"Where You Go, We Go (With Daggers Come to Our Bed)" Part 2. The Midpoint

Sep 18, 2013 19:02

Summary, character's list and previous chapters are here.

Part 2. The MidpointWherein Guinevere finds joy and damnation, and Arthur and Lancelot are a cause of her downfall.

This boundless, overexciting feeling within her - this was joy.

She swore she had forgotten all about it, lost it; the beautiful, regal Queen in swishing heavy robes who used to go out at dawn to gather fresh wildflowers - ordinary like she used to be.

Joy was love. Joy was life.

She had been lifeless and loveless.

“Guinevere...”

Funny how both Lancelot and Arthur called her that. How similar they sounded.

“I was certain I would never see you again... it’s joy, to meet you now, safe this time,” Lancelot said, his face radiant with what she knew was the first and strongest love.

She knew that from her own soul.

“Lancelot,” she dipped her head at him, happy and free, even amidst the courtiers. She smiled at him.

She didn’t watch his curving mouth when he answered with his own; instead she drank in how warm his eyes turned when he watched her smile. She watched him watching her, and she was in love all over again.

The same love she’d always felt for him. He was the first.

“My Queen,” the dark-haired knight bowed respectfully (faithfully) before excusing himself and going to join the other knights. Gwen tugged a nervous hand at her hair, following him with her gaze. She was looking for Arthur, she told herself.

When she found him, her resolve strengthened. He was not only her husband, not only her King, but her friend as well. She couldn’t betray any of that persons, and Arthur was all three of them. She went over to him, quieter than the morning mist, laying her hand on his shoulder, pressing her cheek to his back.

Inhaling deeply and closing her eyes, she knew she was happy. This was enough, surely.

“So,” Arthur said, looking down at her with gentle eyes. “You look as if you wanted to ask me something?” His eyes glinted mischievously down at her, and she had learnt to know and fear that look. Where was Merlin when you needed him? He was the only one to rise to the challenge of Arthur’s playful moods. The whole kingdom could suffer the consequences of the lanky man’s absence.

“Sire,” she answered, her brow raised. Arthur snorted and looked out the window, caressing softly her arm.

“Can I threaten the Queen with a night in the dungeons?”

“I don’t think that would work for your good standing, m’lord. Why would you do such a thing?” She asked, smiling at his slowly moving hand.

“A charge of avoiding answering questions and addressing me inappropriately,” Arthur huffed.

“Surely not,” she laughed, merrily.

“Oh yes.”

“Pray tell - how many times have you threatened Merlin with that?”

Arthur’s scowl returned at the mention of his friend, “Should have followed with those threats.”

“You know you shouldn’t!”

“Merlin,” he enunciated, “is not the greatest example of proper behaviour. Or trustworthiness.”

“You don’t mean that. Well, obviously you do mean the proper behaviour, not that he should be behaving properly,” she blushed as she started talking too much again. This hadn’t happened for some time. “You know,” she finished with a sigh.

He looked at her, amused and fond, “Yes, I do mean that. How many years again had he been hiding that he was a sorcerer? Too many. Sneaky servants,” he finished affectionately, looking at her with his laughing eyes.

She left him moments later, desolate.

She needed to find somebody for Lancelot. That would solve everything.

***
“My Lady...” Lancelot looked at her with hesitation, his hands playing absent-mindedly with a small boot dagger. Gwen looked up at him with that soft admiration one usually reserves for something that is pure and good in life, something beyond sullying.

“Lancelot,” she responded, regally, demurely, but the twinkle in her eyes betrayed her joy and lack of regality.

“Will you walk with me?”

“Yes,” she breathed out. “Yes, I will.”

The meadow was in full spring, yellow, red and purple among the lush grass. White petals of daisies stretched over the distance, endlessly intermingling with the almost blue skies overhead. It was fresh; a kind of sparkling beauty you find in your first experience with snow. Accompanying the verdure were the sweet-smelling purple lilac flowers, their rich fragrance intoxicating the senses. It brought memories of times not-yet-passed, of chances to be realised, of deeds to be fulfilled. It spoke of lives that could be lived, in here, forevermore changed and unchangeable.

