Things noticeably improve after Arthur and Guinevere's quarrel. The boys settle into their studies, each learning and growing in his own way, and before the end of the second month, they've wormed their way into Guinevere's heart.
She doesn't avoid Arthur anymore either. She made sure to thank him for the flowers the very next morning, and received the first – albeit tiny – smile aimed in her direction from the king.
She finds she enjoys life in the castle and has settled into a fairly regular routine. The boys have their lessons in the morning, from after breakfast until lunchtime. Guinevere sometimes dines alone, sometimes Merlin joins her. Once she was invited to dine with the princes and Arthur. But it was only once, and she's not sure if she'll ever be asked again. She doesn't let it trouble her.
In the afternoons, the boys have their training and Guinevere prepares her lessons for the next morning. Once those are dealt with, she has the balance of the day to do as she pleases. Sometimes she takes walks in the royal gardens, admiring the flowers. Sometimes she reads or does needlepoint. Sometimes she goes to the throne room and observes while the king holds Audience, learning about her new home. But her favorite thing to do is to go to the marketplace, where she learns just as much about the kingdom. Perhaps more. She has found favorite vendors for all her needs, and of course visits the young widow and always buys some of her cheese.
She takes her supper in her rooms, always alone, though she rarely feels lonely. She has kept up regular correspondence with Elyan and often reads his letters while she eats, sometimes reading parts to Freya. When she writes her replies to her brother, she makes certain to tell him she is enjoying her new life here and thanks him for giving her the gentle push she needed. And she always tells him she misses him.
xXx
"Lord Merlin," Guinevere says, surprised. She was just about to head out to the gardens when the king's advisor came knocking.
"Lady Guinevere," he says, smiling. "The king requests your presence."
"Oh?" she asks, setting her wrap on a nearby chair. "That is… unusual."
"Indeed," Merlin agrees, offering his arm. "We are having a small meeting and he thinks you may have some helpful input."
Guinevere's surprise has turned into shock. "Oh…" She gathers her wits and asks, "What is to be discussed at this meeting?"
"We are having some visitors next week," he explains. "The king is looking for some way to…" he pauses, gesturing with his free hand, "impress them."
"All right," she nods, still not entirely sure what she can do to assist.
Merlin chuckles. "The king has requested your presence, so I told him I would find you," he says, as if it explains something.
"And far be it from me to contradict the king's wishes," Guinevere wryly says, making Merlin laugh harder.
"Oh, we cannot have that now, can we?" he says as they reach the doors to the council chambers.
The guards open the doors and they enter.
Seated around a table are King Arthur, Sir Leon, the court scribe, and an old man she does not recognize. All three stand when she enters.
"Ah, Lady Guinevere," Arthur says. "Thank you for joining us."
"You're welcome, Sire," she answers, walking to a vacant chair.
Merlin holds her chair out and when she sits, the others sit as well. When Merlin takes his seat at Arthur's right, he continues.
"Lord Gaius, may I present Lady Guinevere du Lac, formerly of Caerleon. She has recently joined us as Royal Tutor to the princes. Lady Guinevere, Lord Gaius of Ascetir is one of Camelot's finest and most respected lords."
"He means 'oldest'," Gaius says, his bleary eyes twinkling with youthful mischief.
"It is a pleasure to meet you," Guinevere says with a smile and offers her hand to the old man beside her. He takes it and kisses it respectfully. "Ascetir… the forest near the eastern border of Camelot?" she asks.
Gaius looks impressed. "Yes, my home is on the southern edge of the forest. The village is very small, but we manage to thrive," he says.
Guinevere smiles. Clearly the elderly lord is proud of his small property, and has every right to be so. She is about to respond, but then Arthur clears his throat.
The king begins speaking about the upcoming visitors and how he wishes to put forth a good impression, particularly to those from outside Camelot's borders. "Perhaps a tournament?" he suggests.
Sir Leon nods, clearly liking the idea. Gaius furrows his brow, thinking, and Merlin remains still.
Arthur straightens in his seat, pleased with his idea. He looks around the table and sees a slight frown on Guinevere's face. She doesn't look like she likes the thought of a tournament.
