'd been there when Arthur received the news, and there was no doubt in his mind that he suffered greatly over it. "Why do you think it is not?" Arthur likely hadn't said as much, but he rarely did, so that meant little.

He considered that, but he couldn't find a way to argue the point honestly. In truth, he thought she was wise not to trust most in the castle. The majority of the knights were good men, but like him, they were Arthur's men. The same could not be said for the rest of those who resided there, with their watchful eyes and vicious gossip. It struck him again how lonely she must feel, bearing all of that on her own. "Then perhaps you would consider me a friend," he offered quietly. He was no substitute for her husband, but at least she wouldn't be wholly alone.

She dared raise her eyes to him as he spoke gently. No amount of stubborn pride would be able to counter his words. She didn’t ask for details because she didn’t want them. Even as she pondered over Arthur’s possible feelings on this matter, she hadn’t wanted him to hurt. Selfishly, she wanted him to ride to her rescue, to just show up the way he had so often before they were married. Then it had seemed no worry she had was too small; this particular worry was far beyond the cares she had shared with him. “Because I am the one who failed this time,” she finally admitted. It was just a small portion of what pained her, but it felt safe to say so now. “I cannot think of his disappointment in me. I could not bear to hear him express it.”

His next wish, nearly covered by the sounds of the water, earned a hesitant nod. She pressed her hand to her mouth to prevent any other sound, for the moment, and allowed a scant tear to fall. “I don’t know if I can go through this again.”

"In what way?" His brows drew together and he shook his head once, decisively. "This was not your fault." In truth, he didn't have a lot of evidence to support that idea. He hadn't spoken with the midwife, and he knew little about child-bearing. But he couldn't imagine anything Guinevere could have done to cause it. It was like blaming her for taking ill. No mortal could control it. "If the king is disappointed, I imagine it is with fate and circumstance, and not with you." Again, he didn't have any evidence to back that up. It wasn't like Arthur confided in him, or anyone that he knew of, but he hoped it would console her regardless.

His lips parted slightly in surprise, and for a moment, it seemed he had nothing to say. He mourned her situation all the more since he doubted she'd be given that option. The king required an heir. "Perhaps you will not have to," he said finally. "It would be cruel of fortune to strike you so again." Far from sounding reassuring to his ear, the words felt more like a bad omen. Lancelot wasn't superstitious, but he didn't like the way they hung in the air after he'd said them. Perhaps someone else would have been better suited to comfort her. He didn't seem to have a talent for it.

Guinevere thought on the things she’d heard contained within whispers. First, that the child was not Arthur’s, that she had bedded someone else. That was obviously the only explanation for the fact they’d had a fruitless union for over two years. Then, tonight, she’d heard tellings that she was mad and lied of being pregnant, or that she had killed the baby with her own hands, that it was evidence of her unfitness to be queen. Nearly nothing hurt as much as thinking Arthur would believe any of the things she’d heard – and that had been with her mostly staying shut in her chambers. She offered him a dull, insincere smile, clouded by the tears she’d allowed to gather. “Perhaps. Or perhaps the courtyard rumors will resonate more than fate or circumstance.”

She glanced over at him, unsurprised by the way he rejected her words. He was undoubtedly loyal to Arthur, and that probably made it pointless for her to truly confide in him. Her fears counteracted the needs of the country. She’d already gathered the idea that Arthur wasn’t so comfortable in his kingly status as he likely should have been, and the populace also had their doubts about his lineage or power. The story of his rise to the throne was incredible, and many had some difficulty believing it. While she believed he was a good and capable king, she understood the doubts. She also understood the reality of her situation: an heir would give his reign legitimacy and staying power. “Is your own mother still alive?” She finally asked, knowing hers wasn’t and it would quite likely serve as backing for her worries.

He'd heard many of the same rumors, but not from any sources he considered reliable. He did his best to shut them down whenever he could do so without making things worse for her. The nobles were worse than schoolchildren when it came to gossip, and he didn't care to participate in it. He could see why she preferred the company of the knights whenever possible. "I hardly think our king is swayed by gossip," he assured her. In his current state, he wasn't even sure Arthur was truly hearing much of anything that didn't directly pertain to his duties. His tunnel vision, apparently, did not include Guinevere in its scope.

"I do not know. I was raised by the Lady of the Lake. Whether she is truly my mother, she never said. But she is living, yes. She will likely outlive all of us." Fae were practically immortal, as far as he knew. His gaze shifted out toward the water, a small smile on his lips. He had not seen her for many years. She didn't encourage him to return now that he'd joined the world of men, but his memories were fond. "How did your mother pass?" He knew that her mother had died and she was raised with only brothers, but he didn't know when or the circumstances.

Guinevere gave him a fleeting smile as she fought the urge to make her immediate point. No matter how true it was, she didn’t want to speak it. The words forced themselves out all the same. “Our king is not necessarily the same man as my husband,” she pointed out. “As a king, he blocks the words out. As a spouse, he is not around to witness or believe. He relies on accounts from others within Camelot. Have you ever been married?”

She accepted his words, his answer to her question, with a nod. “She feels like your mother, regardless of the details. I am glad you still have her. My mother died giving birth to me. I never knew her and my father has said precious little about her, so I know very little. I would rather endure the loss of a child than prescribe a fate that would force a child to endure the loss of its mother. Is that terrible to admit?”

"He is always a king first," he agreed gently. He was beginning to have an idea of what that meant for her, and the thought filled him with sorrow, particularly now that the rift between them seemed greater than ever. "But I believe he is wise in choosing his sources, and he would most like to hear from you." Arthur's feelings were as inscrutable to him as they were to her, if not more so, but he imagined the level of trust between husband and wife was greater than most.

Her question forced a quick smile from him, as though she'd called his bluff. "I have not. Is it so obvious?" At his age, he probably should have taken a wife, but he'd never met a woman he cared for as much as he cared for being a knight. It seemed wrong to force a woman to always be second just for the sake of saying he had one.

"I'm sorry. That must be difficult for you." He frowned in sympathy. He tried to imagine being raised without a mother and found it impossible, although he had no trouble imagining the absence of a father. It didn't seem to have affected him the way it had her though. He'd never felt wanting with the Lady of the Lake, but he hadn't had a lot of typical human families to compare the experience to either. "You have endured both. You are perhaps best qualified to make such a judgment."

Guinevere nodded, because Arthur was always a king first. Perhaps she should have embraced her own role with more vigor, but she couldn’t do as he had done. She didn’t have advisors, people to train her or show her the way as Arthur did. She needed someone like Merlin, though not Merlin exactly because she wasn’t overly fond of the man. “It matters not who he chooses, Lancelot.

While there is debate whether he is the true king or not, so some agree and some disagree, there is no debate about me. I was not anyone’s first choice for queen, except his.” She sighed. “And even that, I thing, was not about me being queen as much as it was about his desire not to marry someone else.” She gave a soft, one-note laugh. “No, that is why I asked. I think you have ideals about what it entails, though, and I didn’t know if those were earned or if they were speculation.”

The humor faded with their other serious topic, though. “I don’t know any other way. I think it is why I am more suited to be around men than women, though. Or maybe that is a result of my personality.” Her next sigh was shaky. “As it turns out, childbirth is no joyful event either way. And growing up with only one parent was lonely. I don’t know if two would have made a difference, but in our case… Arthur is gone so often. If he dies…” she shook her head. She couldn’t really contemplate that potential series of events. “I do not think I can do this again, but I don’t really know how to prevent it, either. No more than I know how I could avoid my own demise.”

"Then I would hope he would hold his own opinion in highest esteem on the matter." He tilted his head, brow furrowing slightly. He didn't know what she meant by that comment, and given her current mood, he wasn't sure he wanted to ask. She had a lot of heavy things on her mind, and it seemed to be dredging up more to keep it company. He wasn't aware that Arthur had reasons other than love for marrying Guinevere. "If it is worth anything, I think you make a fine queen," he offered with a small smile. "And I think many of the knights feel the same."

"Speculation, I'm afraid. But that does not make them wrong." It wasn't the first time someone had called him idealistic, and it likely wouldn't be the last. He thought there were worse things to be. It certainly suited him better than cynical. "I would not let any harm come to you, or your future child," he promised. If would ease her fears at all, he was happy to make it. If the king died, there was no guarantee the Knights of the Round Table would continue. Lancelot's allegiance was to Arthur and Guinevere. "I would not wish it upon you. But I think you are stronger than you know."

‘Arthur’s opinion’ made her smile; she knew he had a high opinion of her. She knew he had wanted to marry her because he loved her, not be forced into a political marriage that held no real affection. The smile was meant to be fleeting, but it gained new life at Lancelot’s reassurance. “Is that possibly because I’m not a proper lady, so I’m just as content to ride horses or get dirty with you lot?” She asked. “I fear the main role of a queen is to hold her tongue and I am not always successful at doing so. But I appreciate your insight and your favor.” Feeling something as foreign as a smile on her face made her a bit anxious to find distance from the heavier topics and feelings that had been on her mind.

