Step after step, tree after tree, she had moved, faster and faster, through the forest of Brechfa. She was travelling east. It was not much further, and soon, she would reach her desired destination.

Camelot.

It had taken Guinevere a long while to travel from Mercia to Gawant, she had been weak, and travelling on foot through the forest, avoiding the paths in case of a bandit attack was not easy. Her old leather boots had worn away, creating holes in the bottom of her shoes and the long pale blue dress she had been wearing, was torn to shreds.

Now on horseback, and clutching a nobleman's shirt and trousers, she brought the animal to halt and dismounted. It was a dense area of the forest, bluebells sprouted up around the willows and oaks and the once dry ground she had departed from at the start of her exile, was now sprouting with fresh grass. It was spring again. Guinevere had been away from her home for a long, hard four months.

Glancing swiftly around her, she checked for any signs of approaching danger and seeing nothing, she pulled the trousers, up over her legs, fastening them tightly. They were relatively baggy, but not so much that they restricted her movement. Quickly removing her torn dress, she shoved the navy blue shirt over her body. It was incredibly loose.

Scratching her chin in thought, she then reached down towards the worn and torn, ragged dress and ripped a strip of fabric off of the sleeves, tying it securely around her waist, so as to hold the shirt in place. It wasn't perfect, but it would do.

Remounting, she continued east to Camelot. An onlooker would wonder why an accused adulteress, exiled from Camelot would return to such a place. But Guinevere had her reasons.

Agravaine Du Bois.

A known traitor.

When Guinevere had met her once betrothed under unexpected circumstances in a dingy cell, the recently accustomed news of Agravaine's betrayal had completely slipped her mind. Agravaine was still in Camelot, plotting against the King, she had yet to send word, which is why she was returning to the forbidden Kingdom.

On horseback, Guinevere would reach Camelot within two days. Two more days, then she would be home...However, it was not her home anymore. The King had banished her on pain of death. Legally, she could not return. But after what happened between them in Mercia, would Arthur allow her to speak her mind? To tell him the truth about his uncle?

This was not the only thought pressing on Guinevere's mind. If what Morgana had said to her back in the tower of Mancipium were to be true, Arthur would surely be married by now. Camelot would have had its Queen at last, and Guinevere was left with all but a desperate goodbye kiss. The maidens heart felt heavy. Perhaps Arthur had moved on, and perhaps she should too. But Guinevere could never love another whom was not Arthur. How could she? He had claimed her heart. He had taken her heart like he had taken her home. Perhaps he would allow her to live in one of the outer lying villages. She could live a humble life there. But would the people accept her back after what she had done? Was there forgiveness in their hearts? Or would they shun her, like they had before?

Guinevere shuddered at the thought, closing her eyes, recollecting the memory.

"Sinner!" One had shouted

"Traitor!" Another roared.

"Adulteress!"

"Wanton!"

"Common whore!"

She felt the sting of the people's cruel words just as she had felt the sting of the pebbles they had hurled at her, when she had sought their help for food and shelter. Gripping her reins ever tighter, she rode on, determined. Despite what she had done, her duty and loyalty to Camelot needed to come first, she owed the Kingdom that much. Agravaine was bad blood.

When nightfall came, she felt quite alone. Lost, was the ring that she once held tightly in avid attempt to comfort her haunted dreams, she felt cold-cold as a loveless thing. Gwen curled up next to the small fire she had lit, on the hard ground. The trousers she had taken brought her much more warmth than that of the torn dress she had been wearing. The navy blue shirt she was dressed in, reminded her of one of Arthur's. But it didn't smell like Arthur. The nobleman, Tybalt was not as broad as Arthur, the shirt was narrower. Before Guinevere fell asleep, she wondered whether or not Mithian wore Arthur's shirts after they had participated in...Activities only shared between a wife and a husband. She suddenly felt nauseas. When working as a servant, she would often see some of the more bold maids, wearing shirts of the nobleman in the court, after warming their beds. She had walked into the some of the Lords chambers afterwards. The old men, sprawled out across their four posters panting wildly and sweating profusely, whilst young serving girls, wore upon them a rich shirt, and nothing upon their bare legs! Guinevere had always blushed furiously when she had seen the scandalous sight before her. She would never have sunk to that level.

Then again, she never would have thought to have found herself in the arms of a former flame. Which was more the scandal? A ruined maid, or an unfaithful one?

Guinevere's once sweet dreams, had turned to nightmares. Filled with wanton women, wearing nothing but a wicked grin and a rich shirt. She could see her former betrothed, laughing at her, over the bare shoulder of the new Queen, she shook violently in her slumber.

When she finally awoke in the morning, beads of sweat dotted her forehead, and her body ached. But still, she carried on.