"Lady Guinevere?" he asks, looking towards her.
She hesitates a moment, biting her lip as she debates about whether to say something. He wished for me to be here, so I may as well make it worthwhile. She takes a deep breath and suggests, "My lord… what about a feast?"
"What about one?" he casually replies.
"Instead of a tournament," she explains. She sees Gaius brighten beside her and knows he likes the idea. "Host a feast. Have musicians and bards for entertainment… perhaps even some jugglers or acrobats." Like how civilized people entertain themselves.
Arthur frowns, not sold on the idea. "A tournament is always good entertainment," he says. He sits up a little straighter as he thinks more about it. "It's exciting. Yes. Give the knights a chance to show off their skills. People cheering, blood and teeth flying…"
"Um, Sire," Merlin interjects, his eyes briefly flitting towards Guinevere's. "Perhaps what Lady Guinevere means is that a tournament… in Camelot… might be a trifle… expected."
Arthur looks at Merlin. "What do you mean, 'expected'?"
"Everyone knows that Camelot has the finest knights in the land, Sire," Guinevere answers, picking up on Merlin's train of thought and silently thanking him for it. "Surely our guests will expect a tournament, and surely they will expect your highness to win said tournament."
Arthur stares at her, and for a moment, she is afraid she went too far by adding the little bit of flattery at the end.
"Of course Arthur would win," Merlin picks up again. "And that's entirely the point. They have all seen the great King Arthur fight. Perhaps it is time for your guests to see the great King Arthur as a man of sophistication, ruling over a cultured, prospering kingdom."
As Arthur ponders Merlin's words, Guinevere realizes she would actually like to see the king in a tournament, just to see if he is as impressive as everyone says. Maybe I should watch the knights' training some afternoon. Perhaps from a window.
"Excellent idea, Merlin. A feast it shall be then," Arthur finally declares. "You'll see to the details, of course," he adds with a wave of his hand.
"Of course," Merlin echoes, giving Guinevere an apologetic smile.
She returns the gesture with her own smile of thanks. She doesn't really need any recognition, but she will admit it is nice to have one person who acknowledges that it is actually her idea.
xXx
The day of the feast arrives quickly. Arthur had declared that the boys will not have lessons or training that day so everyone will have plenty of time to prepare.
Guinevere takes a relaxing bath that morning after breakfast, soaking in hot, scented water. Freya washes her hair and then patiently brushes and styles it before carefully wrapping it in a silk scarf to protect it until the feast.
She has purchased a shoulder-baring, sumptuous, burgundy velvet gown with gold details. It was dear, but she fell in love with it as soon as she saw it. The seamstress even tailored it to fit a little better, taking up the hem and bringing in the bodice to better accommodate Guinevere's petite frame.
She can hear the guests arriving one by one; the noise from the courtyard floating up into her rooms. She now knows who will be attending: The very young Lord Mordred and Lady Kira of Idirsholas, King Cenred and Queen Morgana of Mercia, Lord Agravaine, also of Mercia, Lord Gwaine of Fyrien, and Lord Gaius and his wife, Lady Alice. Guinevere was happy to hear Lord Gwaine's name among the visitors, as he is an old friend of the Leodegrance family and she is very much looking forward to seeing him again.
Guinevere has never seen so much activity in the castle. Even her wedding to Lancelot seemed to have fewer preparations than this feast. Of course that was not a royal affair, she reminds herself. She glances over at her gown, wondering what her late husband would say if he saw her in it. He would probably kiss her hand and tell her she looked beautiful. That's what he always said. "You look beautiful, Gwen." She was never lacking for compliments. She sighs, picks up her needlepoint, and pushes away the thought that their marriage was lacking in other areas.
"No sense in troubling yourself over that anymore," she quietly mutters, her hands making neat, even stitches in the decorative pillow cover she's been making.
"Did you say something, my lady?" Freya asks, looking up from the table, where she is clearing Guinevere's lunch dishes.
"Just talking to myself, Freya," Guinevere lightly answers.
