Sorrow beheld her face -
False love supplying grace.
Knowing Arthur's fights
And his trusted knights
Meant more than his Queen...
- Rick Wakeman, "Guinevere"
A/N: This chapter's not my best writing…but I wanted to get it out of the way so I could move on with the story. As a side note, I happened to see on IMDb that yesterday was Clive Owen's 44th birthday. So, happy birthday Clive. '
Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me, just the idea.
The coldness in Elaine's blue eyes could have rivaled the heaviest snowfall. As the frigid gaze swept over her, Guinevere could not help but shudder. Perhaps it would have been prudent to take more time in her preparations. She felt incredibly mediocre, at least in her looks, when standing beside this pristine creature. Still, it was rather obvious to Guinevere that Elaine was not so pristine on the inside. She could already tell that the girl was something of a snob, and that, Guinevere decided, would never do for the people of Britannia. They deserved better than some regional princess who was probably half-Roman anyway.
"Lady Guinevere…a pleasure. Please, let me introduce myself – Arthur has told me all about you."
I am sorry, Elaine. You will not take the upper hand by placing yourself above me. You are not on Arthur's pedestal. You will never be on Arthur's pedestal. He is my light, my harbor, my love. He will never, never be yours.
She put on the most convincing smile that was, under the circumstances, possible. "There is no need, Lady Elaine. My father has already done the honor. I admit that I was not quite…expecting you."
Little Elaine tittered. "Oh, did Arthur not tell you? My father wanted to meet him for himself…and he let me accompany him. Your father must be a wise man indeed to know ahead of time something that Arthur neglected to mention!" She seemed to think Arthur's silence had been out of coldness towards the woman he claimed to love. Guinevere begged to differ. She kept her expression cool.
"If Arthur has so extensively informed you about me, Lady Elaine, you should be able to tell me."
Guinevere had not thought it possible that the rosy yet pale cheeks of could drain of any more color; they were, she supposed, pink with her supposed triumph. This challenge was proving that she was a liar, and in front of the man she most wanted to impress. No woman with any sense would be happy with that. Guinevere almost – almost – felt sorry for the girl. Had she any idea what she was getting herself into? If Arthur became king, he would have more to worry about than pampering his wife. She did not desire Arthur's pampering – though he treated her as though she were made of glass – only his love…which she had. What did little Elaine know of love?
Elaine stammered, and then the color returned to her delicate face with a vengeance. "Well," she began, "well, perhaps he has not told me…all about you."
This satisfied Guinevere…for now. This child had to be put in her place. She could not understand the depth of what Guinevere felt for Arthur. In a way, she supposed it truly was like what he must feel for his God. Arthur meant her salvation. Arthur meant her freedom. Why would she love anyone else? "You spoke to soon, Lady Elaine. I forgive you. I am the daughter of Merlin."
It was not the whole truth…but again, Elaine paled. Paranoia had clouded her sapphire eyes. She took one tentative step away from them, and satisfaction welled up within Guinevere. Yes, yes, little Elaine. You would do well to fear that name.
Arthur scowled a little, yet he seemed to be indulgent of her little game. Perhaps he had caught onto Elaine's shameless flirtations and brazen attempts to lower Guinevere's importance, even within the few moments they had been there together. She glanced up at him and smiled faintly, knowing she could not deceive Elaine completely. Lying in Arthur's presence felt more acute and criminal than when she lied around anyone else. He was that kind of man: upright and honest, the best there was to be found, whether in Britannia or Rome. And I know, my love, that you are not fond of Merlin, so for you, I will amend myself, her gaze seemed to say.
"Merlin – that…that dirty, horrible, heathen warlock! He is your father?" Elaine shrieked then, unable to contain her disgust and horror any longer. The glint in her eyes when she looked at Guinevere now was something animal. To preserve her own self-worth, Elaine must defeat the Pict's daughter. That was what Guinevere read in her rival's face as plainly as though it was written there.
A casual, bemused smile lit Guinevere's dirt-stained face. Be careful, Elaine. "Forgive me, Lady Elaine, have I frightened you? My true father died long ago…but there could be little difference if I were, in fact, Merlin's daughter by birth."
The relief on Elaine's face struck her as comical; Arthur did not see it that way. His handsome face was stony. "Forgive me, my love, I think it is high time we let our guests dine with us so that they may rest," he murmured softly, just loud enough to be perceived by Elaine, whose breath was coming more evenly now. Her eyes had become docile, that haughtily better-than-thou glint returning to them. She had donned the façade of being confident in her ability to displace Guinevere; Guinevere herself was willing to say that the girl was anything but confident.
Guinevere had no intention of leaving her beloved alone with this monster. She would resort to anything, no doubt, to win him over. Nodding, she squeezed Arthur's hand tightly within her own: and you know I will not let you out of my sight, so you will come with me.
If Arthur realized how horrible Elaine was, surely he would not let her out of his ever-protective gaze, either.
