A/N: I'm kind of basing this idea off of a fantasy book I read. I wanted to include more in this chapter, but when I got to the end, it seemed...right to end there, if you will. Still kind of short. Bear with me.
Disclaimer: I still own nothing. Don't sue.
Guinevere was shaken awake by one of her ladies in the morning. The sun was barely up, but the golden light steaming in her tiny window nevertheless pained her eyes. She squinted and looked around in confusion. The woman was laying a gown out for her, all smiles. "Antonia, what is going on?" she asked softly. She enjoyed rising early – but she felt as though her wine had not been watered down the previous night, as though she had been practicing swordplay until midnight with Bors. But she had gone to sleep as soon as she had gotten away from – from Elaine. The very name made her headache sharper, and she massaged her forehead gently as she sat up.
"My lord Arthur has called for a morning hunt," Antonia chattered. "He thought you would be pleased. It will be a chance to escape from the Lady Elaine." Her maid smiled knowingly at her. "Come, milady, you must look your best for him. He means to please you!"
Like a scolded child, Guinevere forced herself to rise. Antonia tenderly removed the now-stiff green gown from the evening before and replaced the velvet with more breathable wool, still in a vibrant color – this time, scarlet. As her maid tied the laces tightly and began to plait her dark curls, Guinevere closed her eyes. Scarlet, like Arthur. The color was his color, the exact same shade as that cloak he always wore. Hugging her arms to herself, she could practically smell him. His desire to please her, his love, chased away her thoughts of the disquieting encounter with Elaine the previous evening. It chased away the weariness that had seeped into her very bones, and made her eager to run out and face the sunlight. She wanted to run out into his arms.
As soon as Antonia had helped her slip on her soft leather boots, she smiled at the aging woman and rushed out the door. The corridor seemed strangely deserted, and though she knew it would be wise to eat before she went on the hunt, there was no time. No stalling. Elaine was probably out there, flirting in her shy Christian way, eager to claim the attention of Arthur away from his absent lover. Surely she had been imagining that malice in the girl's eyes the night before.
Then again, perhaps not. Guinevere slowed to a walk as she approached the training grounds, eager for her quiver of arrows and her bow. None of the men were as proficient as she with them. But a firm hand on her shoulder stopped her. She glanced behind her, and found Elaine's stone-faced father standing there. Oh, of course. He would not approve of any woman putting themselves ahead of men, or equal to them. He would not want Guinevere to prove she could do anything his daughter could not. It took all her effort, every drop, to smile pleasantly at him. His very presence made the sun shine less brightly. She resented the man, had since the moment he'd arrived. His ambition meant nothing to her, and she did not care – no, she sincerely hoped – that she was spoiling it.
Guinevere cleared her throat. "May I help you, my lord?"
"I would be much obliged if you would accompany my daughter today as we ride, Lady Guinevere. She enjoys your company so, you are as a sister to her – please, I am sure you will go on many more invigorating hunts with Lord Arthur. But Elaine will lose herself in these woods. I know her." His smile seemed genuine, and Guinevere knew she could not refuse. Her excitement about the hunt died then and there. Riding with Elaine, she would be forced to endure the girl's ceaseless ramblings about nothing, and she would not be by Arthur's side.
She nodded, trying to seem gracious. "Certainly, my lord. I will not let your daughter lose herself." Before he could thank her, she wrenched her shoulder away from his grasp. Simply because she could not ride alongside her love did not mean she could not at least bid him a good morning.
As always, Arthur's eyes lit up upon seeing her. Elaine was lingering nearby, eyes narrowed ever so slightly in their direction. Bors, Galahad, and Gawain were around him, as ever, but talked amongst themselves, hardly paying any mind to Guinevere. Men such as these were not concerned with propriety. They allowed Arthur his love, as he allowed them theirs. She leaned up to kiss him, putting a hand on his cheek. He grinned rather boyishly at her. "I hope this was a pleasant surprise for you, my love."
