The wedding was lovely. Elena was beautiful. Elyan was handsome. The feast was excellent.
Everything went perfectly.
Yet Guinevere is still unable to shake off her sadness and confusion.
People noticed her unhappiness, but only those closest to her asked about it. Elena even found a few moments to speak with her new sister-in-law alone during the feast. Guinevere thanked her for her concern, but said, "This is your day to be happy, Elena. Do not worry yourself with my troubles. I am having a lovely time, I promise you." The new Lady Leodegrance smiled and nodded, but made it clear that she wished to discuss things later.
Later turned out to be the next afternoon, when Elena came breezing into Guinevere's chambers with a basket of dried flowers and some linen, declaring they will make sachets for the wardrobes and talk "like proper sisters".
Never having had any sisters, Guinevere was at her mercy. Elena asked question after question, unrelenting, and while it was nice to have another woman to talk to, it didn't help ease Guinevere's troubled mind as much as she had hoped it would.
"I don't understand," Elena finally says, shoving some lavender into the pouch Guinevere had just handed her. "It seems to me that he is smitten with you, and you seem to feel the same way. So what's the difficulty?"
"I don't know that I'd call it 'smitten'," Guinevere replies, making even stitches in the seam of another sachet pouch. "Yes, I am… attracted to him, but…"
"Well, that's not surprising. He is very attractive," Elena agrees.
"Elena! You are newly married to my brother!" Guinevere exclaims, but she is laughing.
"Yes, I am, and I have two fully functioning eyes in my head as well," Elena replies, joining in her mirth. "In any case, you are avoiding the question."
"It's not that simple," Guinevere sighs, her laughter fading. "He's the king. I tutor his sons. It's just… not appropriate." She looks away. It sounds weak, even to her.
Elena makes a very unladylike noise, blowing air through her lips. "You are a highborn Lady from one of the most prestigious houses in Caerleon. In what way is it inappropriate? It's not as if you are the milkmaid or…" she giggles again, "the stable boy."
"Elena!" Guinevere exclaims again. Elena has justifiably earned a reputation for being plain-spoken, even blunt, and even though Guinevere has known her for years, it still catches her off guard. It is also one of Elyan's favorite qualities in his new bride.
"Gwen. You like him," she says, and Guinevere nods. "He likes you."
"He seems to," Guinevere replies. "Sometimes. He… well, I told you what happened."
"You did. And I say he does like you," Elena declares. "Which leads me back to my original question: What's the difficulty?"
Guinevere sighs and almost pricks her finger with her needle; something she never does. "The problem is I can't… be around him all the time. Not like this. I love the princes, but I might have to give up tutoring them and just stay here."
"But why?" Elena asks. She knows Guinevere can't see the answer yet, but she wants her to think about it. Really think about it. "Don't answer that right now," she advises.
xXx
"Do you realize you just yelled at George?" Merlin asks, looking sideways at Arthur.
"What of it?" Arthur asks, frowning at his parchment. "He is my servant and I'll speak to him how I see fit."
Merlin sighs and leans forward, resting his hands on Arthur's desk and staring at the top of his blonde head until he looks up.
"What?" the king snaps.
Merlin raises an eyebrow.
Arthur glares.
"George did nothing wrong."
"I do not recall naming you the Servants' Champion."
"You are acting like a child and being sarcastic to avoid the real issue here," Merlin says, pushing off of the table.
"And what, pray, is the 'real issue', O Wise One?" Arthur asks.
Merlin looks him straight in the eyes. "She's only been gone three days."
Arthur holds his gaze, but then it falters for just a moment before he replies, "This has nothing to do with her."
"Doesn't it?"
"This is none of your concern, Merlin."
"Avoiding again," Merlin replies. "And it is my concern because, as your Advisor, it is my duty to make sure you are able to think clearly without distractions."
Arthur drops his head. "She is a distraction when she is here. She's even more of one when she's gone."
"Only because you allow her to be one," Merlin replies.
Arthur looks up at him, baffled. "I 'allow' her to be one? I don't 'allow' her to do anything! She seems to do exactly as she pleases, if you ask me."
