Disclaimer: I own King Arthur, and everything about it. My name is Jerry Bruckheimer... wait, no. Sorry. I don't, and it's not. Shucks.

Chapter One Tears

It was only a day after the wedding when she began to cry. She had thought, at first, that he hadn't noticed. That she had hidden the cold tears from his view. He was well aware, however. And yet, despite his wish to comfort her, something held Arthur back. What was the cause of her sadness? And by God, how could she be so sorrowful now? Now that the Saxons were defeated, now that the fighting was over, now that their cultures were united... and now, now that they were together! Arthur did not understand it. Though he wanted her to be happy, some selfishness escaped him. He loved her! Why did she sulk, leaving him alone, without his spouse?

And then one night his questions were answered. They lay in bed, her warm nakedness against him, rising and falling rhythmically as she slept. She was nude, yes, but she hadn't expressed any desire to make love. Not since the marriage. It made him so... angry! Infuriated! Why did she treat him so, as though he were some distant acquaintance? He yanked off the silk sheet and stood from the bed.

The padding of feet awoke Guinevere. Arthur was striding back and forth across the bedroom, obviously distraught. His hands ran through the mat of tousled brown hair, muttered words escaping his mouth that she could not hear... his eyes traveled to her.

"You're awake."

She sighed. "Yes. So are you."

"I couldn't sleep."

Guinevere nodded, lying back down. She had been dreaming about someone. Who? Him, that's who. Him, the one you dream about every night, who you think about every moment of the day. Him. Guinevere listened to the voice in her head and she wanted to cry again. Him, the one she had loved, truly loved...

"I need to know something."

"Yes?"

He struggled for the right words. "Why... why do you weep?"

She drew a sharp breath. It was inevitable that it would come to this, yes. Nonetheless, it was still a shock. She pulled the sheet up over her exposed breasts. "What do you mean?"

Arthur fell back into a chair. "What do I mean? Guinevere, how can you say that? How can you say that, and willingly deceive me? I have kept silent for too long, for reasons unbeknownst to even me! I am sick of it! I need to know!"

He stood at the foot of the bed now, seething, his body coated with sweat. It was time. She had to tell him.

"It is because of him."

Arthur's eyebrows narrowed and he looked at her in bewilderment. "Him?"

"Arthur..." Tears slid down her pale face, her eyes already puffy and red. "I cannot pretend that I love you. Not anymore."

A look came across his face that conveyed dawning comprehension. "And who- who exactly... is it that you love, Guinevere? Who?"

She shook as spasms of misery wracked her willowy form. "My heart belongs to one man. And that man... is Lancelot."

Author's Note: This is not going to be an angsty wha-wha romance story (as great as those are). It will have action! It will have suspense! It will have everything, on one condition: REVIEWS!!!