He bowed stiffly to Elaine. "You can find your way back to the chambers you have been provided I hope, my lady," he said, polite as ever. Guinevere wondered fondly of he was ever rude to anyone who was not threatening him or one whom he cared for with death. Well, he was certainly rude to Merlin…and to those Romans who chose to torture those who do not share their beliefs. While she looked both surprised and displeased, even offended, there was (in Guinevere's mind) little she could say that would not label her an incompetent child, hardly ready to be the wife of a man who could potentially become King of Britannia. Hadrian's Wall, in truth, was not terribly complex.
Her curtsy to Arthur was much showier and (seemingly) more heartfelt. "I am sure I will be able to manage, thank you. I look forward to seeing you at dinner, Lord Arthur. And you, Lady Guinevere." Her smile was incredibly false, and as she trounced away, blue skirts swaying, Guinevere found herself unable to conceal a noise of disgust.
Arthur actually laughed, though she idid/i wish he stopped looking so grim. It made her uncomfortable. While he was not always quick to laugh – or, thank goodness, to anger – he had scarcely smiled since she had arrived, though she supposed this Elaine girl was plenty of excuse for that. His expression and demeanor suggested to Guinevere she had little to fear, at least where Arthur's heart was concerned. The politics might be a different matter, but Merlin's confident words had comforted her. Why should these regional tribes and kings wield any more influence than her own people? Look how fearful Elaine herself had been when Guinevere had mentioned Merlin himself! It made her glow with a sudden and perhaps premature sense of triumph. Arthur would not break her heart, nor his own; he would marry her. They would be happy.
"Please, say you did not spend enough time in the company of that demon to have told her much about me at all, Arthur," she implored, only half-teasing. The more often he was around Elaine, the less-certain the outcome would be.
When he finally smiled, it was reassuring. He pulled her into his arms briefly and kissed her soot-stained cheek. "I could not keep from mentioning you…and she was curious. I kept the description as concise and accurate as possible. You are…" Arthur stepped back, holding her at arm's length, "beautiful and brave and talented, and I love no other. Does that suit you, Gwen?"
Guinevere found that she was blushing, and she swatted his hand away from her upper arm playfully. "Yes, save for that you neglected to mention how iutterly/i overprotective you are. You do spoil me."
He fell silent, and she wished she had said nothing. Reminding him of how he'd found her – forgotten and alone, dying a truly miserable death in a Roman dungeon – was not wise. It would only compound his need to shield her from harm, when she truly did not need that. That she had been tortured and captured at all had been chance. With Arthur by her side, nothing of that nature would befall Guinevere again. She had no fear of anything…yet she did fear Elaine, and Elaine's potential to displace her.
"You have made it quite impossible for me to feign illness and avoid Elaine's company…so I suppose I ought to ready myself to dazzle all the men. Except for Bors and Gawain and Galahad; they shall do little more than laugh at me, I fear." Still, Guinevere was wary to let Arthur out of her sight. A brilliant idea came to her; she grinned like a child who has come up with a new way to get into trouble. "You ought to come with me, my love, to make sure I am truly…dazzling." She reached out and snatched his hand, not wishing to give him the opportunity to protest (would he do such a thing?) or flatter her further (which he would.)
The crowded streets and pathways cleared easily for the couple; most people respected Arthur, and some were truly in awe of them, but many saw the determined light in Guinevere's eyes and realized that she was a woman with a purpose and would not be deterred. She wove through the maze to her own chamber fairly easily. It was larger than any she'd enjoyed before, with a small but comfortable bed and an enormous trunk which Arthur had filled with gowns she rarely wore. Guinevere could not be bothered much with all of that, not on a day-to-day basis. She preferred simple materials that could stand wear and tear, not expensive, luxurious fabrics imported through Rome from far-away places. But a rich emerald sheen caught her eye, and she seized the gown, lifting it from the trunk (which was still open from her preparation to visit Merlin). Holding it against her slender figure, Guinevere moved to face Arthur.
He was staring at her intently, again with that indulgent air, like she had been indulged all such pleasures before. Truly, though, this was not a pleasure…it was a game that she was determined to win, and to win, you had to be the best. Elaine had met her match in Guinevere…hopefully.
Any modest woman would have told Arthur to shield his eyes for the sake of their honor, but bittersweet memories of the dark and troubled night before Badon Hill drifted back to her, and she decided not to bother. If they were truly going to be married, false modesty was not going to get her anywhere. Guinevere simply turned so that her back was to him and stripped to her rough linen shift, which was, thankfully, clean. The heat of Arthur's gaze was almost tangible as she slipped her arms and head through the appropriate holes, and he automatically reached to lace the back up so the bodice fit snugly.
The washing bowl, water and one coarse towel, sat forlorn and unused, but this once, Guinevere did use it, trying to ignore the awful silence which bore down on them. She could think of no appropriate conversation, but truly wished she could. Modest or not, Arthur's bright blue eyes were completely distracting her from the task at hand. Funny. The whole point was to make sure he kept looking at her so longingly. Stop distracting yourself, Guinevere, her mind admonished.
