[closed/complete] Characters: Elaine of Corbenic (thegrailmaiden) & Gwynevere (vivatregina) Date/Time: December 21st Location: The stairs in the apartment building Rating: PG-13 Warnings: Arthurian ladies (never mess with Arthurian ladies) Summary: Elaine wants to find Aeneas and Syrinx and Gwynevere, wanting to escape her visions, receives a nasty one. They end up meeting.
The day had been deeply unpleasant for Elaine. She'd spent a few hours trying to find a way out while also mourning the loss of her hard work. Everything she had been baking and preparing was back in the apartment. Then there had been an odd spell for three hours of her feeling that should be at home, housekeeping, shopping and cooking. She'd even gotten into vintage clothing, opting for a lovely blue dress that nipped in at her waist and was boned to give her bust a particular shape she only could recall seeing on pin-up models. There was even a petticoat. A petticoat! And that, while very charming, made her feel like she was fitting a role (but she was going to keep the clothes if she could).
Feeling rather downcast but trusting she was far from alone, she sent out a text to Aeneas and Syrinx that she would be looking for them in the 'crazy but pretty building'. Not trusting the elevators, she opted to take the stairs. She'd go down from where she was first and then double check as she went back up.
And so, still dressed in her brilliant blue dress with her phone in hand, Elaine went about looking for someone familiar, even if she hadn't called them.
If the day had been deeply unpleasant for Elaine, it was tragic for Gwynevere. She'd even forgotten what had happened to her before the transport. The very moment Gwyn arrived, memories of the fall of Camelot assailed her. The screams of the dying haunted her no less than they had before. The blood, flowing like an unobstructed river...
She tried to scream, look for comfort, but her voice was failing her. She felt weary, wearier than she had in a long, long time. Desperate, she flung open her door, blind and deaf to the world outside of her memories. Escape - she needed escape. The door to the stairs catching the corner of her eye, she approached. She swung that open, moving to take slow and unsteady steps. Maybe if she went to higher ground, as she did with the Tower of London, she'd be safe...
Gwynevere only managed a flight or two before collapsing on a landing. The memories were shifting - Lancelot making love to her with bloody hands in Meliagraunce's castle; her wedding day to Arthur Pendragon, when she was but a young woman afraid to be parted from her beloved father; Mordred and his lecherous eyes; Lancelot as he visited her at the nunnery, begging for one last kiss; the news of Arthur's death. Everything was in the wrong order, but the lack of chronology did nothing to mitigate the pain.
She was a failure. In deed, in thought, in soul. And there was nothing she could do to change that. She buried her head in her hands, backing up against the wall and trembling. She could've been a little girl, placed as she was on the floor, sobbing like there weren't enough tears in the world.
Elaine fancied herself a sympathetic soul when it mattered (though chances of that dropped heavily when to came to Agravaine). The sound of sobbing first attracted her while she was trying to find Percival's number on her phone and then it was the sight of the young woman. There was no way to define her as the Queen of Camelot now, not with her face hidden and Elaine having never crossed paths with her before now.
A swell of pity and concerned flooded her and, phone put away for now, she finished the last few steps to plant herself beside the woman. Once on her knees, a hand was carefully placed on one of the woman's shoulders. "Oh, what's wrong? What's happened?"
At the contact, Gwynevere found her voice. "I didn't mean to!" she yelled out, raising her head. She did not see Elaine, no. Her memories lent Elaine the face of Arthur, their hands clasped as he led her around the castle. His smile was euphoric, happy to be with her. "Please, no, don't - don't smile at me - no. I - I don't deserve this. I don't deserve anything."
After a few heavy breaths, she shook her head violently, again burying it in her hands. "My love, my liege, I d - don't know what to do. I would have been happy to pay my dues to you in the fires of hell. But, as I'm sure is my due, that simple penance was denied me. I do not know what I can do for you in this life."
Perhaps Gwynevere didn't see Elaine but Elaine saw Gwynevere. Involuntarily, her form stiffened up and she felt a chill wash over her. Oh. You. It's you. ...how lucky for me.
