AN: Here's chapter two :) Don't worry, things will unfold in due time. An Arwen scene has already been written up, but I'm having three different people look at upcoming chapters to make sure I don't miss anything vital. Thank you to everyone who has commented and added this story to their alert list, I truly appreciate it. Please let me know what you think of this installment.—BNQ
-2-
Guinevere observed as Morgana and Merlin-the two greatest magical beings the world has ever known-exchange worried glances. She found herself not particularly concerned about this exchange. Guinevere knew that she would be driven insane if she were to analyze every thought and gesture that passed between the witch and warlock.
Several moments passed before her question was answered. Guinevere's posture never once wavered, not allowing either Morgana or Merlin the opportunity to see any observable weakness. Time and too many betrayals have forged her in steel, and she was not anyone's to command anymore.
"Your Majesty," Merlin began. "We thank you for granting us an audience."
Guinevere didn't bother to correct the warlock's address of her, but instead gave another nod.
"We have come hoping you will award our request," Merlin's voice wavered, as if he was hesitant to speak.
Guinevere raised an eyebrow and, for the first time, the shadow of a smile flitted across her features.
"What makes you think that I will listen to this request, much less agree to it?"
Her tone made it clear that while she may have looked amused, she found no humor in this conversation.
"Please, Guinevere," Morgana moved to splay her hands palms up on the table. "You are the only one who can save us."
Guinevere looked at Morgana. "Was she paler than usual? "
She saw that the witch was now biting her lower lip, worry etched on every line of her body. She was impeccably dressed in expensive, richly-hued clothes that fit her frame perfectly, but even that was not enough to disguise the panic that seemed to emanate from her slim frame.
"You are in no position to ask anything of me, Morgana," Guinevere's tone was even, her voice calm, but there was no mistaking the blade of her words. "And your damnation is not something I worry about."
The witch flinched, her eyes pleading with the woman who had served her faithfully once upon a time, but she knew that there was no friendship between them anymore. Morgana's acts against Guinevere had exhausted whatever affection the Queen had once shown toward her. Never had Morgana felt so alone.
"Guinevere, please," it was Merlin's turn to beg. "Camelot will fall."
"Camelot has fallen many times," Guinevere answered calmly. "Over the ages, in various forms. Why should I care if it falls again?"
"Because this time," Merlin sighed deeply. "This time will be the last."
"That is not of any consequence to me," Guinevere shrugged. She unfolded her hands from her lap and raised one to call the attention of a young server.
She remained silent until after she had paid her bill, saying only thank you to the young woman who took the money and cleared the table. Guinevere saw her trying to sneak glances at each of them, but whether it was her posture or the current of magic that passed through witch and warlock that made her leave quickly, she did not care.
"Albion," Morgana whispered the word.
Guinevere's head snapped around to her.
Seeing that she had her regent's attention, Morgana sat up and squared her shoulders. She looked Guinevere in the eye.
"Albion's destruction will come after the fall."
No emotion was seen on Guinevere's face. She sat quietly, her gaze moving from man to woman.
"We will speak again," she said.
She stood up, collecting the small leather handbag that she had kept on a chair beside her.
Merlin and Morgana followed suit, standing at attention until Guinevere had walked out of the shop with nary a glance back at them. Only when she was out of sight did they take their seats again.
The young man who sat across the room watched all of this with great fascination. He still had the buds in his ears so he was deaf to the conversation, but he could feel the tension in the air.
He watched as the tall man and the pale woman huddled together, worry plain on their faces. He saw as the woman's lips formed one word.
Doom.