A pleasant surprise indeed, but a sorry reality. Guinevere would not mention how reluctant she had been to wake. How frightened she had been the evening before. What hideous memories had tormented her before she fell into her dreams. "Yes, of course," she echoed, a ghost of a smile playing on her full lips. His face told her he was satisfied. "Of course," she repeated, more strongly. "You know I enjoy hunting." Only half conscious of it, Guinevere looked over her shoulder at Elaine. The woman stood there in a gown of paler red, probably more poorly dyed, yet her golden hair hung loose down her back. It glistened like the morning sun, and all of a sudden, Guinevere felt a pang of envy. Arthur's eyes followed hers and drew her chin away. He kissed her brow.
"Then let us go." Apparently, he was unaware of her promise, or eager to leave. Once Arthur made up his mind about something, it was done.
She watched him walk to his horse and climb into the saddle. His knights followed suit, never breaking their conversation, though Galahad seemed to watch rather than speak. Her eyes met his for a brief moment, though she had never been particularly fond of him. He alone gave her an encouraging sort of grim smile, and Guinevere drifted back to her own stallion, swinging onto his back easily. Elaine's father was forced to give her a hand before she could mount properly, and he walked briskly forward to catch up with the other men. Only when she eyed the girl again, nudging her heels into the stallion's side, did she notice Elaine rode sidesaddle. A useless skill, she thought scathingly.
They rode wordlessly behind the men, both avoiding the other's gaze. Guinevere was relieved that her unwanted companion did not see the need to fill this silence with empty prattle. At least, until they reached a little stream which flowed through the heart of the wood. The path turned away from it, but Elaine was preoccupied. She gazed down at the bubbling brook, the water a song against the pebbles on the streambed. She sighed. "This is a lovely place. Will you show me where this leads, Lady Guinevere?"
There was nothing she would rather have done less. Wondering if Elaine was simply desperate to separate them from Arthur, who was so clearly ignorant of her, she shrugged and obliged the curious girl. Leading the way, Guinevere wove her stallion through the thickening trees, following the path of the stream. It became wider, deeper, and could have passed for a small river by the time the two women emerged from the forest. She wondered at having never noticed before. But Elaine was correct in saying it was lovely. Guinevere dismounted and led her stallion to drink from the clear water. It glistened in the young daylight. Elaine followed suit, sliding down easily and gracefully. They remained blissfully silent. If nothing else could be said in her benefit, Guinevere thought, at least this sill Christian girl had some appreciation of nature.
The two of them strolled through the long grasses by the water's edge, until Elaine spoke again. "How did you meet Arthur and his knights?" There was such genuine curiosity in her voice that Guinevere felt compelled to answer. The memory caused her pain, yet the beauty of this meadow banished those shadows to just that, a harmless echo of the past.
"He rescued me. A rich Roman man captured me and a small boy from my people. Lucan. He threw us into a dungeon, sealed off the entrance…left us there to rot. But Arthur would not leave us there when he came to rescue the Roman and his family from the Saxons, when they invaded the North. He saved my life, and Lucan's. He healed my hand…and my heart." Guinevere sighed. It had been so very easy to fall in love with Arthur. And how she loved him!
Elaine's sigh succeeded hers. Her eyes were somewhere far away. But then she stopped walking abruptly. Guinevere kept going for a few paces more, then turned to face her, curious herself. It was impossible not to notice that the young woman across from her looked painfully beautiful, wide, innocent, periwinkle eyes, so different than the flashing ones from the night before. Rose gown, rosy cheeks; ivory skin and hair that looked as though it was spun of flax. Why had she confided in this girl? She was such a rival. Yet how could Guinevere truly be doubting Arthur? He would not abandon her. He had saved her, and given his heart to her. They were married in all but name, were they not? Name and act, she reminded herself quietly.
Finally, her voice light as a summer breeze, Elaine breathed, "It is so very romantic, Lady Guinevere. What I would not give to understand a love like yours."