A rational being would have considered how Gwynevere had spent the last of her days. A kinder person would have forgiven considering how they had all done wrong. But Elaine, with as many decent traits as she had, had difficult forgiving the woman she believed to have had the perfect hook in the man she loved so fiercely once. Reason should have forced her to understand what a sickness love was, for herself, for Lancelot and even Gwynevere but she couldn't. Not in this moment.
You had a husband. A husband, our king, to be faithful to you and you... Her fingers flexed, a ridiculous urge to put her hands around Gwynevere's most lovely and slim throat striking her as she heard the other woman plead. When Lancelot was with me at last, and we lived peacefully enough, you called. And he ran to you. Faithfully ran to you, leaving me alone.
The old pain she had felt long ago made her heart harden, her hand dropping from Gwynevere's shoulder. "You're right," she replied, her voice deceptively detached, ever so soft. "How could you deserve anything? What could you do for any of us now? And who do you call your love? Who do you dare speak that word to?"
"Arthur, please," Gwynevere whispered, withdrawing even further into her cocoon. "Do not punish me with words - I cannot do anything for you that way. Please. Give me something to do, anything to be of service to you." With an eerie desperation, she raised her head once more, clasping Elaine's shoulders. Her eyes were wide and wild. "I hear their screams, Arthur. They - they do not let me go. No matter how many lives I live, I will never be able to escape the cries of those who died out of love for you."
She faltered, looking down, unrelenting in her grip. "Tell me to die for you. You have found another, have you not? It is only right. I do not deserve to be anyone's Queen."
None of Gwynevere's words affected her until Arthur's name was heard and a flash guilt struck the redhead. The very Arthur she wouldn't want to hurt for hadn't he suffered enough from long ago? Despite this fantastic opportunity to drive someone she so disliked into what she perceived to be an appropriate and deserved breakdown, Elaine only had to picture Arthur's face (his fluffy hair and charismatic, most open smile) and it dwindled that urge.
He owes me for this. He doesn't have to know it. He just does.
"I'm not him," she managed between clenched teeth, her hands reaching up to grasp the woman by her wrists. "I am not Arthur, Gwynevere. And I doubt sincerely he would want you to die even if you betrayed him so terribly."
Gwynevere was abruptly dragged out of her vision to encounter eyes filled with hatred and malice. With all the force she could muster, she drew her hands back, rising to her feet and backing away. She eyed the woman opposite her warily. A beautiful woman, but she only need look into a mirror to know that beautiful women were hardly worth trusting. Eyes flashing with mistrust, Gwynevere continued to retreat until her back hit the wall.
"Who are you?" she asked, voice flat and breath heavy with exhaustion. "How do you know my name?"
Her lips flattened into a thin line as she rose up on her own feet. There was no need to tease her about her lack of knowledge. The community could easily out her anyway, no doubt.
A mocking curtsy was offered but she never took her eyes off Gwynevere. "Elaine of Corbenic. I'm sure you remember me as well as I remember you."
Gwynevere closed her eyes, staggered by yet another onslaught of memories. Herself in bed, alone and cold, unable to sleep despite all manner of shifting around. Rising to her feet, hearing Lancelot's voice. The chamber next to hers - Lancelot's beautiful body entangled with another woman's, his eyes closed in bliss.
The stab at her heart. Gwynevere had already lost Arthur to Camelot. To lose Lancelot, whom she loved like she had never known herself capable...
The memories shifted. These ones, only imagined, but just as poignant. Lancelot and Elaine, happily wed, taking care of Galahad. She suppressed a sob - this was a happiness she could not have given Lancelot, and she took it from him. She understood her reasons for it then, but she had to remind herself: because of the love she bore this man, however genuine, however overwhelming, Camelot lay fallen.
Gwynevere opened her eyes, looking Elaine straight in the eye. She wasn't expecting much, not from eyes so mocking and taunting, but by God, she was going to try. She put it in His hands to keep her strong, to keep her from faltering, to soothe her wounded pride.
"I am sorry. For every wrong I've done you."
Her first response was to inhale sharply, one hand moving to her breast, pressing over where her heart was. The unfaithful queen had an apology for her? It was unexpected, unsettling. She could feel her toes curl tightly in her shoes from her discomfort but she held herself together. She had not just bore Galahad but had traits similar to his own. The redhead could be as formal and cool as her son.
