And The Worst Part Is There's No-one Else to Blame
Guinevere's POV
I fell in love with him.
He was brave, dashing, the perfect knight...or so I told myself. Lancelot, the handsome dark knight. He had stared at me from afar through that journey from Marius' estate, barely a step ahead of the Saxons, and my hopes were buoyed.
It wasn't until much, much later that I realized that he had never been interested in me. It was Arthur he had eyes for, and Arthur only had eyes for me. I was an enigma to him, never attractive in any manner. He had studied me in the hopes of finding what exactly it was that had stolen Arthur's attention.
It wasn't until he had told me the truth, that he would have left me and the boy, Lucan, in that dungeon to die, that I realized that Lancelot was not as the stories made him out to be.
Luckily, Arthur did not disappoint.
Even then...
Gods, I did love Lancelot. As foolish as it was, I could not keep from longing after him.
When he saved me in that last battle I was convinced that he loved me as well. I was so completely sure that he was risking his life for me.
It was never for me, I realized much later.
That stupid, foolish, unattainable man.
He had saved me for Arthur.