"Very good, my lady," the maid replies, thinking nothing of it as Guinevere frequently murmurs to herself when she is occupied with a task. She's not certain if her mistress realizes she does it, but Freya kind of enjoys the little quirk. "Is there anything else you require, my lady?"
Guinevere looks up. "Nothing right now, thank you, Freya."
"You're welcome, my lady. I will return in plenty of time to help you prepare for the feast," she responds, dips a curtsey, and leaves.
xXx
"You look beautiful, my lady," Freya says. She's just finished tying the laces in the back of Guinevere's dress and has walked around to see the results. "You will be the envy of every Lady at the feast."
Guinevere smiles. "Well, thank you, but I'm not so sure about that. They say Queen Morgana's beauty is unparalleled, and I understand Lady Kira is also quite lovely."
"I haven't seen them, my lady, but I am certain you will be at least as lovely as both of them, if not more so," Freya loyally insists.
Guinevere chuckles, deciding not to argue the point any further. She dons her wrap to keep the cool air in the corridors from her shoulders, takes a deep breath, and heads out.
The Great Hall is about two-thirds full when she walks in. Guards are posted at each door, their armor shining. Flowers and candles are everywhere. Delicious smells from the kitchens waft in as servants pass in and out, making last minute preparations.
She sees Merlin, and walks over to him.
"Lord Merlin," she greets, smiling. "You have outdone yourself."
"Oh, this?" he grins, taking her hand and kissing it. "This is nothing. You should have been here for Arthur's thirtieth birthday celebration. That was lavish."
"I can imagine it was," she replies, wondering what exactly transpired and if the late queen was still alive. She doesn't know exactly when Queen Mithian died, but she knows Amhar doesn't remember her at all.
"It was quite the… raucous affair. The queen was g—"
"Gwen!" A booming voice cuts off Merlin's words, and they turn to see the smiling face of Lord Gwaine coming towards them. His arms are outstretched, and Guinevere finds herself wrapped in a tight hug before she can even get a word out.
"Gwaine," she finally says, hugging him back. "How lovely to see you."
"Yes, 'lovely' is just the word I was thinking," Gwaine teases. "Lord Merlin, always a pleasure," he says, reaching to clasp his forearm in greeting. Merlin moves his arm and shakes Gwaine's hand instead.
"I am not a knight, Lord Gwaine," Merlin laughingly reminds him.
"Nah, you don't have enough muscle on you, do you?" Gwaine replies. "Of course, if I had a mind like yours, I wouldn't need muscles either." He turns back to Guinevere. "I heard rumors that you had moved here. Couldn't believe they were true," he says, nodding at Merlin as the advisor excuses himself. "Yet here you stand."
"Here I stand," she echoes. "I have been here just over two months now, tutoring the princes."
The two old friends reacquaint themselves for a few minutes until they are interrupted by an unfamiliar voice.
"Lord Gwaine, it was my understanding that you were here alone." A hulking, older man with dark hair stands nearby, speaking to Gwaine but looking at Guinevere.
"Lord Agravaine," Gwaine greets, his usually gregarious and cheerful demeanor turning a bit more reserved. "And I did arrive alone. Lady Guinevere is a member of the royal household of Camelot. She is also an old friend."
"Oh?" Agravaine asks, raising an eyebrow. "In that case, I am honored to make your acquaintance, my lady." He offers his hand, and Guinevere places hers in it. He lifts it to his lips, where he places a rather unsettlingly wet kiss on the back.
Guinevere withdraws her hand and surreptitiously wipes it on the end of her wrap. "Pleased to meet you, Lord Agravaine," she replies.
"And in what capacity are you a member of the royal household?" he asks. Something about his demeanor makes her feel uneasy, and she prays that Gwaine does not decide to leave her on her own with this man.
"I am Royal Tutor to the princes," she answers.
"An educated woman! How quaint!" Agravaine exclaims.
"Um, Lady Guinevere is from the house of Leodegrance in Caerleon," Gwaine interjects. "She is Sir Elyan's sister and the widow of Sir Lancelot du Lac."
