Author's Note: The beginning segment of this story was hard to write without gathering tears in my eyes. The scene is a sad one, and if you're as emotionally driven as I am, you might feel the ache stir in your heart too, as it did mine. Enjoy!

I dedicate this story to bluespiritgal, who reviewed my previous work titled 'The Answer', for the inspiration to write this.

The Queen's Repentance
By Ombre Rose

Guinevere stole the time. She escaped from her ladies-in-waiting, from her husband, from her duties. She was already guilty, already worried she'd always be a failure as a queen because she so craved her solitude, something she was very much accustomed to when she was a servant.

She would have traded two days' food or two nights' sleep, just for a single hour alone in her old home. She had sorely missed it, the quiet and security that it brought her on many nights. Selfish, she told herself as she hurried away from all the noise, the people, the questions. Selfish to wish for her own comfort when there was still so much at stake.

But while she wouldn't indulge herself with perhaps a favourite hobby, like stitching in some sunny corner for instance, she would certainly take the time to make this visit. She had to.

Hiking up her heavy skirts with one hand and carrying an armful of flowers she had gathered from the castle gardens in the other, she went up the hill and crossed the meadow towards where she knew she'd find one polished stone under the little glade of trees that offered shelter. The instant it came into her line of sight, she felt a little heavier of heart. With tentative steps, she walked to it, stopped. She laid the flowers on the ground and simply stood, reading the words carved in it.

Tyr Seward
Beloved son
Always remembered in our hearts.

"Hello, Tyr," she began a little uncertainly. "It's me, Gwen."

Surprisingly nervous, she clasped her emptied hands together to keep them still. "I had meant to come and visit earlier, after I was… well– myself again. I figured I could steal away from the castle for a while. Just being here alone, with you. I hope you don't mind."

Adjusting the length of her dress, she sat on the grass, unbothered about getting it dirty. Comfortable now, she took a moment to take in the sights and smells around her. There was the faint sound of the breeze through the tall grass overheard and the vision of shifting lights of the sun quietly casting a myriad of shadows under the windswept sky, marking the eternal periods. The air was touched with a lazy fragrance, as of hidden flowers.

"It truly is beautiful out here," she reflected. "I can see why your mother wanted this to be your resting place. It's perfect." Looking over the stones, to the hills, the distant mountains, she smiled wistfully at the swelling tide of memories.

"When we were kids, Elyan and I used to climb those little hilltops all the time. We would lie on our backs and roll ourselves down the hill, always laughing. Then go back up and do it again, over and over, until we've completely exhausted ourselves." She closed her eyes briefly on the memory and the images they brought to her, clear as life. "I remember we'd sneak out of the house when we think our mother wasn't looking, but she'd catch us, every time, and send us to do the household chores as punishment. That's how I became good at it – domestic work. I've had years of practice."

Emotions flashed across her face, like the sweep of sun-rent clouds over a quiet landscape and her smile crumbled a little. "I miss him, so much. There isn't a day that passes when I do not think of him. I couldn't stop what was done to him, and still I see that night as if behind a mist. He didn't run when I screamed at him to. More, he wouldn't run. Our father would have been so proud. I truly hope he's resting now."

Turning, she looked to the stone. "What about you, Tyr?" she asked, touching a hand to the monument and traced the engraved outlines of his name. "Are you resting now?"

A warm wind blew down on her, and in her heart she allowed herself to believe it to be him. And for a timeless minute she battled a drowning sensation as a deluge of guilt and sorrow washed over her in great untamed waves.

Closing her eyes, she listened – a quiet acceptance without trying to phrase it into human words. And as she listened, she felt the sting of tears at the back of her eyes. For in the voice of that string gust of wind she sensed that familiar, indefinable ache of melancholy. It was as if the tongues of creation had woven into one harmony and sang it to her in mourning.

She could not stop the waves now, the tide of it. Grief struck so strong, so deep, she dropped her head into her hands like a storm-broken flower and finally allowed the struggling tears to spill over her cheeks. The echo of her desolate cry surged and boomed among the hills.

"Forgive me..."

He had to work at being calm, to strap himself down so he didn't call for his knights and start spewing orders. That, Arthur knew, was his father's way. And it was damned effective.

Still, as much as he loved and admired his father, he didn't want to be his father.

All he really wanted at that moment was to assure himself that Gwen was all right, then to make sure she stayed that way. That is, once he has managed to find her.

He had asked almost every possible person he could think of – Merlin, Gaius, his knights and even some of the servants, with no success of knowing the queen's whereabouts. Grabbing at straws now, he had only the knowledge that she was last seen around the castle gardens, presumably flower picking during the early parts of the day. But the day had already began to sing itself into evening as the sinking sun made mellow gold of all the air outside seen through the castle windows.

And yet, she was still nowhere to be found.

He was about to call on Leon to form a search party when he paused mid-stride, considering an afterthought. If she had been out on her own, it was possible that she may have retired for the day. Goaded on now by his sense of strange knowing, he sped in the direction of the royal chambers.

