WiltingDaisies94: Thanks so much to all of my reviewers, I'm glad you enjoyed last chapter's ArMor-y goodness, and I hope you enjoy this new chapter as well!

All the introduction you need:

"Perhaps you could take Her Majesty to the lake, Sire. It is a beautiful place, and peaceful; you would have time to talk, away from the politics and stresses of the city." - Merlin, MaM Chapter 34

Chapter 37

The lake was exactly as Arthur remembered; it seemed that not a single leaf or blade of grass had changed its place since his last ride up. The water, gurgling like the happy laughter of a child, lapped softly against the verdant shore, and Arthur congratulated himself on choosing such an unseasonably beautiful day to take the Queen out. One could hardly even taste the coming winter in the air.

Guinevere, dismounting from Kit (who Morgana had saddled earlier that morning), had stopped thinking about her next rendezvous with Lancelot for the first time that day. The natural world was almost impossibly enchanting that afternoon, and the sky had adopted a shade of blue so bright that it nearly outshone the sun. She breathed in the sweet air floating across the lake, her eyes glowing happily. "It is perfect," she whispered, just loudly enough for Arthur to hear.

"I would never suspect it of being winter in this area," he replied, an unusual tranquility settling over his heart. "Indeed, sometimes I wonder if the season ever changes up here." Arthur offered his arm to Guinevere, who took it with a smile.

"I should hope not," Guinevere replied, gazing around in wonderment; the two royals began to stroll the perimeter of the lake. "Though I will say, it does seem much the same to me."

"The same?" Arthur shook his hair out of his eyes and looked quizzically at his wife. "You have been to the lake before?"

Guinevere nodded languorously. "Of course. Have you forgotten my father's visit? I was young at the time, only seven years of age, but I believe Milord would have been old enough to recall."

"Ah yes." Arthur flicked his eyes downwards, the memories returning at his wife's prompt. "I must have been… what?... eleven years or so at the time?" He nodded to himself. "Yes, this was just after I received my first full-sized crossbow."

"Yes, I remember that," Guinevere remarked with a laugh. "You brandished it for the better part of the week, and mostly at me."

"Perhaps not my brightest age." Arthur smiled at his past misconduct, shaking his head. "But I would not truly have shot at you. Father would have had my head in the time it took me to aim and fire."

Guinevere giggled, a surprisingly sweet sound. "That is absolute falsehood, I remember what happened to that manservant of your father's."

Arthur's eyes opened in recollection and he cringed. "You mean Meonthes?" He sighed guiltily. "Poor man."

"Poor man?" Guinevere goaded him. "You shot him point blank with a crossbow!"

"By accident!" Arthur protested. "I was sure the trigger was stabilized…"

Guinevere raised her eyebrows in amusement. "And the best way to test that theory was to shoot the King's manservant?"

"He flipped the platter up in time," Arthur griped defensively, "and what good was my arrow against solid metal? It bounced harmlessly off, and Meonthes was none the worse for the experience."

"You forget, and rather willingly, I suspect, that there was food on that platter," Guinevere retorted, stepping around a ditch. "And when Meonthes moved it up to save his eye from an unpleasant meeting with your arrow, some of that food went spilling over your father's head!"

Arthur opened his mouth, without a response in mind, and closed it again when no words came out.

"Does this sound more familiar now, Milord?" Guinevere laughed triumphantly at her husband, who sighed.

"There are certain punishments one never forgets," he admitted grudgingly, "though we may try very, very hard to do so."

Guinevere bit her bottom lip, suddenly looking at Arthur with something akin to sympathy. "I can imagine. I shall never lose His Majesty's face from my mind, he was… scarlet with rage… spitting mad…" she shuddered reflexively. "I remember staring down at my plate, waiting for his wrath to crash down."

Arthur shook his head ruefully. "Father knew better than to explode in front of a visiting delegation, but that was hardly the end of it." He squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. "I believe I still have scars from that beating."

Guinevere looked away from him. "I am sorry for that," she said gently. "It really was the only dark spot of our visit."

Arthur smiled faintly, a bit of his good humor returning. "If I may be honest, you were an awful annoyance back then."

Guinevere's eyes twinkled as she responded, "I would hazard to say precisely the same to you, Milord."

He laughed at her audacity. "Please," he reminded her, "just Arthur."

The richness of his voice warmed Guinevere and she reached up her free hand to pat Arthur's cheek affectionately.

The touch was somehow sobering to the King. "I fear I owe you an apology, Guinevere," he said abruptly, cahgning the subject as he helped her over a fallen tree branch.

"Apology?" The Queen lifted her skirts delicately to the ankle. "What for?"

Until then the conversation had been going so smoothly, and Arthur now found himself completely tongue-tied, unsure of how to express the guilt in his heart without admitting to his affair with Lady Juliana. Talking about their shared memories had been so simple; Arthur found that speaking with Guinevere much easier when he didn't have to be original. His guilty conscience feared her jeering, and made it difficult to choose his words fluidly.

"I feel… as if…" Arthur stumbled over his thoughts, "I have been less than adequate in my behavior towards you."

Guinevere looked oddly at her husband, and the familiar awkward sensation crept back over her. "I do not understand," she replied blatantly. "I can think of nothing you have done to offend me."

The two of them rounded an edge of the lake and entered a patch of tall grass. "It is not a specific instance," Arthur insisted, trying to recover from his fumbling, "but a general feeling. I know my mind has been far away since the struggle at Morswood. I should have come to see you after your illness, called on you sooner –"

"Please," Guinevere stopped him, "there is no reason for your contrition, I know the responsibilities of a king to be time-consuming."

Arthur tried again. "Are you certain?"

"Of course, of course," she replied, shrugging off the notion irritably. "Is this why you brought me out here today? To apologize?"

It sounded awfully calculating coming from her mouth, and Arthur hated that. "Well, no," he lied. "I thought you might like to see the lake again –"

Guinevere snapped towards him at that, and said flippantly, "Again? Milord did not remember I had ever seen it before."

The mistrust in her eyes stung Arthur, and he shook his head, trying to talk himself around her assumptions. "No, I only –"

She narrowed her eyes. "You must have felt there was much to apologize for in bringing me all the way out here." Guinevere had dropped Arthur's hand, and was getting rather far ahead of him. "What is it you are truly asking my forgiveness for?" she tossed over her shoulder.

Arthur hurried to catch his wife; things were taking a ruinous turn. "Listen to me, Guinevere, I only wanted to –"

"What?" The Queen's eyes flashed brightly as she scrutinized her husband's face. "What is it you wish to tell me?" Impatient, her mood having taken a horrible downturn, Guinevere stamped her dainty foot onto the ground.

"Ahh!" she cried out, and her face instantly contorting in pain, she collapsed.

"Guinevere!" Arthur shouted in surprise, and he dashed to her side, closing the distance between them.

"Oooh," she groaned, curling up in anguish. "Ooh, ahhahah," she chanted desperately.

"What happened?" Arthur knelt in the long grass, cradling Guinevere to his chest. "What happened?"

"My foot," she bit out from between her teeth, eyes squeezed tightly shut. "Oh Gods, my foot!"

Arthur's eyes jumped downwards, and he shifted through the Queen's many skirts. A splash of blood streaked the bottom of the delicate fabric, and a sizable hole was visible in Guinevere's slipper.

"Come," Arthur grunted, settling his arms around Guinevere, one behind her back and one beneath her knees. "We must return to Camelot immediately." Lifting the Queen into his strong arms, Arthur stood up and started back towards the horses.