WiltingDaisies94: Hey guys, time for another chapter. I have a couple of quick things to address first, though:

1. I've had a lot of requests for more Arthur/Morgana (Leon/Juliana as they know each other) scenes, but as much as I adore them, there is a story here. There are plenty of characters, and they need to interact as well. I love ArMor as helplessly as I'm sure you all do, and of course they're very important, but not every chapter can be about them.

2. I wish this site would let me post this story under Gwen/Lancelot too. Even if they're not your favorite couple, consider that a) they love each other in the legend, and b) wouldn't you rather Gwen taken by someone other than Arthur, who is obviously meant for Morgana? And who knows, maybe you'll come to like Gwen and Lance as a couple; please give them a chance!

3. I'd love your help getting this story around the ArMor community. We are very small in number, unfortunately, and considering that the show has just married Gwen and Arthur and turned Morgana (still awesome) into an evil witch, we need some way to console ourselves. If this story cheers you up at all, please let it do the same for someone else!

With all that said (points if you actually read through all that), time for story!


Chapter 11

"I pronounce you Guinevere, Queen of Camelot." Arthur placed the heavy crown on his wife's head as gently as he could. He felt her neck tremble slightly at the new weight, and paused a moment before pulling back.

Guinevere rose slowly, taking Arthur's outstretched hands gratefully. Even royal breeding only went so far with balancing several pounds of solid gold on one's head. Guinevere managed a small smile for her husband, an unspoken thanks.

Arthur faced the crowd. "From this day forth there shall be a great alliance between Camelot and Carmelide," he began in a raised voice, "a peace such as never before seen. Together our two kingdoms shall prosper beyond our grandest imaginings." Arthur paused to place a polite peck on Guinevere's hand. "Long live the Queen!" he prompted.

"Long live the Queen!" the crowd enthusiastically responded. "Long live the Queen!"

Arthur held out his arm, and Guinevere placed her hand lightly down on it. Together the royal couple descended the raised platform as the crowd filled the hall with cheers. The mighty roar of "long live the Queen" echoed off the walls and resounded against the high ceiling; the couple passed through an open aisle to the sound of thunderous applause.

"Make way for their Majesties!" The guards standing by the entrance pulled the doors wide to allow the royals through.

The hallways were lined with flowers, the walls bedecked with banners and tapestries. The torchlight flared, shaming away the darkness that edged towards the weathered stone of the gallery.

The end of the hallway forked, and this was where the king and queen parted. The wedding ceremony had been an arduous affair, furnished with the necessary pomp and pageantry. It was assumed their Majesties would require a brief respite from the day's excitement before the wedding feast began.

"Milady." Arthur bent and kissed Guinevere's hand with all the gallantry of a king. He felt compelled to say something about how he looked forward to partaking in her company later that evening, but could find no combination of words that did not sound either overly familiar or have inappropriate implications. "Rest well," was the best he could do.

"Milord." Guinevere glanced down demurely, dropping a swift curtsy. She tried to think of something more to add, some gesture to indicate that she was not made of ice, but she was uncomfortable touching his hand or cheek; the gesture simply didn't seem natural. "I shall," she eventually replied, smiling faintly.

"Good," Arthur said, a bit too quickly. "Until this evening, then."

"Until then." With a nod of her head, Guinevere was escorted away by a retinue of maids and guards.

She listened to the King's footsteps fade behind her, and let out a breath she hardly knew she'd been holding. Standing next to Arthur, trying her hardest to keep eye contact… her head still reeled from the notion that she was a married woman.

"Leave me," Guinevere ordered the gaggle of ladies-in-waiting who had followed her from the hall. "And one of you, fetch my maid. I require her attendance at once."

A chorus of "Your Majesty" greeted her in response, accompanied by the swift rustling of long skirts as the entire collection of women curtsied as one. Quick feet stepped across the floors and retreated; Guinevere did not turn around until she was certain she was alone.

When only the emptiness of the chamber surrounded her, Guinevere took a shuddering breath and seated herself before the lifeless embers glowing in the fireplace. The sun was setting, and the last streams of red light had disappeared; Guinevere knew she should have been shivering, but her physical self did not feel the cold.

A breeze fluttered through the open window, skittering across Guinevere's neck. The Queen's neck. She shook her head, trying to wrap her head around the new title. She was a queen. The Queen of Camelot.

"Your Majesty." Morgana entered the room swiftly, closing the door softly behind her.

Guinevere shook her head, unaware of her own vehemence, staring into the cold hearth. "Not you, Morgana," she said, hearing her own voice demand from very far away. "Still Milady. Not Majesty."