Guinevere did not stop until she reached the very border of Camelot itself. That is when she heard it. Camelot patrol. The flash of red cloaks, riding proudly through the trees, the sound of rich laughter. If she ventured further it would all become real. The harsh reality of her exile, the new Queen, Arthur's taken heart.

In that sudden moment, Guinevere realised that she could not continue. She felt selfish. Arthur needed to be told about his traitor of an uncle, but the tired Guinevere, could not bring herself to go any further. She could not kneel before Arthur and his Queen. But how could she then tell her news to Arthur?

She had a sudden idea.

Gazing at the patrol through the trees, she noticed that one of the soldiers-clearly a new recruit-was falling behind. Guinevere positioned her little self, behind a shrubbery, slightly in front of the slow soldier and he began to ride towards her, desperately attempting to keep up with the proud Sir Leon. Just as the soldier made to pass her, Gwen leaped up agilely, grabbing onto a tree branch sprouting above her, and pulling the branch downwards so the poor soldier, smacked into it. Knocked with a great force from his horse, he lay unconscious on the forest ground.

So wrapped up in their own business, Sir Leon and the other Knights did not seem to notice the absence of the boy. Gwen felt slightly guilty at the sight of the large bruise beginning to form on the innocent boys forehead, it was sure to hurt.

Dismissing these guilty thoughts, she reached up into the saddle bag of the horse, the young soldier was riding, and sure enough, there was a quill and a parchment. Gwen's heart leapt with joy at the sheer luck that the parchment and quill resided in the bag. She scribbled urgent words down onto the parchment, before pinning it, underneath the girth of the horses saddle. If Gwen remembered rightly, one of Merlin's afternoon chores, was to unsaddle the horses from the patrol, he was surely to see this, and tell the King!

The young soldier began to stir, and Guinevere decided to that it was the right time to take her leave.

"Merlin, what are you doing?" Sneered the crowned King of Camelot, frowning as he approached his servant, who was sitting on the steps of the main square, his chin rested on his knees.

Merlin looked up quickly, glancing at his King, "Nothing," He replied, getting up swiftly to his feet.

"Yes, that much is obvious." Said Arthur snidely.

"Sorry Sire." Said Merlin apologetically. "It-s just that-"

"My chainmail needs cleaning, my horses need mucking out, my chambers need tidying, by boots need polishing, there is plenty for your useless, pathetic self to be getting on with Merlin." Said Arthur, cocking his head to one side and looking a his manservant, his arms folded. "And here come the patrol," Arthur pointed out, Camelot's patrol in red and gold, foreseeable in the near citadel. "Their horses need washing down, their armour needs polishing, as do their weaponry, need I go on?"

"Yes Sire." Sighed Merlin.

Arthur turned to go. "Oh and Merlin?"

Merlin looked at the King, his eyes questioning.

"Carry on looking that miserable, I'll have you in the stocks, your presence is even depressing me!" Arthur chuckled, making his way back up the steps into the castle.

Merlin's morale was low to say the least. There was no immediate certainty that Morgana Pendragon was dead, Arthur had him working harder than ever, as did Gaius, and Gwen had still not returned. Merlin wondered whether she had fled to Ealdor or not.

As the Patrol dismounted, Merlin began to unsaddle the horses and wash them down. Merlin found washing the beasts down quite relaxing, he watched the mud from their hooves dissipate as he watered them clean. After the horses were clean and away, it was his next task to polish all of the saddles and bridles. This was the boring part. It was a mindless task, one often Merlin used magic for. Today, he had decided to take on the task by hand rather than use his unusual talents, so as to avoid Arthur.

Arthur had been in a lousy mood recently, and Merlin had come accustomed to avoiding the King the majority of the time. The King switched between that of three moods. Angry, sulking, and bored. When the King was angry, he would most likely throw something at his manservant, and snap at him. When the King was sulking, he would snap at Merlin again, but be asked to left alone. When the King was bored, he would irritate, poke, prod, and humiliate his manservant in any means possible for his own amusement, and quite frankly Merlin was sick of it. Once and future King or not, he was acting like a complete and utter clot pole.

As Merlin came to the last saddle, the night was beginning to draw in. Just as he was about to hang up the saddle, he felt something odd beneath it. It was a folded piece of parchment. Curious, the warlock, took the parchment, hanging the saddle back up, and sat down.

He studied it carefully, and as he did, to his surprise he found that his name had been scribbled, as if in a hurry on the front of it, where it was folded.

But who would be writing to him? And why on earth would it be under one of Camelot's patrol's saddles?

Frowning deeply, he opened the parchment.

Merlin,

If you are reading this, one can only hope that my news is in safe hands.

There is not a lot of time to explain. Had I not have been in such a state during our last meeting, I would have told you sooner.

The news I have yet to give you is grave, but you must believe me, for it is true. I send this message with the gravest feeling,, for what I am about to reveal is unfair and unjust.