"What do apologies mean? Actions prove a person's intent much better," Elaine replied, not denying the apology and not accepting it as well. She was, fair to say, undecided and there was no point in a hasty decision while she felt overwhelmed by bitterness and pain. "And I should hope I'm not the first person to receive an apology from you."
The implication was clear. It was Arthur who required one long before others.
Gwynevere nodded. Her reaction was better than she had hoped for, better than an outright rejection. She looked away as Elaine brought up Arthur. She had found him on the forums, but she did not want to make her presence felt over the bloody internet. If he was here, then maybe...
If Gwynevere was being honest with herself, she was afraid. She had no idea if she was ready to face her liege or if she ever would be. But it was something she had to do, if this life was ever to have meaning. Debilitated by the recent siege of memories, she almost laughed at herself. For so long, she had imagined the instance she would meet Arthur. How she would apologize, how she would submit herself to his will. But when the time of reckoning came, she cowered like a little boy.
"Is he here?" she asked quietly. "Would you know?"
A part of Elaine couldn't help but hope Gwynevere steered clear of Arthur longer. Surely their king would not be too hard on his former queen (...perhaps?) so the longer the other woman was not given some peace of mind, the long she could remain in this apologetic way.
It was a cruel way of thinking but it was established Elaine wasn't feeling too charitable then.
"I'm sure everyone's here. Those who toy with us don't keep us apart during these...lockdowns," Elaine explained, eyes narrowing a bit. "At least it seems you have gained some humility over the centuries."
Gwynevere was too weary to take the bait. "Were you there when Camelot fell, Elaine?" She gave a weak, self-deprecating smile. "Enough to shame the proudest soul."
"What do you care where I was? All that matters is that it did fall. Not because of Mordred but because of a betrayal you and Lancelot delivered to Arthur." For all she had loved him, for all she still cared now, Elaine wasn't going to clear Lancelot of his part in it all. At least she could be that fair right then.
Fluffy-haired Arthur had his plate full. ...though she really ought to stop thinking of him that way.
"I understand the gravity of what I did," Gwynevere said as calmly as she could. "And I would have paid for my part in the fires of hell had God willed it. As that is not the case, I will take any calumny from you or from anyone in stride." Here, her calmness began to waver. "But do not exempt the King's murderer from fault." Her eyes flashed with anger, remembering how it had taken all her guile to fool Mordred into thinking her his. How many times had she knelt before Arthur's tomb, wishing there were some way to free him from the constraints of his own mortality? "You did not see - you could not understand."
Though her hands balled into fists, Elaine was still far from any physical action. It was far more likely she was strike the wall than another individual though perhaps that wouldn't be the case with some men.
Lancelot. Agravaine. ...maybe Aeneas, though perhaps more ear tugging.
"Don't you play caring wife about what was done to Arthur now. You don't have that right, not after what you did to cause all that." One hand unclenched so a finger would jab in Gwynevere's direction. "And Mordred is not the man you think him to be. He is not. And Arthur has found reason to be good to his child. My son, a man more religious and pure than any other, treats him well.
"That boy - that man has suffered enough. First he is nearly killed as a babe because of that foolish Merlin and then I'm sure he suffered when he learned of who his parents were. He's a better now, one who has earned trust and friendship. Perhaps you ought to take a page from his book. Or first speak to the king and husband you betrayed before doing anything else."
"I say nothing about who he is now," Gwynevere replied steadily. "Don't twist my words. I only ask that you do not act as if he committed no faults. If you must hold me accountable for my past wrongdoings - and I do not deny that I am - then don't play a double standard."
But then that was who Elaine was, wasn't it? It was not right for Gwynevere to deceive Arthur, but it was perfectly acceptable for Elaine to deceive Lancelot. Gwynevere did not think Elaine would back down on this front, if only to make Gwynevere look terrible in comparison to Mordred. How pitiful that a woman who came to Gwynevere with such a guise of virtuous concern for Lancelot would be so given to cruel bias. However, these were not things Gwynevere had the right to tell Elaine, not when Gwynevere had denied Elaine so much.
"Nonetheless, you are correct in telling me to seek Arthur, and you are right to be as angry as you are," Gwynevere conceded. As much as she wanted to make a graceful exit, she knew she was likely to stumble her way back to her room. With as much as Elaine had already witnessed, Gwynevere did not need to further make a cake of herself. Frustrated, Gwynevere crossed her arms over her chest, pursing her lips.
