Chapter 3:
The Lamentation of the King
Unlike most mornings during the siege, Artoria had ridden out from camp with Gawain that day. She had grown increasingly disheartened ever since Gawain refused offers of peace and initiated the conflict, though she hid her weariness well. Artoria firmly maintained the placid expression of just indifference as she had trained herself to. She reaffirmed herself that there was nothing politically wrong with her nephew's actions, nor were they unjustified. Lancelot had slain Gawain's sister and brothers as well as betrayed the state. She understood that, yet she was having growing difficulty submerging her turbulent pangs of grief.
As she gazed at Castle Benwick her thoughts turned to her wife, Guinevere, and she became more distraught with her contemplations. Though they were unable to love one another, at least not romantically, the two supported each other through the unfortunate circumstances that the political marriage had subjected them to. Even though she was thankful Lancelot rescued her wife from the stake's inferno, as was lawful punishment for adulterers, she reprimanded herself for feeling such relief.
A king must be impartial. I am a vessel of my country's will and protector of its people. She focused on this over and over again, trying in vain to drown her emotions. And then the gates opened.
Gawain furrowed his brow and tightened his grip around his lance. It had been the first time they had seen him since he fled England. His armor and blade had been stained an ominous purple hue and he now donned a matching helm with a long blue plume. Lancelot could not bear to show his face.