Agravaine is not whom we thought him to be. He is working for Morgana, I saw him at the tower, I heard him talking to Morgana and they are in league. In the tower, Agravaine mentioned something about the plans to siege tunnels, I think he meant to steal them Merlin!

I know how absurd this must sound, but you must believe me Merlin, I would never lie to you. You must warn Arthur before it is too late. Agravaine is not to be trusted under any circumstances.

Unfortunately I cannot reveal my location to you, in fear of this message being intercepted, but I hope for you to find this. I am closer than you think, but am straying away in fear from my own personal matters, I have no quarrel with the Queen.

Merlin frowned. Queen? What Queen? What could Gwen possibly mean? Then it hit him. Princess Mithian. Gwen had not been told other wise of Arthur's most recent betrothed. She had not known that Arthur had decided not to marry her and send her back to Nemeth!

I miss you Merlin, I miss Camelot, I miss everything. But I cannot return. Perhaps one day we shall see each other again. But until then, I wish you the best of luck.

Your dearest friend always,

Gwen.

If it so happens that this is not Merlin reading this letter, then I beg of you to give him this letter.

Merlin was in shock. He knew Agravaine had been in league with the witch all along, this was no surprise to him. He had to warn Arthur immediately. Jumping up, the letter still in his hands he sprinted out into the main square, out into the courtyard, and up the main staircase of the castle, rushing through corridor after corridor to get to the King's chambers. Once outside the door, he barged it open loudly.

The King was in a sulky mood, as to be expected. But he looked up, angrily, to have had Merlin found him like this again, sat on the end of his bed, staring at Guinevere's engagement ring.

"Sire, I need to talk to you." Said Merlin breathlessly, jogging over to the King, his face red, and his eyes earnest.

Arthur clenched his fist around the engagement ring before replying flatly, "I told you I didn't want to be disturbed." The King glared at his servant.

Merlin rolled his eyes slightly, this did not go unnoticed by the King. "Sire, it is important. Very important!" Exclaimed Merlin, desperately.

"You defy me?" Asked Arthur. "You defy you King?"

"Yes, I do!" Shouted Merlin helplessly, raising his arms and dropping them in desperation, as he tried to get Arthur to understand. "You know I would not do so unless the situation were grave."

It was Arthur's turn to roll his eyes dramatically, he slammed the ring down onto the table, grabbed his leather gloves, before following his manservant out of the door. The pair of them marched down to the vaults, Merlin running slightly ahead of Arthur.

"The idea is preposterous!" Arthur cried after his servant. "I've known my uncle since I was a child! I refuse to believe he would ever betray Camelot!"

They reached the vaults with haste, and Arthur unlocked the cabinet to which the plans for the siege tunnels were kept. He opened the cabinet, rummaging around inside of it. "Plans for the siege tunnels are kept here." He murmured under his breath. Arthur felt around further, and his irritation began to rise, seeing Merlin's smug expression on his face. It could not be true! Could it? His uncle would not betray him like this. He could not! The King's movements became more frantic as he continued his search.

Then he felt it.

A wave of relief washed over him, and he pulled out a map and shoved it into his manservant's face, smugly.

"I don't understand." Said Merlin frowning. "It-I-" He stammered, and scratched his head. There was no doubt that Merlin believed Gwen, but perhaps Agravaine had not yet made his move? Or perhaps Morgana had made a copy of it?

Arthur shoved the scroll back into the cabinet, just as his uncle approached from around the corner.

"I came as soon as I could, my Lord. Is there problem?" Asked Lord Agravaine innocently, twiddling his thumbs, as he bowed shortly to the King.

Arthur folded his muscular arms and smiled difficultly. "No Uncle, not at all. I'm sorry to have inconvenienced you."

Merlin did not know what to say. He could not let Agravaine get away with this any longer. He needed to be revealed as the dirty traitor he was. "Can we please-"

Arthur cut him short and invaded the servants personal space menacingly. "One more word out of you and I swear to God I will send you into exile!" He spoke dangerously low, before stalking off back to his chambers leaving Merlin alone with Agravaine.

Agravaine smirked smugly at the warlock, before following Arthur out of the volts.

Had Merlin got her message by now? Had Agravaine been revealed, had she been successful? How was she to know? She could not enter Camelot by law, or out of pride. She didn't have anywhere to go.

Wandering the boarders seemed mindless, yet she felt that in someway she was almost defending her home, and if she could not do that from the inside, then she would do it from the out.

She had spent almost two months locked away in a cell helpless and weak. Guinevere hated that. She hated that she had felt weak. She hated that she had felt vulnerable. She hated that she had felt helpless. It needed to stop, perhaps it was a good thing that Camelot had itself a new Queen, for she would have made a lousy one.

