Faith. A complete trust or confidence in someone or something, a simple meaning, but yet just as powerful as an explanation that could be three pages long.
"You should have more faith in yourself."
He knew she was right, it seemed that when in came to Arthur, she always was. He had said that he had needed his father, but she had believed otherwise. She had faith in him but he did not have faith in himself.
"I've committed them to a siege, there's going to be causalities, Gwen."
He was worried, although he didn't show it; weakness was not a trait he liked to display publicly. Especially in front of Guinevere. But he knew she could see straight through him, quite easily in fact.
"Worry is not a wise council."
Of course it wasn't, he knew that quite well. Sometimes he knew that too well, watching his father cave under the pressure of his position, excusing himself from council to rest his mind, either by simply sleeping or drinking enough alcohol to intoxicate the whole court.
"I should go, sire."
Why she continued to call him that, he would never know.
"There's no need to call me that."
He'd told her time and time again and it felt like the words were a useless reminder. One that Guinevere chose to ignore, like the stubborn spirited person she was.
"There is every need, sire."
But when she said it like that, the four lettered unnecessary word rolling off her tongue and a slight smirk plastered on her face, like she was asking for punishment, made his stomach knot.
Faith was something he couldn't find in himself, but he knew there would always be someone there to help him find it.