"Ah, Caerleon," Agravaine replies with a nod. "I had feared for Queen Annis when the king died, but it appears she has good advisors and a strong council to help aid her in her rule. To say nothing of Prince Allard, of course. I don't know why she doesn't simply step down and let her son rule…"
"Queen Annis is a wise and strong ruler in her own right, Lord Agravaine," Guinevere speaks up.
Agravaine gives her a placating smile. "Oh, I'm sure she is, my dear, I'm sure she is."
"Lady Guinevere, would you care to sit at my table for the feast?" Gwaine quickly asks, offering his elbow.
Guinevere gives him a look that clearly says Thank you and takes the offered arm. "Lord Agravaine," she nods.
"Lady Guinevere, it has been a true pleasure," Agravaine replies, and the look he gives her tells Guinevere that at no point should she be alone with this man. Not that she would want to be.
"He's a pig," Gwaine mutters once they are out of earshot. "I want to punch his pig face every time I see him."
Guinevere stifles a giggle and nearly walks into the king. "Oh! I'm so— Oh, I beg your pardon, Sire," she stammers.
"Lady Guinevere… Lord Gwaine," Arthur says, looking back and forth between the two of them. "I did not realize the two of you were acquainted."
"I have been a friend to the House of Leodegrance for many years, my lord," Gwaine explains. "There are few people in this world as good or as kind as Sir Elyan and Lady Guinevere."
"Indeed," Arthur agrees, surprising Guinevere.
"And let us not forget the noble Sir Lancelot, may God rest his soul," Gwaine adds.
"Of course not," Arthur responds. "Lady Guinevere, we have a place for you at the head table," he adds.
"Oh…" Guinevere replies. What more surprises will this evening bring? "Another time then, Lord Gwaine," she says, squeezing his arm before releasing it.
"Save me a dance, my lady," Gwaine says with a wink, then saunters away to his seat.
People are taking their places, so it is time for the king to find his chair. Arthur looks at Guinevere, hesitates a moment, then mutely offers her his arm.
Guinevere hesitates a moment before taking it. But she does, and is escorted by the King of Camelot to her seat at the far end of the head table. He even pulls her chair out for her.
She is aware of several sets of eyes on her, but ignores them. "Thank you, Sire," she quietly says, then sits. She removes her wrap and passes it to Freya, who has appeared to attend her.
Arthur nods, a strange look passing over his face as he looks down at her, the silk of her wrap replaced by an equally silken expanse of skin that looks as soft and tawny as a newborn fawn. He wordlessly moves to his seat.
"What's wrong with your dress?" Amhar's small voice asks from the seat beside her.
She chuckles, looking down at the youngest Pendragon. Next to him is Gwydre, then Llacheu, who is seated beside his father. On Arthur's other side is Merlin, then Sir Leon, and a lovely young woman Guinevere has never seen before, but judging by how she and the tall knight are interacting, must be his wife.
"What do you mean, Amhar?" Guinevere asks.
"The top part is gone. Didn't they make it right?"
"This is how it's supposed to look," she answers, trying not to laugh. She looks around the room and spots a beautiful woman with porcelain skin and ebony hair, seated beside a handsome, dark-haired man who looks very bored. He is wearing a small crown and she has a tiara glittering in her dark tresses, so Guinevere assumes they must be King Cenred and Queen Morgana. "See, Queen Morgana's gown is the same way," she says, indicating with her eyes, not daring to point. The queen's gown is even more revealing than hers. Guinevere's dress has short sleeves while Morgana's has no sleeves at all, instead having very long fingerless gloves.
Amhar looks. "No, hers is green," he says.
Guinevere gives him a look. He smiles. Then his smile turns into giggles. "You know perfectly well what I meant," she says, grinning as well.
He nods, but Arthur stands before the boy can say anything.
xXx
Dinner is delicious and pleasant. Guinevere enjoys sitting next to Amhar, who, despite his age, has excellent table manners and needs very little help from his servant. He is also quite entertaining company, it turns out. This is his first feast and he is very excited.