During her and Arthur's engagement she had been overjoyed to marry Arthur and to become his wife, and support him. However, she was not so overjoyed to become Queen.

She had feared that the people would not accept her because of her position. She felt that she was not strong enough to become Queen, not able enough, uneducated as such. It distracted her from being excited about becoming Arthur's wife.

It was almost bittersweet, for perhaps she should have focused more on staying loyal to her husband. Lancelot had been the ultimate test for Guinevere, and she had failed it. She had proven to herself that she was not a worthy Queen, and she did not even feel like a worthy human.

It was so difficult to wake up without any motivation each morning. To wander aimlessly without purpose.

"I need a purpose." She would whisper to herself brokenly each morning.

And she had found one. She had delivered the message to Merlin in hope of freeing Camelot from a nasty traitor, she had fulfilled her purpose. Now what? She did not seek company, or hospitality, nor did she want to burden anyone else with her presence.

But there was another thing. Trust. She had felt betrayed. Of course what Guinevere had done was unforgivable. But did Arthur really hate her that much to send her into exile, and suffer in a dark cell for two months? She herself, felt a little betryed.

Then there was Elyan, and that look of disgust etched upon his face when he had found out what she had done. He was her brother! Gwen had helped bring Elyan up! Did she really deserve that?

Even Merlin had not said a word to her that fateful morning she was exiled.

No one had.

She no longer felt the same trust in people she used to.

Perhaps wandering and protecting Camelot's boarders as much as she could would feel fulfilling. Perhaps it could help heal the gaping hole in her heart, and fill it with something worth while. If she could not help Arthur from the inside, then she would help him from the out.

Pulling the long sword out of her saddle bag, she rode through the forest, cutting hanging branches which were getting in her way.

Then she heard it. Voices, through the trees.

Bandits.

"That young Pendragon's got it coming he has, softer than 'is father ee is. Made it easy for folks like us to intercept taxes from the villages ain't it?" One of the bandits, with a short, scruffy beard said to his two peers.

"Mmmm," Came the voice of another. "Can't wait till I get me hands on all that lovely gold."

Guinevere's fists clenched at the trio of bandits. How dare they think that they can just steal people's taxes! That money was to help the people of Camelot grow their crops, to buy grain and feed their families! It was not theirs to steal!

It would be one against three. Could she really chase them off?

It was no secret that Guinevere knew how to fight. She was the daughter of blacksmith, she would often spar with her brother in the meadows before her mother had passed. Then her father needed her support, there was no longer time for fun and games. But she never forgot. She fought bravely in Ealdor alongside Morgana. She was handy with a sword, not an expert, but handy.

"That gold is to help the poor feed their families! Not for your own decadence!" Said Guinevere powerfully, clutching her sword tightly in her fist. She regretted it immediately as the three men stood up to face her, their swords drawn. How could she have been so stupid? This was not brave! This was idiocy!

"Well, well, well. What ave we ere?" Said the bandit with the scruffy beard. "Defender of the poor? Defender of Camelot?" He said, chuckling.

"Oi Cedric! Ow bout we teach her a lesson or two? W'cha reckon?" Another of the men jeered.

"Pretty thing aren't ya?" The bandit, whose name, Guinevere assumed to be Cedric walked towards her, hand out stretched

The grip on her sword tightened as she raised it defensively. "Don't touch me." She spat fiercely at the approaching bandit.

"Now, now, don't be afraid." He made a sudden swipe for her, but was knocked straight off balance, as Guinevere's sword cut across his arm, and he swore loudly. "How dare you touch me woman!" He screeched, raising his own sword, his peers doing the same.

CLASH, SWING, SWIPE, CLASH

Guinevere's sword clashed bravely against the bandits'. Although, she did not feel brave, she felt scared. The bottom of her sword handle bashed angrily against one of the bandits' head, knocking the man to the floor, out cold. Now only two against one, she continued to fight off the two men.

Adrenaline pulsed through her veins dangerously, as she ran her sword through another of the bandits legs, and he fell to the floor in agony.

Only one left now, she thought, amazed at her own bold actions, she realised she had the upper hand. However, this moment of surprise did not go unmissed by the last man standing, and he plunged his sword into Guinevere's side.

She screamed horribly, and as she fell, she plunged her own sword violently into the bandits chest.

Gwen lay there shaking, and whimpering slightly, holding her side. Pain engrossed the entire left side of her abdomen as her cheek pressed roughly against the twiggy floor of the wood. She needed to get out of there. Clutching her side tightly, in a feeble attempt to subdue her blood loss, she slowly got to her feet and staggered over to her horse.

"Aghh!" She cried aloud as she climbed into the saddle in agony. Cradling her wound as best she could she kicked on the horse to escape the bloody scene.

As they rode on, she slowly fell forward, unconscious onto the beasts neck.