Morgana did not contradict her mistress. "Certainly, Milady." She felt goosebumps run along her arms; the room was chilly, and had an ominously empty feeling. "Give me just a moment and I will have the fire lit." She tried to sound cheerfully, and busied herself with renewing the flames. "It would do us no good to have the bride frozen on her wedding day."

Guinevere put a hand to her face, absentmindedly touching her lips. Pulling away a moment later, she looked at her hand, realizing her fingers were wet. She felt her cheek, only just recognizing that it was kissed with tears.

"Milady?" Morgana abandoned the now steadily growing fire, and hurried over to Guinevere's seat, kneeling by her side. The firelight flickered steadily across the Queen's face, illuminating the few, silent tears slipping down her face.

Guinevere examined her fingers with a surprised disinterest. "Odd," she murmured to herself. She rubbed her fingertips together, as if unconvinced of the tears' existence. "I do not remember calling for these."

Morgana looked concernedly at her mistress, frowning. "What ails you, Milady?"

Guinevere's eyes hardly saw her maid. "Ale?" she asked. "Thank you, but not at present, Morgana."

Concern turned to worry and Morgana placed her hands on Guinevere's face. "This is incorrect, Milady," she said, frowning, feeling her mistress's cheeks and forehead. "You are not feverish, yet neither are you yourself." She stood up. "Let us remove this, shall we?"

Gently, Morgana eased the crown off her mistress's head. "Heavens," she exclaimed, "it is so heavy!" She laid down the golden piece on a nearby table. "What deranged artisan constructed this to be supported by a delicate, slender neck?"

Without the crown Guinevere looked much like her usual self, and seemed to come to her senses. "I am married, Morgana," were the first words she spoke. She no longer sounded sorrowful or odd, but rather confused. "I am a queen now."

"You are, Milady." Morgana knelt again, and took her mistress's hands. "And you are ready for the task." She stroked carefully with her thumbs. "You will be an amazing queen. Who could know better than I?"

Guinevere looked at her friend. "I did not anticipate this, Morgana," she said queerly.

"What is it, Milady?" Morgana asked comfortingly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind Guinevere's ear. "Tell me."

"I am afraid."

It was a simple admission, three small words that carried all the weight of the world with them. She was not a woman lacking in pride or bravery, yet Guinevere, Princess of Carmelide, and now Queen of Camelot, was frightened.

"It would be strange should you to feel otherwise, Milady." Morgana soothed. "To become a wife is excitement aplenty for a single day, but becoming queen as well… of course you are anxious."

"In two hours time, maybe three," Guinevere continued, irked and beginning to sound much more like herself, "the King will require my presence. And as he is now my lord and husband, I shall be expected to obey." The snap had returned to her voice. "And after much attention and jesting, we shall go to the marriage bed and consummate our…" she wrinkled her nose in distaste, "alliance."

Morgana bit her lip thoughtfully. "Does that frighten you, Milady?"

"No." Guinevere's voice was firm. "Princess or otherwise, I know enough on the topic of consummation." She rolled her eyes. "Not all the maids in my father's palace were as maidenly as they claimed."

Guinevere shook her head. "The difference, however, is that they took their pleasures with the men who suited their fancies. And here I am, married to a man I know almost nothing of, who I feel I shall not love, and nonetheless it is my duty to relieve him." She sighed heavily. "What will it be like, I wonder?" she added sarcastically.

Morgana would not lie to her mistress. "Painful, I have heard, at least to begin with." She touched Guinevere's face. "If the King is a good man he will be gentle with you."

Guinevere grimaced. "I do not want this, Morgana," she admitted with perfect clearheaded confidence. "But I shall be resigned to the task." She pasted on a smile, lifting her head. "For Carmelide, for my father… for everyone but myself." She cleared her throat. "I am the Queen of Camelot now; it is my duty."

Morgana stood and pulled her mistress to her feet. "Let us prepare you for the feast, shall we?"

"Will you braid my hair once I am done dressing?" Guinevere asked.

Morgana chuckled. She was able to weave beautiful braids into even the most difficult hair, but for her mistress it was always a special treat. Guinevere had extremely long hair, reaching nearly to the backs of her knees, and braiding it took an extended period of time. Morgana acquiesced to the task only very rarely.

The maid nodded. "If you behave yourself while I dress you, then I shall."

Guinevere smiled and threw her arms around her maid. "Thank you!" she whispered into Morgana's ear.

"Of course, Milady," she replied, squeezing her maiden mistress tightly for the last time. "Always."