Amhar is also the first one to exit after the meal, only getting to hear a little of the music before his nursemaid whisks him away to bed, complaining the entire time. Arthur kisses his son goodnight, seeing no need to seek privacy. Guinevere finds his open affection with his children both fascinating and a little endearing, and wonders what his guests think of it – if they laud him for it or see it as a sign of weakness.
The tables are cleared and people slowly begin mingling, some traveling to different tables to visit, some drifting to the space in front of the musicians to dance.
Lord Gaius and Lady Alice are among the first of the invited guests to join in, moving with dignity and grace on the dance floor. Guinevere smiles fondly, watching them, wondering what it must be like to have such a long-lasting love. The old couple is clearly still smitten with one another, and while it warms Guinevere's heart, it also makes it ache a bit.
Lord Mordred and Lady Kira are the next to step out. Guinevere doesn't know a lot about them, other than Mordred only recently inherited Idirsholas, which is located near the northern borders of Camelot. They are quite young, and Lady Kira appears to be with child, her stomach swelling just enough to be noticeable to the watchful eye. They look very happy, if not a little overwhelmed.
"Lady Guinevere, may I have this dance?" It's not the voice she was expecting.
She turns and smiles at the earnest face looking down at her. "I would be honored, Prince Llacheu," she answers, taking his offered (and slightly sweaty) hand and standing.
They walk to the dance floor and Llacheu offers his hand again. "I just learned," he quietly admits, suddenly looking less sure of himself.
"You'll be fine," she answers. He finds his place in the music and begins the steps, moving carefully. "You've gotten taller," Guinevere observes, noting that the eldest Pendragon boy is now as tall as she instead of slightly shorter.
"Have I?" he asks, then immediately curses softly under his breath, apparently unable to talk and dance at the same time. His eyes widen, as he looks at Guinevere, hoping she hasn't heard.
She has, but merely gives him an encouraging smile, deciding this is not a battle to be fought right now.
Llacheu finds his feet again, and Guinevere does not talk to him until the dance is ended.
"Thank you for the dance, Prince Llacheu," she says, curtseying. She secretly wonders if there is a young maid somewhere in attendance he is trying to impress.
"Thank you, Lady Guinevere," he answers, bowing slightly. "I think I need more practice," he mumbles, frowning.
"I'm sure you will have ample opportunity to do so," she replies.
"Excuse me, my lord," Lord Gaius says, appearing beside Guinevere. "Will you be dancing with Lady Guinevere for the next song as well?"
"No, Lord Gaius. I think I will be taking my leave from dancing for a while," Llacheu answers, nods, then heads back to the table, where he has cake waiting for him.
"May I have the honor, my lady?" the old man asks.
"Oh, but I am the one who is honored, my lord," Guinevere answers, taking his offered hand. "You are quite the dancer."
"Alice and I do love it so," Gaius admits. "She needed to rest, unfortunately."
"Is she all right?" Guinevere asks.
"Her feet seem to think they are older than the rest of her," Gaius chuckles. He leans in closer and whispers, "I told her she could remove her shoes and no one would notice, but she is stubborn."
Guinevere laughs. "Oh dear," she says. "I do understand that feeling unfortunately."
She finishes her dance with Gaius, and just as she is about to return to her seat, Gwaine catches up with her. "Not so fast, my lady," he says, sweeping her back onto the dance floor.
"I was beginning to think you had forgotten," she says. Gwaine is an excellent dancer, moving with the carefree, athletic grace that Llacheu has not yet acquired and Gaius no longer possessed.
"Never," he answers, scoffing at the very idea. "But it would not do to keep you all to myself for every dance. I had to also give the other ladies an opportunity to dance with me."
Guinevere laughs, knowing all his bravado is just talk. Gwaine is reputed to be a womanizer and a bit of a rake, but she knows he is truly an honorable man who would never dream of taking advantage of anyone.
They chat easily, laughing frequently. She has forgotten how much she enjoys his company, and they dance together for two entire songs.
As the third begins, they are interrupted. "Lord Gwaine, I believe you have taken enough of Lady Guinevere's time and attention for the moment." Arthur's voice is quiet and steady, and it takes Guinevere completely by surprise.