A laugh escaped the redhead, bitterness ruling her heart. Seeing Gwynevere did nothing to bring out her better qualities, nothing at all. It would perhaps be much, much later when she would concede she had been less than fair. But it was her son who was known for perfection, not her.
"Were you sent off to die as an infant by your own father, Gwynevere? Did you learn your parents were siblings? Did you live a life even close to his? I can't even imagine how he felt knowing all of that. I can't. But I feel it pushed him hard.
"I know Mordred is working on who he is every day. I believe it. There are parts of him that will always be the same, I'm sure, but he has been dear to me now and I'm quite proud of all he has done. He has earned his place and that is why I will not condemn him the way I condemn you. You, a woman who had no reason to turn from her good and decent husband. I may have committed wrongs for a greater good but I did not commit adultery and bring down Camelot. I received forgiveness from Lancelot before. He did not end my life once he knew I tricked him but forgave me." Forgiveness from Galahad was something else and something impossible. She would never expect to be forgiven for sending her young son to a monastery but duty demanded it and she obeyed.
Elaine then felt the heat in her face and knew there was no doubt at this point that her cheeks were flushed from the incident. She, too, wanted nothing more than to storm off in a way that would not include great, heavy stomps and fierce mutterings. Her eyes flickered toward the stairs and then back to Gwynevere. Yes, it would be very preferable to find Aeneas, Percival - anyone about now. Chin lifting, she spoke again. "It seems you have recovered from your...unfortunate moment. That was the only thing keeping me here. I'm sure you have somewhere to be as well."
Gwynevere shook her head, struggling to rein in the fit of temper she knew was building up. Gwynevere was at fault for her previous life, and difficult as it was, she had to remember that. "You condemn me because I have not 'earned' anything, and you purposely and conveniently forget that I've yet had the chance to, if only to hold onto your moral high ground. But I'll allow it because I do not have your qualms in admitting where I've faulted, and many a grievous fault I have done by you. So, again, I am sincerely sorry for what I've done and humbly accept that this is the stance you've chosen to take."
Gwynevere stepped aside, leaving a wide space for Elaine to walk through should she choose to leave. "I'm afraid you'll have to leave me to my convalescence." Lord, she could feel another memory coming on. But she had to stay strong, just for a little while longer; she could trip her way down the stairs when Elaine was gone. And, though Gwynevere was not in a dress, if Elaine wanted deed and not word, then she could bloody well have her 'action'.
Gwynevere bowed low, the ends of her hair touching the floor. When she rose, the extreme blow to her pride showed in her eyes, and there was no doubt that, in direct contrast to Elaine's mocking curtsy, Gwynevere had been sincere in her gesture. "Your servant, Elaine."
Oh she had definitely dismissed the fact Gwynevere had little to no chance to do a thing to redeem herself. It was terribly petty but she couldn't care, not then. She bit her tongue to spit out a mocking line about Gwynevere simply being so gracious to allow her to have her way. Any more acid-laced words or haughty actions and there would perhaps be a rather violent fight in the stairwell.
Still, another laugh was elicited from Elaine at the bow, at the words that followed. Not even in my dreams. Sincere or not, she grasped the railing to keep her hands from going into Gwynevere long locks. "Good day."
That said, she turned and began to mentally count the steps she took as she descended, wanting focus off the unpleasant meeting immediately. There would reflection later, that she couldn't stop but she did not want to focus on any of what occurred now.
Gwynevere resisted the urge to throw her shoe at the smaller woman's back. At least, in her heart of hearts and in the face of God, she had done right. When Gwynevere looked back at the situation, she would know that Elaine was the one who had behaved like a child. There were, of course, fouler words to use, but if Gwynevere could not keep her thoughts clean of malice, then she had no hope of staying on the straight path to serving Arthur. Elaine was small fry before her King, and as bothersome as the redhead was, there was no chance in heaven or hell she would derail Gwynevere's determination.
Repentance, repentance, repentance.
Already feeling another memory coming on, she slid down, eyes closing in surrender. When this tide of memories died down, she was going to scour the entire building for a decent chapel.