AN:

This has been a long time coming...well, since ep 4 x 09, which was the first time I genuinely disagreed with a Merlin storyline.

I really do think the story should have been about Arthur seeking Gwen's forgiveness; she should have been sure that she was enchanted from the beginning. And so I would have liked the story to have been about Arthur seeing what he's done to her, how he should have trusted her, rather than having the story about him learning to forgive Gwen...for no convincing reason.

I felt it was insulting to both Arthur and Gwen to have Gwen act weak and keep reiterating that she-loves-him-but-doesn't-know-what-came-over-her.

And Arthur's 'forgiveness' without any solid evidence of Gwen's innocence was such an insult to that raw initial reaction he had which I thought was a thoroughly well-done scene (for Arthur). I mean, if their cases were reversed -if it was Gwen who found Arthur with a girl before their wedding- I would have hated it if Gwen 'just forgave' Arthur after a bit of separation!

Ok, enough of my Arwen angst, let's get into the story. : )

Part 1: Regret

Arthur stared at the misaligned parchments that lay strewn on his table, leaning his head on his elbow, his hand in his hair. His other hand stretched before him on the table, a quill that fell out of it lying near his fingers.

He didn't care for a single word on the page where his eyes fell. His mind was elsewhere, battling to know how things had ended up like this.

His mind kept pulling apart the last moment he had spent with Guinevere.

He remembered he couldn't breathe, rage brimming in his heart, even though his words were calm. But then he had given in, had raised his voice. He gave in and shook her by the shoulders, asking her why she had any reason to kiss Lancelot on the night before their wedding. His hands shook as he took them off Guinevere and lowered them, ashamed at his loss of control.

Guinevere hadn't once shaken. Her voice was steady, dark, he thought, remembering her words.

'I didn't betray you, Arthur,' she had said, locking her eyes on his, 'my feelings are only for you. I'm sorry that you're hurt but whatever made me do what I did, it wasn't me.'

She had never looked so sure. Yet, he had witnessed what she did with his own eyes. How could she explain that?

'Don't you see?' fresh determination was traced on her face. She had attempted to take his hands. He didn't let her. 'This has been done to us. It has to be...' for the first time in the exchange she hesitated, then made up her mind. 'It has to be sorcery.'

The more she explained, recounting the events of the last day, the more convinced she had seemed.

'You have to believe me,' her voice was tight, almost threatening, 'it must have been the bracelet.'

He asked her where this treacherous instrument was. She told him how she had thrown it away.

He had smiled wryly, not making eye contact. 'How convenient.'

Still, his heart wanted it to be true so badly. He didn't let it show as Gwen insisted she was telling the truth. He ordered guards to search her cell for this bracelet.

He didn't let his despair show either when it wasn't found. He didn't think that Gwen could have been right, that Morgana somehow found out about their plans for marriage and that she had constructed this version of Lancelot to enchant Gwen, using the bracelet.

His last words to her were calm, peaceful. He couldn't give her the expected punishment of death. He couldn't see her die. But he couldn't see her either. She was banished from Camelot.

Her eyes held shock, the same look he had in his eyes when he had witnessed her 'betrayal' a couple of hours ago. She held her head high, though, as she accepted her fate. 'I wish you don't regret this.'

His eyes had brimmed with tears when she turned her back to him. As they did now.

Arthur sat up straight and pinched the bridge of his nose to halt the tears. He picked up the topmost parchment. The words meant nothing. Nothing meant anything anymore. He picked up the quill and signed his name at the bottom of the document, the strokes landing on the page with violence. Then he threw the quill aside on the table, the inky quill tip spreading dark spots on the pages it rolled on.

His eyes rested on the flames in the fireplace. Should he change his mind about what he had just commanded with his signature? Then he thought, what was the worst that could happen? The abyss of regret in his heart would only get wider.