Chapter 2

Little Orphans

Guinevere had spent most of her morning sitting at the opened window in her favorite chair, her embroidery in her lap. Her maidservant, Sefa, had come to wake her and dressed her in her favorite lavender gown with the plain trim, and had braided her long curls, and had manicured her nails. The princess hadn't particularly meant to dress so finely for Lancelot, when surely he would be wearing something much more comfortable, but at the same time she was sorely attracted to him and wanted to leave him with her best impression at all times.

She knew that the noblemen wouldn't return before midday, but Guinevere was unable to prevent her eyes from eagerly sidling toward the courtyard below, hoping to catch a glimpse of his tall, handsome figure riding past. But he'd left at dawn, and she hadn't risen from her bed until the sun had playfully greeted her, peeking in through her windows and then ducking behind cottony clouds.

At the sudden knock on the door, Guinevere started and hurriedly picked up her sewing. It wouldn't do for a princess to be caught idling.

"Enter," she called, pushing the fishbone needle through the vibrant cloth.

Guinevere glanced up as the door swung open, and she leapt to her feet in concern as she saw the Lady Morgana stumble into her chambers, one hand pressed over her clammy brow. The princess dropped her sewing and hurried over to the sorceress. She grasped her elbow to support her, and quickly led her to the nearest chair by the empty hearth.

"Have you had a vision?" Guinevere asked, voice hushed.

Morgana was slumped in the seat, leaning heavily on the leather armrest. Her primly manicured hand had slipped downwards, obscuring her eyes. She answered feebly, "Yes."

"Shall I fetch Gaius?"

As Guinevere asked, she turned toward the still open door, intending to set forth on her suggested mission, but cold fingers wrapped around her wrist, stopping her. The princess knelt at Morgana's side, obeying her wishes, and waited expectantly. Whatever Morgana had seen was, at the moment at least, for Guinevere's ears only.

"I am sorry," Morgana breathed, her chest straining within the confines of her tight dress. "I am sorry, my dear Gwen."

Guinevere's heart leapt into her suddenly constricted throat. She swallowed thickly and wet her lips anxiously. "What did you see?"

At last, the Court Sorceress lowered her hands and made eye contact. Her usually steely eyes had melted with sorrow. "It is Prince Lancelot."

"Yes?" she whispered, clasping her shaking hands together.

Morgana took Guinevere's hands in her own. "He and Elyan went with the hunting party early this morning. It was going so well—they laughed, and rode through the forest at the heels of the hounds, occasionally letting fly an arrow at a hart—but then…"

"But then?" Guinevere gasped. All sorts of horrifying scenarios flashed through her mind: a wild boar attacking; a stray arrow; a falling tree; bandits.

"Prince Lancelot was leading the party. A snake crossed the path of his horse, startling it into a rear. The prince, he was knocked from the saddle. He fell."

"But he's all right?" