Marco de Fiore / Arthur (flirtual) wrote in fableless, @ 2016-09-25 22:16:00 |
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At Their Wedding Negotiations lasted a long time, preparations almost as long, but now the ceremony was over and Arthur and Guinevere were officially married. He was relieved to have that behind him, relieved it all worked out, and that everyone was settling in comfortably at the wedding feast now. They were at a time of uneasy but genuine peace now, where he was planning on building the kingdom, rather than fighting for it. The toasts were given, politeness was adhered to, and now Arthur was weary of all the things he should be doing. They were at a separate and grand table than the rest, standing alone as they should be, king and queen. It meant for the first time in some time, he was alone with his wife. Marriages like this were done with political ideas in mind, not with too much attention given to the particulars. Such as, who are you truly, what is our life going to be together, we're married, what now? Arthur knew many women over his life so far, but for the first time since his first, he found himself nervous. This was a lifetime oath. "I don't know about you, but I feel like I could sleep for a week after a day like today." Arthur was a king, but he wasn't raised one, not really. He could be a little too honest and uncalculated. It might be why he got along with his people so well. In stark contrast to her new husband, Guinevere had been born and, more importantly, raised in her true heritage: the daughter of a throned King, a lifelong princess who had known, always, that one day, with her marriage, she would be a Queen. And because of this, because she was a princess raised, she did not so much as flutter an eyelash at Arthur Pendragon’s rather unorthodox comment. “Yes, Your Majesty,” she said with perfect aplomb and even a smile. “Perhaps not a week." There were times he found her heritage intimidating, considering his own questionable background, but Arthur saw in her only good things for the future of his kingdom. Her diplomacy to smooth over his roughness. The problem was how little they knew each other on a personal level, and he tried to think of a way to solve that. "I think you can call me Arthur now, or at least when we're alone. Unless that's a bizarre thing to ask a royal spouse." He had a way of using a negative into a positive; his ignorance of royal behavior as self-effacing humor. "If I am allowed to call you Guinevere." He liked the way her name sounded. “Arthur,” she repeated, gently, as if the name had a foreign flavour on her tongue. She’d said it before, of course, but never uncoupled with the title that came before it; there was a strange but not-unwelcome intimacy to the word without it. “Of course. And of course you may call me Guinevere, or whatever you like, and whenever you like to. You are the King. You may do as you wish.” Whereas she would continue to call him Your Majesty in public; it was only proper. Privacy was a different matter. If he liked the way her name sounded, he liked the way his name sounded on her tongue even more. Arthur relaxed slightly. If she'd insisted on calling him your majesty in all situations, it would have gotten uncomfortable. He really did just want to be himself at the end of the day. And hopefully show her who that was. This was only the beginning. "And you are the Queen. You may do as you wish too." He smiled at her, his eyes warm, intent. "You are my equal partner, Guinevere, in all things. My authority is your authority." She was going to have more power than a lot of other queens were given. She knew what she was doing, that made a big difference, and Arthur wasn't interested in a bauble on his arm. He wanted a future. It was a rare state of mind, perhaps, but he knew powerful women in his life and never thought twice about it. More than rare, it was a shocking state of mind, but Guinevere knew how to school her expression to keep the surprise out of it. She offered her husband a small but genuine smile and inclined her head, accepting that. Though of course she knew that what was said at the wedding might not be true in the marriage. She reached to take his hand, a trifle impulsively, and nodded. “Thank you my l- Arthur.” A soft laugh. “That may take some getting used to.” Arthur smiled back, threading their fingers together. "Luckily, we have a lifetime to get used to it." Years Later, Happily In Love Arthur moved about his city these days glowing with joy and purpose. Camelot was doing exceptionally well. His knights were becoming exceptional legends in their own right, rushing off to do business for him and coming back with glory. His people seemed to be thriving. It all came from hard work, none of it came easy, but that's what made it fun too. Never boring. It was with that spirit in mind that he sought out his wife. It was easy to see her as an extension of how everything seemed to be clicking well. She kept an excellent home, she was a perfect partner for him, more than he expected when they were married. Some queens were symbols and that was it, and he would not have held it against her if she was, but he'd always wanted more of an equal. He was full of smiles when he found her in the dining hall, the same place they shared that first dinner together years ago. "I have an idea, my lady, if you are feeling adventurous on this fine day." Arthur was a king, and despite all odds, a good one; in moments like this, however, he looked boyish and sweet, and Guinevere could not help smiling back at him. She gestured around, to indicate the servants she had been supervising- helping, but that such was not appropriate to the dignity of a queen, so call it supervising- in their tasks. “Truly, your Majesty? An adventure more attractive than my work?” Her sparkling eyes and lingering smile betrayed the words for false. "Well, your work is clearly very attractive and interesting---" He had absolutely no idea what she was doing, and that was part of the joke. "But I was thinking of something slightly more arduous." Arthur reached out to take her hand and brought it to his lips, pressing a kiss into the palm, far more familiar than the typical knuckles. "It's been some time since we went on a horseback ride. I thought perhaps we could go inspect the northern border wall. Exciting for a prospect, I know, it's in slight disrepair, but I could use your eye, and it would get us outside." They were both rulers who liked to be hands on, to see what was happening for themselves rather than trusting words alone. It was a strange task for a Queen, the inspecting of walls, and far less proper than the one at hand; still, Guinevere looked toward the great doors of the hall, open as they were to the sun, her expression wistful and then, after a beat, determined. “As my King commands,” she agreed, and that teasing note in her voice was only more pronounced. The ‘command’ was a convenient excuse: after all, she could hardly be expected to say no to such a thing. That it hadn’t been phrased at all as an order was neither here nor there. Arthur tugged her hand so she'd come closer and wrapped an arm around her waist. It wasn't strictly proper, but the servants knew well enough to avert their eyes politely. He only wanted to hold her for a moment, looking down at her face, brushing her hair back. "Your King does command, my Queen." A ride in the sunshine, a diversion that was mostly just an excuse to have a little fun. They didn't get to have much of that with their duties always pressing on their shoulders. Arthur wanted to have it all; the duty and maybe a distraction or two. He smiled down at her and spoke true, from the heart, as was his way: "I love you, Guinevere." It was not the first time he felt it, or the first time he really said it, although the latter was said in a place where words didn't always have strongest meaning. But in the light of day, the words made him shy, and bold at the same time. He was such a sweet boy, her Arthur, for a King, or for a man at all, really, and Guinevere ought to have cared that the servants were present, but she found that she couldn’t. Instead she laughed and leaned up to kiss him, gentle and quick and blushing a little at her own daring. “Then take me riding, my lord,” she agreed, happy, before softening a little. “And I you.” Their servants and loyal subjects were getting very used to the way the two of them acted these days, and almost every one of them hid fond smiles. It wasn't the average match between royals, that led to true happiness, but it seemed like no mistake the land was thriving the same time the marriage was. Arthur returned the kiss and broke away before they really gave her a reason to blush. He kissed the top of her head after. "I already had them get your horse ready." His smile was unrepentant. "Let's go." The Betrayal and End Arthur felt old and tired. He was usually a man of energy, but the dozens of years of war, and the current state of his once great nation wore at him. He'd gone silver earlier than most. The lines on his face clearer. He was either exhausted beyond rationality at the moment or entering into full numbness. He held in his hand a letter from Lot's sons that brought him back to Camelot. He'd been gone a long while this time, this campaign eating away at him, but some things were too important to leave where they were. This was personal, and sometimes a personal problem was enough to destroy a man, when his enemies could not batter him down by a sword. Lancelot would be seen to next, if they hadn't already seized him, but the King only had one person in mind to speak to at the moment. He was dirty from the road and worn from heartache, when he stepped into their personal chambers without knocking first. What he was going to do about all of this, he hadn't decided yet, but he knew what his advisers wanted. Not for the first time he wished Merlin was there, the only voice he'd always trusted. "Guinevere," he said, not bothering with a bow or greeting. He’d come. She’d known he would, from the moment the sons of Lot had caught her and her lover in an ill-judged embrace, but she hadn’t known when. Lancelot had gone, fleeing in fear of his life, and while she had encouraged it, she had never felt more alone. The chambers she’d shared with Arthur had never felt more cold. She would not admit it, but Guinevere was very much afraid. She was afraid, and she could not let it rule her. “Arthur,” she replied, somehow keeping her eyes and her voice steady. Maybe she should have cast her gaze down, knelt to him and begged forgiveness or at least mercy, called him- if nothing else- by the honorific she’d always given him over the years. But what was the use? It wouldn’t erase what she had done. Wouldn’t erase that the delicate love between them was shattered, had been shattered by her own doing. There was little point in hiding. His name from her lips felt cruel right then. He always loved when she called him Arthur, mostly when they were alone, sometimes when they were wrapped up with one another, although she was always proper otherwise. But they were alone now. Outside of the many, many people invisibly pulling strings in this bedchamber. He loved her. Even in this moment, when he knew what she'd done, with his best friend of all people, his heart still beat for her. Perhaps that was why it was so easy, for hate to start flaring in the pit of his stomach. What he should do? He was aware. What he wanted to do? It varied from moment to moment. There was no forgiveness he could allow; if his heart had wanted to allow it, his role as a leader could not. "You should have told me," he said softly. "Quietly, this could have been handled, but now ---" He'd never taken another lover, not in those times away from her, so focused on his mission, his honor untainted that way. And it was a blow to him that way, he'd been lacking in some way. "I do not understand how you could have done this to me." “Told you?” Guinevere asked, incredulous. “Told you? How would you have had me phrase it, my lord?” She shook her head; there was no way. No way she could have said it that would have changed what she had done, no way she could have unmade her choice or lessened the hurt it would cause. What was there to say? What had there ever been? You left me alone for so long, left me here alone to rule from behind stone walls while you had your adventures and your wars. And it was not enough for me. It should have been, perhaps, and that it wasn’t is my shame; but it was not enough. No. She could hardly say all of that, even if Arthur had been here to hear it before it was too late. “Sometimes,” she admitted softly, after the flare of anger passed, after her breathing had slowed again, “I do not understand it myself. But it is done.” Arthur's anger was flared up by her incredulous response, as if she had the right to show any fury at him. But she was right. It was done. He ran fingers through his silvering hair, feeling more silver today than any other. "I would have been angry, Gwen, and heartbroken ---" He was both of those things now. It tore at his heart, made him weary, made him defeated. "But I might have had the chance to spare you both." For all his fury at the two of them, that was where he went first. Mercy. For a warrior king, he didn't have the taste for blood in his own house. Except it was out of his hands now. "You were caught and witnessed by knights and noblemen. You committed treason, by our laws, and that means you have to be sentenced." A traitor's death was not a good one, and he hoped he could give her a quick one, at the moment that was the only end he could see. Arthur might have been able to spare her. Might. If these hadn't been his own rules, his own trap, his own pride. "Our kingdom is weak right now. I cannot let it weaken more." His kingdom over her. That was always going to be the choice. And it was what led to this moment and all the others before that. Guinevere had known that it was coming. Known what had to happen, what choice had to be made. She’d all but forced his hand. There was no other way. Still, she paled at hearing it, lips pressing together thin and bloodless-white, her fingers tightening in her skirts almost enough to tear the thick fabric as she forced herself to nod, accepting it. “As my King commands,” she said, as she’d said so many times before, and never once like this. It was the way she said it. The situation they were in. The betrayal and the agony of what had to happen. And he wanted to do a multitude of things then. Yell at her. Forgive her. Rescue her. Strike her. None of it settled long enough to get a reaction out of him, but there was no mistaking the tears shimmering in his eyes. "I ---" What was there to say? The years all seemed wasted and bitter, resting on his shoulders like overbearing weights. Arthur shut down his thoughts, shutters falling over his eyes, and he was a soldier again. This was a battlefield. It was the only way to view it. The only thing left to him. He opened the door and looked at the waiting guards. If anyone was hoping to hear a real row between them, they didn't get what they wanted. Arthur lifted his head high; cuckolded he may be, but he was still King. "Her highness is arrested for treason." Told to his guard, but a flicker in him led him to continue. "She is to be kept in her chambers here until trial." Not the dungeons. The others might want that, but humiliating and torturing her would change nothing. Arthur didn't - couldn't - look back at her as he walked away. |