Chapter 8 is taking longer than expected so have a mini-update instead.

The Exile, An Interlude

The Things He Dreams

The start is always the same, darkness.

He notices her scent first. It creeps up behind him- lavender, honeysuckle and vanilla. In the first moment – and surely it is less than that- he is confused wondering what it is. Then he hears the soft familiar tread of her step, the weight and cadence he learned to recognize, so long ago he's forgotten when; so perfectly memorized his ears would find the sound anywhere. He hears it along with the swish of her skirt and his heart sinks. For as surely as he has heard her familiar step he knows what must come next.

He longs simply to set his eyes upon her. To see even a fleeting glimpse of black-brown curls that gleam with red under the light of the sun. To set eyes upon coppery skin as warm and soft to the touch as it appears to the eye. To see, for just a second that pointed little chin, night dark almond eyes and oh- if she were perhaps to smile at him. He is reduced to the weakness of his childhood self longing for a smile of approval and he is greedy for her.

It is the greed that undoes him. To think of seeing her is to want her, to reach for her, to wish for the gentle caress of her hands and long for the sound of her warm rich voice the sound of his name falling from her lips: "Arthur". In an instant he knows that this is how it will be, knows the things he longs for and the things that he cannot have.

She will be behind him only as long as his back is to her. The moment he turns to satisfy the need of his eyes, the desire of his hands, the ache of his ears she will be gone. He is never fast enough.

He thinks, sometimes that this should be enough. Knowing that she is there somewhere, that she lives somewhere should surely be enough. He thinks that loving her from afar should satisfy. And it is never enough, it will never be enough! He longs for her with an ache that must be satisfied. He will turn and he will be fast enough. His arms will be filled with her softness; his hands will slide over her soft skin and through her silken curls. He will be as a desert quenched by the rain.

Arthur turns and surely he is faster than he has ever been in life and she is gone leaving him with only the memory of a fragrance.

"Guinevere."


A/N- I was feeling rather shy of publishing this, but my roommate convinced me to do so.

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