Merlin sighs and pulls a chair over. He drops himself into it with the manner of an old, exhausted man, running his hand over his face. "Cabbage head," he mutters.
"What?"
"You heard me quite well," Merlin counters. "You. Are a cabbage head." Arthur blinks, staring at his advisor. Before he can conjure a properly withering retort, Merlin continues. "What I meant is you allow yourself to be distracted by her."
Arthur opens his mouth to protest, then closes it.
"You have been doing nothing for two days except lash out at everyone! You've gotten yourself all twisted into knots because you're too… I don't know, either too stupid or too proud to admit that you're halfway in love with the woman!" Merlin exclaims, then exhales heavily, relieved to finally address this issue. He can't help thinking Freya will be proud of him when he tells her.
"It's neither of those things," Arthur quietly says, and the softness of his tone, the complete lack of fight in it sucks all the wind out of Merlin's mighty sails. "I know exactly how I feel about her." After a long moment, he adds, "And it's more than halfway."
"Arthur, why?" Merlin asks, leaning forward. "Why do this to yourself? To her? Surely you don't think she will reject you, because it's pretty ob—"
Arthur looks at him, and Merlin's words die. He can't remember ever seeing his king's – his friend's – expression so bleak before. "What if I lose her, too?"
Merlin is uncharacteristically speechless. He doesn't know how to respond, how to reassure Arthur. Because there is no way. Not to him, not with the life he's had. Instead, he tries a different tactic. "So you're content to pine away? Make yourself miserable? Drag her into your misery?" Arthur looks down, idly picking at a loose nail in the edge of his desk. "I understand your fear, Arthur. Trust me, I do," Merlin says.
"I know," Arthur replies. One of the first things that helped form Merlin and Arthur's friendship was the fact that both had lost a parent in infancy. Arthur, his mother; Merlin, his father.
"But you'll definitely lose her if you do nothing."
Arthur looks at Merlin, his expression showing that he hadn't even considered that possibility. "I…"
"So isn't any time better than none?" Merlin interjects. He takes a deep breath, deciding to put his own neck on the line to make his point. "I… I don't get to see Freya as much as I'd like," he quietly admits, carefully watching the king as he makes his confession. "She is a servant and I am a lord, and we aren't even supposed to be… spending time together. So we make the most of the moments we manage to steal for ourselves, however few they be." He looks down and adds, "Even though we know nothing can come of it."
Arthur doesn't say anything for a long time. So long that it begins to make Merlin very nervous. He stands and looks out the window. "I already knew about you and Freya, Merlin," he says, still facing away. "It doesn't bother me in the slightest. If you'd like to marry her, I won't stop you. You will still have your job."
"Oh. Um… thank you, Sire, but I think you perhaps misunderstand my reason for telling you…" Merlin says, his heart pounding.
Arthur turns around and leans against the edge of the window. "No, I do not," he counters. "I understand completely."
Merlin nods, but doesn't press, knowing this is likely one of those times where Arthur needs some time alone with his thoughts.
Arthur sighs and pushes himself forward. "We have a Council meeting, do we not?"
Merlin stands. "Yes, but… I didn't know if…"
Arthur stops and looks at Merlin. "If what?"
"Well, you've been yelling at everyone," Merlin says. "You even lost patience with Gwydre yesterday at training, and he hadn't really done anything wrong."
"I did apologize to him," Arthur points out, starting towards the doors again.
Merlin nods, following. "You haven't been eating. You look a mess."
"Thank you, Merlin," Arthur retorts, disappearing into the corridor.
xXx
Pleas come hom.
A note, in Amhar's careful but still unsure hand, hidden in Guinevere's bag is her undoing. She found it the next day.
Elyan finds her sitting by the window shortly after she has discovered the note, handkerchief in hand, eyes damp and red.
"Gwen?" he calls and she hastily dabs her eyes. "Gwen, what's wrong?" he asks.
She simply shakes her head and hands him the slip of parchment.
"Is this from one of the princes?" he asks, sitting beside her.
"Amhar. The youngest. He's five," she answers. "He is so dear and sweet. I miss them, Elyan."