Gwaine turns to look at the king, not releasing Guinevere. "Have I?" he asks, unbothered.
"Yes, I think so," Arthur says. He holds his hand out. "My lady, if you please?"
"Oh… of course, Sire," she answers, taking her hand from Gwaine's and placing it in Arthur's. His hand is large, warm, and slightly roughened with sword calluses.
"My lady; Sire," Gwaine bows to them both and exits the floor, boldly walking up to Queen Morgana and asking her to dance.
Guinevere is truly baffled, but she tries to hide it. She hadn't seen Arthur dancing with anyone before now. Not even Lady Alice or Queen Morgana. She tries to think of something, anything to say, but her mind is suddenly blank. She tries to think of something, anything other than how his hands feel, one holding hers and the other on her waist.
"Lord Agravaine was making his way to you," Arthur quietly says, not looking at her. "He would think nothing of cutting in on Lord Gwaine, but he will not do so to me."
"Oh?" she dumbly asks, still mentally off balance. She's not accustomed to being so close to him. She can feel the warmth coming from his body.
"I would not wish a dance with Lord Agravaine on my worst enemy," he continues.
Guinevere tries to stifle the laugh that attempts to burst forth, and it comes out as an inelegant snort. Arthur finally looks at her, eyebrow raised. "I'm sorry, my lord," she apologizes.
The corner of his mouth draws up in a wry half-smile as he begins to understand what she found funny. "We did not exactly get off on very good terms, did we?" he asks.
"That is one way of saying it, yes," she agrees with a smile.
"I never considered you my worst enemy though," he allows, hoping she doesn't notice his eyes following the curve of her jaw, down the elegant line of her neck, to the dip in between her collarbones, and back up to her lips before quickly looking up and over her head.
"That's comforting," she replies. He spins her away and draws her back, catching her unawares but not so much so that she missteps. Even if she had, he is so strong and sure of himself that she is certain he would not let her fall. Arthur is an excellent dancer, better than Gwaine, and Guinevere hadn't even noticed until now because she was so distracted wondering why he was dancing with her at all.
Arthur glances down at her, trying to think of what he should say. Inexplicably, he wants to tell her she looks beautiful. He has noticed her beauty in the past; he isn't blind, but wasn't expecting her to look so exquisite this evening. She smells like flowers and her skin glows in the candlelight. A few tendrils of hair have gotten loose and are curling around her neck and shoulders, and he is suddenly finding them very distracting.
"You dance very well, Sire." Her soft voice draws him out of his thoughts.
"Thank you," he replies. "As do you."
"Thank you," she answers. The song ends, and she delicately extracts herself from his embrace, not sure if she will be able to keep her composure while dancing with him for another song. She is feeling slightly dizzy. "Thank you, Sire," she repeats, curtseying.
"Try to avoid Agravaine," he says. "He… does not treat ladies with the respect they deserve." It's vague, but clear enough.
"Yes, Sire. I will try," she answers, deciding to head back to her seat. She needs a drink.
She sits and drinks the wine in her goblet, and a servant steps up to refill it. "Water, please," she says, holding up her hand. She has decided she does not wish to lose her head at all tonight, as there are too many strange things happening already. The servant nods and waves to another one, who steps up with a clean goblet and a pitcher of water.
"Lady Guinevere!" Gwaine's voice booms. She looks up and sees him standing near the musicians.
Oh no.
"Perhaps you will favor us with a song," he announces, not really asking, not really giving her an opportunity to quietly refuse. "Come now, surely you haven't been keeping your beautiful singing voice all to yourself?" he goads.
"Gwaine," she says, holding up her hands, at least trying to quietly refuse.
"Where is your maidservant? Surely she can attest to your talents!" he says, making a great show of looking around the perimeter of the Hall. "Never mind, who would like to hear Lady Guinevere sing?"
He is answered with louder cheers than Guinevere would have ever expected. She blames the drink. She looks around and sees every eye on her, even the king's, who is watching her rather expectantly.
"Very well," she answers, standing. More cheers follow her to where the musicians are seated.
