Chapter 7
[Camelot—Citadel]
Gwen wandered through the passages with her thoughts. She wished for understanding. She wanted to grasp the events playing out around herself. Even as she reassured her fellow castellans otherwise, Doubt nagged at her. She wondered about Arthur to be honest. Despite his promises, he'd continued to make increasingly uncharacteristic judgments. He wouldn't support Boeve's role as Count. He exiled Edgar rather than deal with his treason. He gave…gave…strategic border villages and castles to Meleagant. He seemed indifferent to their subjects' concerns. He forgot his advisors' names frequently. He recused himself more and more.
She frowned. She'd forced a meal with Arthur. For most of it, she'd thought him almost back to the way he'd been during their courtship. Warmth lightened the mood. Flavor teased their taste buds from meat, vegetable and delicacy alike. Amor drew them closer together. All seemed great…
…all but one kiss….
She narrowed her eyes. Cupid himself had crafted a perfect kiss and scene to savor it. Still Arthur didn't kiss like that. His embrace, while out of Passion's own design, wasn't Arthur's. His eyes didn't look at her like that. Then he saluted her with a mug of mulled cider and drank it down. Arthur detested mulled cider. Whoever that is, he looks and sounds like Arthur. Still that man is an imposter. She turned the corner and looked around.
Neglect cast its pall over that garden. The cracked and caked dirt around the flowers and plants gasped for rain and water. Vines hadn't received regular cutting. Flowers drooped; their petals crinkling and turning brown. Weeds choked the younger growth syphoning off any moisture in that parched ground. Stones seemed askew. Everything seemed off.
Again Arthur may not have favored the garden. Still he knew how important it was to her. He wouldn't have allowed it to fall into such disrepair.
Another thing that's wrong. She shook her head.
"Not what you hoped for. Is it?"
She stiffened at this voice. Her eyes went wide. "Nimue?"
The priestess sauntered forward. She let her hand run across a twisted ivy vine. "Such a tragedy. This garden was once the pride of the kingdom. Now it languishes and wastes away. Pride and Ego lead them astray. Their crusades distract them from true priorities. This takes investment and effort."
Gwen sighed. As much as she hated to admit it, Nimue had a point. "Arthur has other matters on his mind."
"Obviously. You've seen how muddled his thinking is. He allows his father's policies to drown out common sense. Then again how much of it is him? We can't tell. Merlin doesn't know. Other than yourself, he'd be the best judge of Pendragon's character. Wouldn't he?" Nimue noted.
Gwen chafed at her tone. Indignation chafed at her. Granted she'd hated how Arthur was acting. She wanted to tell Nimue off. Denial desired a lengthy argument for Nimue's ears. But she knew the priestess had a point. Even when Arthur was the Prince…her Prince...he still let matters go. First his father's crusades and then his own blinded him to the bigger picture. He had gotten away with it to a certain point.
But then Merlin, Gaius, her and the knights had been there to cover for them.
As King, he has to make decisions for himself. We say that he has to consider everyone. He wants to but can they consider everyone else's needs? Can we deal with their needs? How can we have a kingdom if we can't deal with each other? Gwen exhaled. She looked at Nimue. "I appreciate your risk to tell me that. You know he'll have you killed if he finds you."
Nimue coughed. "He can try. Whoever he is. We do need to talk, Guinevere. Still it can't be here. The walls have ears." She waved her hands.
Mists enveloped them both and swept them away before Gwen could object….
[Arthur's Chamber]
Parchments sat unread on the desk. A goblet lay askew by the bed. A small trickle of wine dribbled onto the floor. Clothes lay scattered about. Some bore tears in their fabric. Stains from wiping food marred tunics' sleeves.
Still the troll could care less. He lumbered around the area. He hated the questions about the drawn curtains. He endured the humans' tiresome questions. He failed to understand their priorities. Pointless manners, games and practices all. Manipulating the courtiers seemed easy enough. He played everyone for fools.
Gwen however proved a different story altogether. Trying to keep with the sorceress' directives, he kept his distance from her. He tried to maintain a safe version of a relationship. He talked with her. He offered her some flower or other. He even organized a feast for just them. He did care. Affection warmed his heart. Frustration burned at his mind. If he had Arthur's role, couldn't he be with Gwen? He brought his taloned fist down on the table next to him. He growled. Loyalty and Amor yanked at him in different directions.
"Having issues, are we?" The sorceress stepped out of the shadows. "Pity. For the most part, you do well."
"Mistress." He bowed to her. "I have given the Red Knight what he desires."
"Aye. You keep Camelot divided. You mislead Tintagel, Gaul, Mercia and Nemeth into thinking that Arthur will accept magic. You have delivered the border villages and Rusflagen Castle to Cawdor. Still you fail to act as he would. They suspect you. Guinevere suspects you," she lectured/praised with backhanded technique.
"Suspects? I try, Mistress! I…." he asserted. "I am sorry…."
"DO BETTER!" she barked. "You have to convince them. If our little ruse is exposed then our advantage vanishes. Now we can't have that. Can we?"
He rasped. "N…nay, Mistress."
"Then do better. Act like the Brat-King would." With that she vanished back into the shadows.
The troll shook his head. He had done his best to serve. Still he couldn't bring himself to harm Gwen. He wanted her there. Irony offered a distinctive touch. He desired her.
How complicated things get when one seeks to deceive…..