Elyan sits and returns her note. "Only them?" Elena told him about the conversation she had with Guinevere, and it only confirmed his suspicions about his sister's feelings for the King of Camelot.
She hangs her head. "Him too," she quietly admits.
He nods. "Queen Annis is willing to offer you a seat on her Council if you need an excuse to stay here," he says. "That's what I came here to tell you actually, but I can see that you will likely be turning her down."
"I don't know," she sighs. "Caerleon doesn't feel like home anymore, Elyan. But I'm not sure Camelot is either." She looks at Amhar's note again, then says, "At least I wasn't sure until recently." She rubs the surface of the parchment with her thumb, thinking of the youngest Pendragon with his big brown eyes.
"Guinevere," Elyan says, and she looks sharply up. He never addresses her by her full name. "All I want is for you to be happy, wherever you are." She nods and he continues, "So what exactly is making you unhappy in Camelot, so unhappy that everyone has seen it?"
Guinevere ponders her words carefully, not sure how much she should say. She's been thinking a lot about the question Elena left her to mull over, and came up with the answer. The problem is admitting it aloud, even to her brother, who she trusts more than anyone.
"Gwen? Whatever it is, you can tell me," he gently prods.
"I'm afraid that if I go back there, he won't… do anything. I… I'm fairly sure we both know how we feel about each other… but he seems so…" she trails off, unable to find the right word. She brings her handkerchief to her eyes again, dabbing as new tears start.
"Reticent?" Elyan suggests.
"Yes," she sighs. "If I return to Camelot and nothing ever happens between us apart from an… acknowledged but unfulfilled attraction… I fear I really will shrivel up and die, just like you said I should not do because Lancelot is gone," she replies.
Elyan is a bit surprised by her words. He had already concluded his sister had feelings for the king, but did not realize how deep they ran, especially in such a short amount of time. "I wish I had some words of wisdom for you, Guinevere, but I don't know Arthur and cannot claim to know what is in his head or heart. All I can say is: have faith. If it is meant to be, it will happen," he says. "I'm sorry I can't give you more – or any – reassurance."
"I'll go back," she says. "I will stay here a few more days, but then I'll go back, and… try to stop avoiding him," she chuckles. "I will have faith, as you said, and just see what happens." She smiles at her brother and adds, "If it becomes unbearable, I'll simply return here." She looks out the window, over the kingdom. "Or perhaps somewhere else."
Her last comment takes Elyan by surprise, but he simply squeezes her hand and says, "As long as you are happy and safe, Gwen."
"Thank you, Elyan," she replies. "I will see the queen this afternoon and tell her my decision."
"She said she will hear your answer tomorrow afternoon," he says. He moves to stand, but settles back down. "Did you say you had been avoiding King Arthur?"
"Yes," she admits, laughing a little.
"Why on earth would you do that?" he asks.
"Oh, Elyan, let me tell you…"
xXx
"Lady Guinevere is here, my queen," Sir Percival announces, having been on guard duty outside Queen Annis' private salon when Guinevere arrived.
"Very good," Annis replies, and Percival steps back into the corridor, leaving Guinevere alone with the queen. "Your brother delivered my message?" she asks, motioning towards a seat.
"Thank you, my lady," Guinevere says. "Yes, he did."
"I can simply tell King Arthur that your presence is needed in Caerleon," she explains. "A seat on my Council would be something he would not dispute. And you are certainly worthy of the position."
"Thank you again, my lady, but… I think I must decline your offer," she says.
Annis' eyebrows slightly lift, but she doesn't look too surprised. "Oh?" she asks. Her tone is innocent, which automatically makes Guinevere suspect the queen knows more than she is letting on.
"Yes," Guinevere answers. "I… I believe my place is in Camelot now, my lady."
"Hmm," Annis replies, nodding slowly. "I believe you may be right. I think Camelot does need you more than I do," she says.
Guinevere regards Annis for a moment, then cautiously asks, "By 'Camelot', you mean…?"
Annis airily waves her hand. "I mean whatever you wish me to mean, my dear," she answers.
"Yes, my lady," Guinevere says. Her head is starting to swim. Can no one say exactly what they mean apart from Elena?