He found her there, to his relief, framed by the window and the orange pomp of the setting sun, faint and distant. The drapes were drawn back, letting all the soft light spill through into the room. She had her back to him, and while he could not see her beautiful face, he knew it would be as solemn as a mask, absorbed in a stream of her own thoughts and reminiscences.

"Guinevere?"

"Hmm?" She turned and gave him the blank look of a woman whose mind was considerably occupied. "Oh. Arthur, I didn't hear you come in."

"Where were you? I didn't see you all day," he said, quickly going over to her. He couldn't resist touching her – the small on her back, her arm, her delicate shoulder – in an anxious glad-you're-here, glad-you're-safe kind of way that left her somewhat curious.

"I was out for a walk."

"The entire time?" he asked, irritably baffled. He had half the mind to start sprouting off about how reckless she'd been in running off on her own, putting herself in the crosshairs, with Morgana still out there plotting their deaths. Instead he held his tongue.

"It was a really long walk," she admittedly a little sheepishly. "How was your day?"

"Listless. I couldn't stop wondering where you've gone and had almost sent out a search party looking for you."

"Surely you exaggerate."

"I'm not," he said seriously. "I sent Merlin to find you. Told him not to report back to me until he could tell me where you were."

She frowned disapprovingly. "You really shouldn't have said that, Arthur. What if he's still out there looking for me?"

"He isn't. The idiot actually did come back claiming he had searched everywhere. But if it's everywhere he searched, he would have found you already," he reasoned smartly, his tone betrayed an impatient irritation. "Trust him to be incompetent on such a simple task."

"Don't be hard on him for something that is entirely my fault."

"I was worried." He rubbed his hands along the side of her arms, concern gathering on his brow. "You have no idea. I thought something might have happened to you."

Her frown softened into an apologetic smile. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you worry. I just really needed some time away."

"Not from me, I hope."

Tenderly, she brushed the gold hair at his knitted brows with her fingers. "Never from you, Arthur."

"But there's something troubling you."

Abruptly, her gaze faltered and fell, as did the hand that touched his face. She glanced away, looking over the castle's courtyard through the window. Overhead the sky was clear. By this time, the sun was gaining low fast, causing the few thin strips of clouds on the horizon to turn to a striking orange and the sky, salmon-pink. But in her mind's eye she saw it all again – Tyr's death, the graveyard, his tombstone.

"Guinevere?" When she refused to meet his gaze, Arthur took her chin gently between his fingers and tilted her face towards his. "Guinevere, please. Talk to me."

Her eyes darken with unutterable sorrow. Then after a considerable moment she sighed quietly, from a kind of mental depletion. "I went to Tyr Seward's grave today."

Arthur went silent. Understanding lurked in the depth of his eyes, and it nearly broke her. But it'd be easier, she realized, easier to talk to him, to tell him, because he was her husband, her best friend, her soul mate. She trusted him, had to trust. If not with Arthur, whom she felt she'd known almost all her life, where would she begin?

"I knew him," she began, her voice wavering a bit before she clamped down and finished. "I knew him before I became queen. I was a servant then. He was kind, gentle and honest. Just a simple man who made it his life's purpose to do the best in everything he did. And he loved his mother, so very much. Reminded me of how dearly I loved my father."

She stared unseeingly out the window, sinking into a gloomy reminiscing. "When I lost him, Tyr was one of the few people who brought me comfort. And for a time, I had called him my friend." Her breath hitched now as it squeezed around her heart.

"He was my friend, Arthur. And I–" she choked, quivering with restrained grief. "I killed him, in cold blood."

An unpleasant and heavy sensation sat at Arthur's heart, for he understood completely the wild whirl of nameless regret and passionate anguish that must harvest within her. "His death was not your fault."

"Yet, despite everything, I have his blood on my hands." She looked down at them, unbelievingly. "I'm a murderer."

"Look at me." Arthur's voice shook with a fierce firmness. "You are not a murderer. Morgana had you under her spell, and there was nothing you could have done that would have prevented it."

Even as he spoke, Gwen was already shaking her head against reason, the dark mass of her hair tumbling over her shoulders like a sea.

He gripped her shoulders into his hands determinedly. "Listen to me, Guinevere. We're all in this together, as was Tyr. This is our fight. Not just to protect Camelot, but to protect all of Albion. Tyr's death, and the death of others – including Elyan's…" he added quietly, noticing how her face tore with sorrow at the pained memory of her brother's passing. "…They will not go unpunished. Morgana's taken them from us. And we will make her pay for all the wrongs she's done."

His hands moved along the curve of her neck to cup her face, his blue eyes shining with the pure fire of great promise. "I swear on my life, I'll end her for you."

Impossibly moved, tears began to flood her eyes. She would weep. A human heart needed to shed such a deep well of tears. Thus, when Arthur pulled her into his arms, strong and tight, she simply tucked her face into his shoulder and wept out her shattered heart.

There might be a part two to this story, but I'm undecided if I should pursue the little idea I have in my head. It concerns Tyr's mother, that's all I'll share with you for now. What do you think? Share your thoughts with me, and I'll be greatly appreciative!