She even gave a small laugh in the effort to shake off her gloom. “No, it does not make them wrong,” she conceded. “I have my own impressions and some of them are still quite fanciful, in spite of the less charming realities.” She swallowed hard. She was slipping back down the slope into the melancholy she’d been carrying on her shoulders for weeks, and his promises weren’t necessarily preventing. They were helping, were soothing, but they weren’t preventing her from doing it. “Sometimes I’m tired of being strong. I don’t know if it is because I’m not as strong as you think, or if I’ve relied on that for too long. Where do you find strength when you need it?”

It was a relief to see a smile on her face, however fleeting. Maybe he wasn't the worst choice for cheering her up, even if he also wasn't the best. "That may play a significant role," he agreed with a small smile. "But is it so terrible to be liked for your truest self?" G was easy to get along with and relate to, and while those qualities weren't the ones expected of a queen, they had a way of endearing her to the knights. They would all lay down their lives for her out of duty, but he suspected many would out of plain devotion.

"Perhaps hope is best held onto." He nodded. He didn't think either of them indulged their fancies so far as to neglect reality, even if it might have been more pleasant. As quickly as her melancholy had lightened, she seemed to slide back into it, but he hadn't hoped to cure her misery in one conversation. The loss of her child was something only time could lessen.

"My strength has not been tried as yours has," he admitted, shaking his head. It was humbling to admit that she was stronger than he was, but it seemed fitting to him. A queen should be strong, and a knight merely a means of support. "When I need strength, I think only of what needs to be done, and not whether I can do it. So far, it has proved effective." There wasn't a lot of room for self-doubt on a battlefield, and he didn't take well to it anyway. It saved time to assume he could handle whatever came at him, and he was usually right.

Reluctantly, but with amusement, Guinevere shook her head. “No, it is not. However, I think it likely only Arthur’s knights know anything of my true self, so that expression is rather limited. That is the problem. Or, rather, that is a significant part of the problem.”

She placed her hands on the wall, leaning on it for support as she listened to his words. She was tired still from all she had been through. Pregnancy and childbirth, however short-lived, had taken a lot of her energy. It was getting better, but she still found herself unable to sit or stand for too long without feeling a bit weakened. “So you’re saying I should believe I can do anything and I will be correct?” She asked, mostly to clarify. “What if I wanted to fling myself over this wall? What would you say then?” It was sarcastic and black in spirit, definitely not in keeping with the hope he had been speaking of and even tended to exude. It wasn’t even necessarily true; death was an end, a stoppage of progress, and she didn’t like that thought. She would much rather remain and try to turn her circumstances into something pleasant. The question, the morbid wondering, still remained.

"There seems to be little room for true selves in the castle," he agreed quietly. He didn't feel that people wouldn't accept him for who he truly was so much that he didn't even know that person. He had no idea who he actually was beneath the many qualities and skills the Lady had given him. Maybe he was just as he seemed, or maybe he was a very convincing actor. Even Lancelot couldn't tell the difference.

His brow creased slightly in concern. She looked exhausted, and he worried he was keeping her from rest. He might have made his excuses and left if not for her next comment. "That's a rather fanciful interpretation. No." He glanced down. Perhaps he'd misspoken. "It's merely a way of focusing on practical matters and not allowing self-doubt to interfere." His eyes flickered back up to her. He didn't know her well enough to tell whether the comment was serious or in jest, but it was far more morbid than anything they'd been discussing so far. "I would never stand by and allow you to come to harm."

Guinevere nodded. He was correct. It also gave her the momentary, pleasant distraction of wondering what she didn’t know about him, about the other knights. But he was the one who had noticed she was leaving, the one who had followed. Perhaps that was why she wondered about him more than the others. “So what’s something I don’t know about you? If we’re standing here, we’re technically not in the castle.”

She’d closed her eyes, but just for a moment. They snapped open and to him with his flat denial. “And how does one tell the difference between doubt and legitimate culpability?” She asked softly. Once their eyes met, she looked out at the sea again, leaning onto her elbows and perching more on the ledge. “What would you do? Jump in after me?”

He considered for a moment and decided on a less serious answer. He knew it wasn't the sort of thing she'd been asking for, but their conversation was heavy enough without him adding nameless insecurities to it. "I make very good flower crowns." He smiled quickly. It was against a knight's code to brag. It felt unfamiliar to him, but it was just a small thing and not a skill he ever had occasion to use anymore.

"There is always time for self-reflection after the fact." He looked down when she looked away, and then his gaze drifted toward the sea as well, gauging the distance from the water and the roughness of the waves. He thought a strong swimmer might survive it. Given the topic of conversation, he didn't like that she'd moved nearer to the edge. "If I could not prevent you from jumping, then yes," he said softly. They weren't empty words. It was his job to lay his life down for his queen, and it was as simple as that.