Annis stands, signaling the end of their short meeting. Guinevere follows suit. Annis holds out her hand, and Guinevere places hers in it, curious. The queen places her other hand over the top of Guinevere's and gives it a motherly pat. "Patience has become an underrated virtue, Gwen," she says. "And few things worthwhile come easily." She releases Guinevere's hand.
"Yes. Thank you again, my lady," Guinevere responds before turning towards the doors, deciding all she wants right now is a hot, fragrant bath and some quiet, with no one giving advice or talking to her in riddles. Nothing but her own thoughts in the silence.
xXx
The next morning, Guinevere emerges from her self-imposed solitude to have breakfast with her brother and sister-in-law.
"I turned down the queen," she says, sitting. "I think she knew I would, and I think she knows why."
"Of course she does," Elena replies. "She knows what's going on inside everyone's heads. It's irritating, but part of what makes her a very good queen."
"You can say that because you're her daughter," Elyan chuckles. "And you definitely made the right decision, Gwen. You won't be able to find any of your answers by staying here," he tells his sister.
A knock on the door interrupts them. "Excuse me my lady, my lord, but… Sir Leon of Camelot is here," a confused-looking servant says.
Elyan looks surprised, but not nearly as surprised as Guinevere. "Show him in, please, and set a place for him at the table," she says.
The servant hesitates. "My lady, there is a young lad with him as well."
Llacheu? Arthur would never allow Llacheu to travel without him… would he? "Well then, show them both in and set two more places," she says, recovering.
A maid sets the two places while the servant disappears. He returns a moment later with a dusty looking knight and prince.
Guinevere stands and catches Llacheu as he runs to greet her. "Llacheu!" she exclaims. The young man's hug nearly lifts her off her feet. "Oh!" she gasps, stepping back. "You've grown again."
Llacheu smiles, his cheeks coloring.
"Oh, forgive me. Prince Llacheu of Camelot, this is my brother, Sir Elyan Leodegrance, First Knight of Caerleon, and Lady Elena Leodegrance."
Elyan stands and bows to the prince. "An honor, your highness," he says. Elena curtseys, and Llacheu very respectfully kisses her hand.
"And you of course know Sir Leon," Guinevere says.
Elyan clasps arms with the other knight, then Leon turns and bows to Elena. "Congratulations on your marriage," he says.
"Thank you, Sir Leon," Elena answers. "Please, join us for a bite of breakfast," she invites, indicating the two additional plates set for them.
"Thank you, my lady," Llacheu replies. Everyone takes their seats. "We only had some dried beef and an apple this morning, so this is most welcome."
Guinevere smiles, feeling somewhat proud as she watches the prince. He's growing into a fine man.
"I imagine a growing lad like yourself has a healthy appetite, my lord," Elyan says.
Llacheu smiles. "I'm hungry most of the time," he admits.
They make pleasant but superficial conversation for a short while, mainly about their journey here.
Leon says little. He looks like he has something to say, but isn't sure if this is the time. Guinevere decides to press him.
"Sir Leon, has King Arthur sent you to retrieve me?" she asks, setting her fork down.
Leon's eyes widen. He wasn't expecting this line of questioning here. "Er…"
"You may speak freely," she assures him.
"I asked to come and bring you home," Llacheu bluntly replies.
"Oh," Guinevere says, looking at him. "You did?"
"Yes."
She turns back to Leon. "So the king is not commanding me to return?"
Leon glances around the table before answering, "No. No commands. The king says if you wish to return, we are to escort you back. If you wish to stay—"
"Please come home, Lady Guinevere," Llacheu says, cutting Leon off before he can say any more about Guinevere staying. "We miss you. Gwydre and Amhar are sad. Father is… sad. We all want you back where you belong. In Camelot."
Guinevere smiles at the young man's pause before describing his father's condition as "sad." She saw Leon's face twitch, too, and knows that "sad" isn't quite an accurate description of the king's current mood. The prince's large brown eyes plead with her, and she wonders if there was an ulterior motive in Llacheu being allowed to accompany Leon on this trip.
"I will need a little time to pack," she says, and Llacheu's expression transforms until he is smiling wider than she has ever seen.