The Myths of Avalon and Arthur's Time: Relived
Chapter 1: Night sweats & Confrontations.
Guinevere suppressed a soft sigh, that only the closest of her companions, not even Arthur, would be able to decipher the real uncontent that was hidden between the wrinkles that were slowly starting to creep up on the beautiful, but aging woman's face. She had to face it, she was no longer the fair and beautiful maiden that she first had been when she had married Arthur, and she no longer would be. It would be for him to face, but more importantly – in the back of her mind, Lancelot to. She knew that there was an ongoing rivalry between the pair of them, ever since Lancelot had been exiled after the paintings of her and him that had been drawn on one of the walls around the roaming castles. She couldn't help but wonder what was she to do, if unable to please herself, and Arthur was to banish his one time best friend from the court as well as seduce many younger maidens – and even once rumored, his own sister Morgaine.
Her eyes creased into something that could appear as barely slits to an opposing eye, at the thought of his half sister, born of the same mother, but of a different father. Even if they truly did have the blood of Avalon, only he held the future of the entire kingdom under Christendom, unlike Morgaine whom continued to hold the fate of the ever enduring and accursed Avalon underneath the palms of her fingertips. Morgaine had once been her lady in waiting, and she had been the one to at first bring Lancelot to her so many years ago when she had prior to being at the court, been in a convent; doomed to live and devout her life fully to Christ until the day that she died and doing nothing immoral. Times and scenarios had changed much since then, as not only had she commit one of the most deadly sins of the day – adultery, and nearly risked her own neck if it weren't for Arthur's honor and great wisdom, she had been submerged into hypocrisy.
She didn't truly love Arthur much more than a brother to a great sister of a sorts, which meant the days spent eternally in bed were wrong on many a reason to her. It always pained her when she would notice him crease his brows with ecstasy and pleasure, as his manhood grinded the desired area between her thighs. Sometimes, she was half willing, and others; she was not at all; though she was a great actress the real trick behind it was her thinking of the moment that her and Lancelot would be reunited. Be brought together as one, and possibly, conceive a child despite her supposedly being barren – which was only a rumor in itself, as she had indeed given birth to an heir, only in secret and had secretly excommunicated and given it to one of the former ladies of her court to watch. Oh, did she miss that daughter that she had borne to, though she knew that if she were to have indeed made the truth known; it would have been brought into a world of confusion – as they wouldn't have been able to give and take that the father had been someone other than Arthur. And then she would be caught in her own scheme, her own web of lies, which was slowly transforming the once religious Guinevere into somebody much more….what was the word? Sinful. Immoral. Hypocritical.
She closed her eyes, opening them to the darkness, and standing up with frustration; the thoughts of bitter regrets and absentminded hopes ringing through her mind. And then there were the ever longing senses of guilty that she felt, despite lying in bed to Arthur, and dreaming or thinking upon another face. She slammed her head against the headboard of their nearly concrete and firm bedpost; quickly managing to cover up that it had been an accident and a result of a sudden nightsweat as Arthur momentarily awoke from the deep slumber that he was clearly presiding in at the moment. That had been a close one, truly, too much of a close call for her liking. She hated thinking and reminding herself that it truly was her reason that she hadn't given birth to a son for Arthur, it had been the Lady of the Lake's, his own sister Morgaine. She had accursed her from the moment that Gwen had dared utter the blasphemy that she was committing against her. She had been the one to give birth to the one that he had proclaimed as heir, Gwydion, and it was in revenge; in haste; to Gwen, she knew that much for a fact. She didn't think to who the father, her precious Lancelot, was or her husband, Arthur. Incestuous, either way, that bastard; she thought to herself with a smug and almost gleeful sort of realization as lines again creased across her face. This time, smile lines. Smile lines in which in turn were clearly showing a new and exotic feeling, smugness.
Her secret daughter, the illegitimate child was now secure in being hidden, having been put under many a hoax that Gwen was not indeed the mother. But Elaine, the wife of Lancelot, who had already borne several other children to him, was. It was indeed a fact that seemed to go unblemished and undoubted in these parts of the court. After all, there was yet no reason to suspect otherwise, and certainly, she wasn't going to be the one that was going to gave in with guilt. At the same time, she thought, the court has it in for me. Even Gawain, I know, secretly despises me. Well, that's the reason Lancelot had been so comforting to Arthur, he had been the only one to confirm that I was indeed an attractive and much more of a good wife than of his own.