One offers his lyre, as it is the instrument most often deemed "suitable" for ladies of the court to play. She politely waves him off and asks for the lute instead. The surprised musician hands over his instrument, and Gwaine plunks down a stool for her.
Everyone waits, watching as she strums a few experimental chords. She wants to warn them that it has been a very long time since she has publicly sung or played, but then the voice of her singing master floats into her head. Never apologize for your performance before you've even given it.
She clears her throat again, takes a deep breath, and begins.
"When the nightingale sings,
The trees grow green,
Leaf and grass and blossom springs,
In April, I suppose;
And love has to my heart gone
With a spear so keen,
Night and day my blood it drains
My heart to death it aches…"
The room falls silent as Guinevere's clear voice rings out. The other musicians pick up on the song and join in, staying in the background. No one dances because everyone is listening.
She focuses her eyes on a spot in the distance, not wanting to look at the faces of the people listening. Specifically, she's afraid of what she will see in the king's face. What if he looks unhappy? What if he looks pleased? Somehow the idea of him enjoying her singing is the more frightening of the two possibilities.
"…Sweet loved-one, I pray thee
Thou love me for a while;
I will moan my song
To the one on whom it is based."
She finishes the last verse and there is a moment of complete silence. Then the crowd erupts in a roar of applause. Guinevere smiles, stands, and curtseys, handing the lute back to the musician from whom she has borrowed it. Gwaine cheers loudly, asking for more.
Guinevere holds up her hands and shakes her head at him. "Thank you, Lord Gwaine, but I think I will step aside in favor of the musicians hired by the king," she says. Her eyes unconsciously flit to where Arthur is sitting, and sees him studying her with an inscrutable look on his face.
I need some air. She steps out of the Great Hall, pausing a moment to take a deep breath and savor the solitude. The cooler air and quiet makes her notice the fullness of her bladder, and she begins walking, deciding to visit her own rooms for a moment of privacy. She turns down a corridor and sees Lord Merlin talking with Freya. At first Guinevere is worried that her maidservant had done something wrong and is being reprimanded, but then Merlin lifts Freya's hand and kisses it, bringing a smile to her face.
Guinevere's quiet gasp alerts the others that they are no longer alone, but before they can call out to her, she disappears down a different corridor.
She quickly walks to her rooms, sees to her needs, checks her hair and gown, then sets about returning to the party.
She is intercepted by Lord Agravaine just outside the Great Hall.
"Ah, Lady Guinevere," he greets, his smile looking more like a leer.
"Lord Agravaine," she replies, looking around, hoping for someone – anyone – to appear.
"You have a beautiful singing voice," he says. "Pity you could not be compelled to favor us with another."
"I did not wish to divert attention from where it should be this evening," she answers. "This is King Arthur's night, not mine. If you will excuse m—"
Agravaine makes a clumsy grab for her hand, stopping her. "I should think that you would be the center of attention at any event, Lady Guinevere," he says. His attempt at appearing charming comes across as oily, and Guinevere's skin begins to crawl.
"Oh, I don't think—"
"Ah, Guinevere – may I call you Guinevere? – you must truly be unaware of how—"
"Lord Agravaine, my husband wishes to speak with you." A confident female voice interrupts them.
Guinevere looks over and sees Queen Morgana quickly striding towards them, her face stern.
"Ah, Queen Morgana, I was just complimenting Lady Guinev—"
"I am quite aware of what you were just doing. King Cenred wishes to discuss plans for tomorrow's journey back home," Morgana says.
"My queen, surely that can w—"
"You intend to keep your king waiting?" she asks, arching an eyebrow at him.
Agravaine sighs, releases Guinevere's hand, and returns to the Great Hall.
"Thank you, my lady," Guinevere says, turning towards the Queen of Cenred and curtseying.
"You are quite welcome. I do not believe we have been introduced," Morgana says.
"No, my lady," Guinevere replies. "Lady Guinevere du Lac, formerly of Caerleon," she introduces herself, curtseying again.
Morgana smiles. "It is a pleasure to meet you," Morgana says. "I enjoyed your song very much."
"Thank you, my lady," Guinevere repeats.
"You may call me Morgana," the queen says.