Guinevere was quiet as the tried to imagine him making flower crowns. Her eyes darted to his hands, but she couldn’t examine their details. He was a large man, overall, and she imagined his hands the same. That they were nimble enough for more delicate work, like flowers, was a bit of a paradox. She wanted to know more, but instead of asking, she smiled softly. “I never would have guessed, Sir Lancelot. I’ve not had the patience for such a task, so perhaps if I ever need one, I will seek you out.”

Her smile faded and she swallowed hard. “At times, I feel invisible here. If I were to do something of that sort, I would not do it while someone was nearby. I would do it while no one was watching.” She glanced over at him again. “Do not risk death for me. If ever it happened, you would be a great loss.”

"Please do. It is always a pleasure to use one's skills," he chuckled. He hadn't made one in years, but he was sure his hands remembered how to do it. It was a silly thing for a knight to be able to do, a reminder that he had not been raised in a castle just as she hadn't.

His smile faded as well under the somber topic of conversation. He wasn't sure why she was telling him such things, if it was purely hypothetical or if she might really be considering death. Certainly, she'd given it enough thought to know how she wouldn't do it. In any case, he would be keeping a closer eye on her while he was in the castle, though he doubted that was often enough to make a difference if she truly wished to harm herself. "And you would not? Death is the least of what I would risk for you, my queen."

Guinevere smiled, however small it still was, at the thought of asking him for one at random and wearing it, claiming she’d made it herself in an effort to keep his talent a secret and to keep herself above derision for accepting a gift from a man who was not her husband. “Perhaps when you’ve not been gone fighting. Surely you have friends, or lovers, to seek out. You could quite likely land in any bed you wished, if you just spoke the desire.”

She shook her head. “I do not think I would be,” she admitted. She had already added enough reprimand, in a general way not specific to him, of the absences of the knights and the king. She did not feel the need to point out that, even if she were to, it would take time for anyone to notice she was gone and still more time for anyone to attempt to do anything about it. “I do not want anyone to die, or worse, for me.”

He would have happily obliged and kept the secret between them. Secrets with his queen wasn't very honorable, but it was a harmless one. "I have not the desire," he said softly. "And my friends were with me." He had lovers occasionally, but he seemed to be growing out of the habit in search of something more lasting. It was likely well past time for him to take a wife, but he wasn’t in any rush. "I think you undervalue your importance." Far be it from him to contradict a monarch, but he didn't like how little regard she seemed to hold for herself. "Let us hope it will not come to that," he offered, in an attempt to lighten the mood.

It wasn’t a great leap, but his simple statements made it clear to her they lived very different lives. They were very different people. It also reminded her that, although the Round Table concept was meant to cast them as equals, Lancelot was Arthur’s friend, one of the closest to him. While it was Arthur’s presence she’d craved, Lancelot and Arthur and the other men had all been together. Once the thought had pressed into her mind, she was sure she’d never felt so alone. There was no envy, no anger, no argument. There was only numb acceptance. She’d made her bed, so to speak.

All she could do was sigh. Her thoughts were trending toward self-pity in a way she didn’t accept from herself, even if it was internal.

“Perhaps,” was all she said to dismiss it. She offered him a small, polite smile. “I think there may be a few steps yet between the current situation and flinging myself from a building. Although if I had to return to that feast….” she tilted her head. “I think you are quite likely to be the only one who notices I’ve gone. Will you promise not to say anything? Go back to your friends, relax and enjoy a celebration with them. You’ve worked hard and you deserve it.”

He didn't know what he'd said to empty the expression, the life for lack of a better word, out of her face, but it was clear that he had. He did his best to hide his own concerned expression. Perhaps he could speak to Arthur about her. It would be out of turn, but if her suffering continued like this, it was worth the risk of his displeasure.

"I'm pleased to hear it." He nodded. Given her previous statements, he wasn't sure he believed her, but all he could do was accept it. It was as she'd said. If she wished for death, she wouldn't tell him first. "Of course, my queen." He bowed his head. He recognized a dismissal when he heard it. He probably would return to the feast, if only because his absence was likely to be noticed at some point. Despite their success, he was no longer feeling much in the mood for a party. "Should you need anything, I hope you won't hesitate to call on me."

He was gentle and gallant, polite moreso than many others in the castle. She wanted to tell him there was no way she would call on him if she needed something. It wasn’t that he didn’t seem reliable, but he was in her husband’s echelon, available to Arthur. In the hierarchy of things, she fell somewhere below there as a priority and she knew it.

Instead, she gave him a soft, genuine smile. “Thank you, Lancelot. You’ve been most patient. I bid you good night.” With that, she turned to find her chambers and, maybe, some rest.

#chat: guinevere #gxpendragon #ladyxguinevere #homecoming #verse: original backstory

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