She raked her hands through the tangled raven hair that tumbled just past her shoulderblades and flinched as she did so. Well…it couldn't be helped. Guinevere hadn't the patience to dismiss Arthur and call a lady in and play the part of a proper woman who was not desperate to stay within a few feet of her beloved. Her slim fingers expertly converted the mess into a hurried braid. It was too much like Elaine's to be truly satisfactory, but she would simply have to be satisfied. There was no time for anything else. Why the rush? Nor, she noted, did she have time to debate with herself the reason for her eagerness to return to Elaine's company. Clearly, she was guilty of the same sort of arrogance at that moment as she had found so distasteful in Elaine. Hopefully, it would be used only for the good: showing this insufferable girl she could not impede on their lives.
"What is the verdict, my lord? Am I dazzling?" Guinevere murmured, knowing she was not and knowing that he would say she was all the same.
Arthur reached out and took both her hands in his. "You never cease to be dazzling, my love." Then he lifted one of his hands from hers abruptly, stroking her pale cheek. The look that had suddenly overcome him was so tender; it hurt for Guinevere to keep her eyes on his. "Guinevere, I would never take Elaine as my wife, not if her people controlled the whole continent. God has sent one of his angels for me already."
Again, she found her cheeks stained pink. She had few problems with Arthur being a Christian – but must he drag her into the matter? His sentiment was a lovely one, or would have been, had she not felt a sudden stab of fear. The thought drifted back to her from earlier that afternoon: what if Elaine is a Christian?
Gently, Guinevere pushed him away. Her smile was forced. "Believe what you will, my love, but an angel I am not." It would be foolish to quarrel over such a thing when she was already terrified that losing Arthur was becoming a very real possibility, no matter what he said. She squeezed the hand she still held; running her thumb across the rough skin in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "Now, we shall be late and your knights will presume far too much."
That at least was true, and Guinevere let out a breath when he chuckled slightly. No doubt he could not deny that they were rather rakish men, the lot of them – Bors in particular. She wondered if she might get lucky enough to have Elaine fall passionately in love with Galahad or Gawain, though she was not particularly fond of Galahad herself – he was a rather grim, humorless man, she thought. He reminded her a little of their fallen companion Lancelot…but all the same, he was not Lancelot, nor could he hope to replace him. Losing his best friend had left some invisible scar on Arthur that Guinevere still wished she could heal. Whenever she attempted to speak of Lancelot or Badon Hill, however, she found that she would run out of words, if Arthur did not stop her before that could happen. And a pity he is not here, for he was the most handsome and rakish of all of them, Guinevere thought sadly. Elaine would not have looked twice at Arthur, she was sure, if Lancelot was there to be had. Guinevere herself found it a relief, in one way, that the dark knight was not there as a temptation to lure her from Arthur's side.
Silently, Arthur led the way out of her chamber. She wondered if he thought of Lancelot often…if he called his old friend to mind whenever she mentioned "his knights". The handsome, brooding face filled her mind as they walked down the dank corridor and she had to shake her head to clear it. They reached the dining hall too quickly for her liking; Arthur swung the door open and she only reluctantly followed him.
As usual, the assembled men did not begin to fill the immense circle of a table. The only unfamiliar male there, who she assumed to be Elaine's father, stared dumbly around him. The look of astonishment on his face amused Guinevere. No one seeing that hall for the first time could believe it: Artorius Castus, great Roman general, insisting on equality? Oh yes, my dear lord, you will quickly find Arthur is not at all what you expected him to be, she thought with satisfaction. And you will also discover your daughter comes too late: he has his lady.
Then she was shocked, for Elaine, wearing a most smug expression, was sitting beside Arthur's empty chair…while she, Guinevere, was the only woman who should occupy that seat!
She had to take a deep breath to steady herself. "Lady Elaine…let me offer my deep apologies for my state this afternoon; I had not realized you would be here so soon." Guinevere had been ready to order the impertinent child out of her rightful place, but it would be best to put on a good show for the girl's father, as if to say, do you not see that I am just as cultured as your daughter?
Arthur glanced at her apprehensively, but she only smiled; he knew she would rail about Elaine's cheek later. For the time being, she moved away from him, choosing to sit in between Bors and Gawain. Both men looked fairly surprised, but then they grinned at one another. She was sure the dinner would be a competition between the two of them: who could flirt the most boldly with Arthur's woman? Thankfully Bors' woman was not present…then again, it was not as if Guinevere had any designs on the burly knight's attentions.
Elaine did not reply to her, only simpered; Arthur took his place beside Elaine, greeted their guests, and looked more than ready to eat…and to escape. Guinevere smiled at him sympathetically across the table.
At that moment, Bors lifted his chalice. "A toast!" he cried. "A toast to Arthur and Guinevere." The knight paused, glancing between the two of them. Then he chortled happily. "Many bastards may you have," he added as an afterthought. Guinevere, Arthur, Gawain and Galahad all laughed along with him, understanding what the newcomers did not. Happily noting how Elaine had paled, Guinevere drank deeply. A fine toast if I ever heard one.