Amongst this natural beauty, just outside the walls of imposing Camelot, Gwen and Lancelot strolled leisurely. It felt peaceful and quiet. It felt right.

And it was dangerous.

“I know, Guinevere, that we can never be; that’s not why I came here to Camelot. I could never hurt you like that. I could not destroy the life you’ve built. I... I wanted to see.”

“It’s all right, Lancelot,” she smiled warmly, with understanding, at him. “What did you want to see?”

“If you were happy,” he replied sagely, looking at her with the serious face that spoke of earnest desire to bring her a shining star.

She wanted to reply that she was; that were the words about to leave her mouth. They got lost in the unassuming exquisiteness of this place. “And am I?” she replied instead, far more seriously than she’d have liked.

He looked pained and- guilty - which made no sense, since it was not his fault she failed to appreciate all the good in her life. When had she become so picky?

“I...” Lancelot hesitated, closing his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, they were still pained, but also determined. “I have failed you, Guinevere. No, please, hear me out,” he held his hand up when she opened her mouth to speak. “I have failed you and left you; I believed, at a time, that it was a correct course of action. That I was right,” there was overwhelming power to his words, a shockingly blinding faith that staggered her, made her chest swell with a feeling of fate closing in on them. “Please forgive me for abandoning you. I was wrong then, and my mistake cannot be rectified. I will not put you in a questionable situation, I will not endanger your honour and good name. But I will stand by you, be your friend and support you any way I can,” he finished in a rush, eyes dedicated and pleading. She smiled at him and closed her own eyes, breathing in the scent of him, coupled with the freshness of the coming night and blossoming flowers.

They embraced, Gwen’s eyes quietly sparkling with tears and Lancelot holding her gently against his chest while the evening approached.
***
Then came the end of all the good things in her life.

Surprisingly, it came together with the most beautiful feelings and moments she’d ever experienced.

Gwen was an open woman, unable to lie even after several years of watching courtly games of deception present in every kingdom. She never allowed herself to be drawn into those games, though, always staying above it. But she knew the games were played.

Gwen had intended to find somebody for Lancelot, play a painful role of a matchmaker for her beloved knight. Prepared to have her heart wrenched by the sight of him with another, sweetly enamoured, the Queen had begun her search. To her great surprise, the ladies - one by one - turned the possibility down. With something akin to fear mingled with regret, but none dared approach the dark-haired knight, no matter his handsome looks and prowess with the sword.

As if there was a claim none dared challenge, bowing in respect to a higher power, and looking elsewhere for their usual amorous adventures.

During a dinner with Arthur, Gwen had noticed how absent-minded her husband looked. Idly playing with his food, he had been eager to finish, to stand up and leave. He hadn’t, though, waiting silently for her. Avoiding looking in her direction, he had been lost in thought.

She hadn’t recognised the guilt in his expression or thoughts, then; she had thought he was simply busy and overworked. Nothing unusual for a king.

Later, quite by accident, Gwen had overheard the quiet murmur of voices she knew and would recognise everywhere. They were husky and hushed, not afraid but secretive. She lingered there, outside the closed door, but decided against staying and spying on the two she loved. It caused her heartbreak, to hear them together, to see them together, knowing she was a rift between them, and that she had a power to drive them apart.

If only she knew then, how wrong and right she had been.

Her eyes had been forced to open - and see - weeks later, when she would stop and remember in anguish having moved away from the shut door.

Lancelot was moaning, a low quiet sound eerily like crying, and she had been too curious, too wrenched to not peer inside. What she’d seen would stay with her forever.

Arthur and Lancelot. Together. One writhing beneath the other, mouths open and panting, grunting with the strength of delivering and receiving the thrusts. Lancelot’s face was sweaty where he laid, spread out under Arthur, who mapped his lover’s body with his scraping teeth and lips.

Arthur’s iridescent blue eyes shuttered in the candlelight as he came, pushing himself one last time into the body beneath him, his breath hitching.

“We should stop, Sire,” came the shaken whisper breaking a laden silence.