"Oh," Guinevere lightly exclaims, surprised.
"My husband may stand on formalities, but I tend to be a bit more lenient, especially with ladies who find themselves trapped in the clutches of Agravaine du Bois," she says with a sneer. "I have been in your shoes, Guinevere. Before I was married, of course."
"Oh, I'm sure I would have managed to get away soon enough," Guinevere says. "But I must say I was quite relieved to hear your voice," she adds, smiling.
Morgana chuckles. "I saw him slip out of the hall and knew he must have been out here harassing some poor woman," she says with a sigh. "As his queen, he has no choice but to listen to me. Thankfully." She loops her arm through Guinevere's. "Come. Let us rejoin the festivities. I daresay King Arthur is looking for you."
"Oh, I doubt that," Guinevere replies, pleased to find that the Queen of Cenred, who by all accounts is as cold and distant as she is beautiful, is actually quite warm and friendly. She wonders how much of the queen's reputation was gotten by design.
xXx
The feast winds down very late. Prince Llacheu was finally convinced to retire around midnight, despite his insistence on staying. One look from his father declared otherwise, and the young man grudgingly went off to bed. Prince Gwydre had gone three hours earlier, just after Guinevere's song, under similar duress.
Guinevere enters her rooms, tired and feet aching, but happy. The feast was a success, and hopefully Camelot's reputation as being primitive and barbaric will soon change.
Freya is waiting to attend her mistress, but is conspicuously quiet as she takes down Guinevere's hair, brushing and braiding it for sleep.
"You don't need to worry, Freya," Guinevere finally says. "I'm not going to say anything."
Freya exhales, relaxing. "Thank you, my lady. Merlin… I mean Lord Merlin and I…"
Guinevere smiles. "Freya, your personal affairs are your own. And though I think it is highly unlikely Lord Merlin is the type of man to take advantage of a maidservant, I am sure you are more than capable of making wise choices."
"Yes, my lady," Freya answers, understanding Guinevere's careful wording. She has served in other places and has seen how unscrupulous lords can take advantage of pretty maids. "I knew we shouldn't have met there in the corridor… I mean, what if the king had happened upon us? But we sort of… ran into each other, and…"
"Freya," Guinevere says, turning to look at her. "I understand. These things happen."
"Yes, my lady. I was not expecting to see him outside of the hall," she replies, following Guinevere to the changing screen. "I wasn't expecting any of this when I came here. Mary hired me, and, well, you know what people think of Camelot."
"Yes," Guinevere responds, exhaling as her laces loosen.
"Then I met Merlin, and, well, he's…" she pauses, her fingers stilling. "Adorable."
Guinevere laughs, unable to disagree. "He is a good man, and I hope things work out for the best."
"What would 'the best' be?" Freya sighs, helping her mistress out of her dress. "He is a noble. I am a maid. He couldn't marry me. It just isn't… done."
Guinevere turns, surprised. "Do you want to marry him?"
"I don't know," Freya replies. "I like being with him more than anyone. I miss him when he's not with me, and when he is with me, I never want him to leave. Is that love? I don't know. Even if it is…"
Guinevere takes her hand and gives her a sympathetic smile. "Enjoy what time you have then. You never know what will happen."
Freya nods, looking down. "Yes, my lady. Thank you."
They stand for a moment, then Freya gets back to business, assisting Guinevere into her nightdress and turning down her bed.
When the maid finally leaves, Guinevere gratefully slides under the sheets, immediately extinguishing the candle at her bedside. Usually she will read or sew for a bit to settle her mind, but it is well past midnight and she is exhausted.
She closes her eyes, expecting her brain to drift to thoughts of the feast or even Merlin and Freya. Instead, she finds herself thinking about Arthur. How he looked at her after she finished singing. How it felt to be in his arms, standing so close to him as they danced. How he smelled of cinnamon and leather. How he was kind to her, even protecting her from Agravaine.
She drifts off to sleep with memories of Arthur's gray-blue eyes and full lips smiling at her.
A/N: The song Guinevere sings is called "When the Nightingale Sings", c. 1310.