Well, they could pretend, at least, that they were not vying for the heart of the same man. As if there was any vying involved on Guinevere's part. Steeling herself, she allowed Elaine to take her arm, and they continued to walk, farther and father away from the horses. Away from their men. Away from anyone. The thought hardly occurred to her. Guinevere did not have anything to fear. She was a Pict, Merlin's daughter, and the Picts surely watched these nearby woods and the surrounding areas. It only made sense.
Caught up in her thoughts as she was, Guinevere did not notice when she stepped too closely to the bank of the wide stream. Her foot sank into the water, and she felt Elaine's arm pull away from hers. While she should have been able to easily return to dry ground, something propelled her back; she lost her footing entirely. Cold water immersed her, soaking her to the bone. Elaine simply stood there, watching impassively. As she stared at her dark-haired companion, Guinevere felt the weight of the water become heavier. She could not sit up. She could not find the bottom of the stream. The current around her grew fierce and painfully icy. She drew in a sharp breath. The pale blue sky above her swirled dizzyingly. And then, the side of Guinevere's head collided with something hard. She could now barely see Elaine, but laughter, every bit as frosty as the water, drifted over her. The stream around her was suddenly scarlet, like her gown – but it was not her gown. Her eyes fluttered. Then everything dulled, and faded out to black.
Arthur had ordered them all to stop – they had lost the women. He was confident that his Guinevere was alright, but who knew about Elaine? While he hardly claimed to be fond of her, she was his responsibility while she dwelt at Hadrian's Wall. Tristan then alerted them to the sound of hooves against the sodden forest path. They all turned at once, and Arthur's heart soared. His Guinevere galloped frantically toward them, her beautiful face creased in fear. "Arthur!" she shrieked, uncharacteristically small and pale on her stallion. "It is Elaine – she, I fear she has drowned. I was not paying close enough attention. You know I am none too fond of her, but…oh, Arthur."
Her voice broke over a torrent of sobs. Swallowing hard, Arthur ordered his knights to go and search the stream for Elaine's body, or Elaine herself, if she was still alive. Then, casting a sad and deeply apologetic look towards the poor girl's father, he jumped to the ground. When he reached the side of Guinevere's mount, he gently lifted her up, out of the saddle, into his arms. She clung to him. He could not help but wonder at the dampness of her gown, but perhaps she had simply tried in vain to save Elaine.
Over Arthur's shoulder, Guinevere raised her grey-blue eyes, met those of Elaine's father. The aging man nodded once, and she grinned at him in satisfaction. She waited for a few long, agonizing moments before she spoke again.
"Arthur, my love…I fear this is not the perfect time to discuss the matter, but…if Elaine has met her fate, I pray you: let us observe this sad affair, and then be married. I cannot bear the thought of another girl trying to steal you from me. Please." Guinevere gazed up at him, with sorrowful and yet demanding eyes. "Marry me. Marry me as soon as you may. Tragedy can breed triumph. You know that…you remember the first time we met. If not for that, how could we have fallen in love? Or have you forgotten? Arthur, I have wanted to be your bride since that first day you saved me," she insisted relentlessly.
He hesitated. "But so soon? Guinevere – this is not – but…if Elaine's father…," he trailed away.
Their older companion chuckled tragically. "My lord, if anything has happened to my daughter, she would not wish you to delay your happiness. Not for the world. And if she is alive, all the more reason to celebrate." But his eyes flashed to Guinevere. She thought he could at least shed a few tears, show some grief. What sort of father stood dry-eyed after hearing his daughter had drowned?
With this, Arthur gave in. He pressed his lips gently against Guinevere's, held her even more tightly to him. "Then I will begin the preparations, my love. Anything to make you happy." He smiled, but a wary darkness lurked in his eyes. She could only assume he was uncomfortable at the thought of being wed in the shadow of Elaine's untimely end. But she would put a stop to that shortly. As soon as they were man and wife, well, what reason would he have to regret anything? She buried his face in his chest, inhaling the sweetness of his scent. Then he swung her up into the saddle before throwing himself onto his steed as well. They all but abandoned the other stallion as the three of them rode back to Hadrian's Wall, back to lament the loss of Elaine and to ready everyone for a wedding…