“Yes. We should,” the words, for all the irregular breathing of the King, remained steady.

“I mean it.”

“You always do,” Arthur rolled to his side to face Lancelot. He took the other man’s face between his hands, gently stroking and looking at him, hard. He kissed him, then, sated and pleasured and Guinevere had never hated anyone as much as she did at that moment.

Witnessing the intimacy, the quiet moment, she wept silently for her lost husband and would-be-lover.

And in the safety of her own chambers, she raged.

On the outside, nothing had changed. There were no broken vases, no clothes strewn across the floor, nothing to show the Queen was in a state of uproar.

Inwardly, there was only one thought. Why, asked continuously, and left unanswered.

After hours of silent and heartbreaking vigil, she was decided. The loyalty she’d felt all her life was gone, dead inside her chest.
***
“Lancelot,” she greeted, surprised. She felt too weary to smile.

“My lady,” the man bowed his head. She watched him carefully, curiously. There was shame written over him, over his posture and haunted face. Unwillingly, her heart went out to him, to his wounded eyes.

He had hurt her, yes. Something he promised he’d never do. But he wasn’t the one to betray her, not to the extent of what Arthur had done.

“Walk with me?” she suggested, sadly.

“Always.”
***
“I’m lonely,” she started, staring with unseeing eyes at the foliage of the great oak beneath which they were sitting. “That’s the greatest unhappiness of my life; after Morgana had left, there was nothing for me here. My father, dead. My greatest friend, gone. And I, stuck here. How I wished to go look for you, find a life with you, back then,” she stopped, sighing heavily. He was sitting unmoving next to her, his hand rubbing soothing nonsense into the skin on her arm. She continued speaking.

“After that, I’ve built up something of a life here. Helped Gaius around, spent time with Merlin, married the King. But it’s never been full; it’s never been the same.”

“I understand,” he said, squeezing her hand. She squeezed back, reassured.

“I understand, because that’s what happened to me, as well. I was a wanderer for years, moving from place to place, never staying for longer than a few nights. I joined the party of King Ban, became his knight. But it has never been home. It was never right, felt only temporary. My whole existence felt that way. I could only live for the future when I could return to Camelot, but I started to realise it would never be,” Lancelot paused, deep in thought, and Gwen inched closer to him, recognising a kindred spirit in a lonely man.

“I wanted to return, so that I could live for a purpose; to protect and defend defenceless people. Arthur was the king I wanted to serve, you the lady I wanted to love. But it all got lost on the way.”

“It did not,” she argued, fiercely, urging him to look at her. She would not let him speak like that, not again. It didn’t matter what had happened between Arthur and him, suddenly, not when they were here, Lancelot again speaking with that despair eating away at his soul. She remembered the last time, what he’d almost done then. “Look at me, Lancelot. Not all is lost. Please, believe me.”

And then she kissed him. Taking both Lancelot and herself by surprise.

It was not revenge on Arthur. No, it was not. She didn’t like revenge, didn’t like the consequences of that. Dire consequences for all three of them. Maybe she desired to hurt him. For him to be in the same situation she’d been in. But never cold-bloodied revenge. Lying entangled in the sheets and her lover, she drifted off to sleep, aware that there was no coming back. But, remembering Arthur’s lips sucking on Lancelot’s throat, she wasn’t sure if she wanted to.
***
Imprisoned in a fair room, Gwen knew it was an end. She had played, she had hurt and been hurt. She had loved, and been loved in return. And she had been happy.

Both men she was entangled with in a bond were so similar that she had always had trouble picking between them. And the point is, she never had; when Lancelot had left, the choice had been postponed. When he returned, it was too late as she was married to Arthur. But with the lack of choice, the existence of two options hadn’t stopped to taunt her.

There was a similarity between her and Arthur; they both loved Lancelot. And there was the same similarity between her and Lancelot; they loved Arthur. This triangle was their prison, and now - it was up to Arthur to shatter it. She hoped someone would be there for him when she and Lancelot were dead.

“Gwen?”

“Merlin?”

TBC

arthur pendragon, fanfiction, gwen, tv show: merlin, slash, lancelot, merlin

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