That was when she realized that she wasn't the only one in the bedchamber that she was in, and despite lying securely by Arthur, she felt there was another prescese. "To shame for Morgaine, and her witchcraft, for giving me such illusions," she murmured, her eyelids still wide with fear as she glanced over at the window which was creaking back and forth in the wind. It was supposed to be closed. She quickly tiptoed out of bed, instinctively, biting down on her lip to keep from gasping as a raven balanced itself on the perch directly in front of the window. If she wasn't hallucinating, what was she doing, because she could swear she could hear the voice from the normally restrictive animal?
"Do not place blame on the Lady of the Lake, the Lady of Avalon. She has only done her duty, as you have done in marrying your precious Arthur," the bird told her, the raven starting to tap at the pain when Gwen's attention momentarily diverted. Gwen scoffed, not wanting to contradict for fear that this may indeed be a curse put upon her. She quickly looked back to the bed to make sure that the King was still sleeping. "I'll go outside, and we can discuss things with much less consort than at the moment." She quickly muttered, surprised that any words were able to come out of her mouth. Indeed, she did as she had done as told, but it was not a bird that she met in the green right outside of the stone castle walls – it was Merlin, the wizard and one of the greatest advisors to the King, despite Arthur's Christian persistence and reluctance.
"I know of your affairs with the Sir Lancelot, madam, and I have half a mind to consort Arthur about your lies if you do not properly listen to me. You are in the most grave of dangers, and so is your young daughter, she is now being raised by Moragine for future safety. Please do not protest," Merlin informed her, allowing her a few seconds pause afterwards to take in everything that was being exchanged in wording. He quickly grabbed her arm pulling her over to a more discreet corner of the grounds, where not even their shadow could a haunt them. Gwen looked down, wanting to cry in protest at what was being claimed, or smack him straight across the face. But the almost hypnotic glance in Merlin's eyes somehow told her without actual words otherwise, and that was where her common sense filled the void in the rest.
"Merlin, you have my attention, and if it weren't for the fact that you have cast some sort of magic spell or witchcraft, the King and the rest of the court would be as well. What is it that you are in such dire of need to tell me, why of all people, would you send my own daughter, Isla, to the Lady of the Lake? That's a horrid occurrence and rightful sin of your own, and you shall commit to those priests upon my word!"
"I know, Morgaine, do not judge her. She is powerful, and even if she despises you to the bone, she would never do anything to hurt her cousin Lance. She is determined to raise the child as her own, as if it," Merlin's grey eyes diverted, for once, there was almost a mortal sort of instinct in them; as if it was very possible he lived the same very human life that everyone else on this earth lived. It was a strange thought to Guinivere. "I know Morgaine will be the death of me someday, Gwen. As much as I love her, I fear her love can as soon turn into haste need for hatred. I need you to step up, to be faithful to Arthur, to bear him a son, or at least raise one as your own. For I shall not be an advisor for long, my death is coming…."
Despite Guinevere naturally not having been terribly fond, she almost felt a sudden surge of empathy for the old hunchback standing in front of her. She knew at once that they were lovers, just by the saddened look that was rather obvious in the glow of his eyes, reflecting off the crystal pale gaze of the moonlight. It was the same look that she often had told that was in her eyes when she was confronted by dear Lancelot. "Morgaine, surely not, even if I despise her to the very core, I cannot believe that she would do anything to hurt you," she quickly said, pushing to get a reaction out of her nighttime companion. It was rather an akward conversation topic as ever to be discussing with somebody as knowing as this Merlin was. "Go to her. Make love to her. You have gotten into a conflict, haven't you, and you are reckless, Merlin? You are casting spells in revenge, advising in the wrong…"
Merlin had never shown much weakness before in his old age, or at least, perhaps he just could not recall on it. He did indeed show much love for Arthur's great, magician half sister, the new Lady of the Lake in replacement of Viviane; the last one of the same title. He knew exactly how he was going to die, foreshadowing the fall of Avalon, which was to come in the distant but near future. And he knew that it would be in suffice for his love for the dear Morgaine, her brown hair shadowing the wary lines underneath her eyes showing years of tiredness and gluttony. He wasn't able to say anything, merely turned his back, nodded silently. "You will be blessed, Guinevere." Merlin pronounced before turning and disappearing as quickly as he had came to her, almost as if it had been a vision, and quickly slipping into the shadows of the woods. Guinevere stood there in shock for a moment, before quickly slipping back into her own bedchamber, and laying in the bed until three or four in the morning; when Arthur awoke after a deep slumber.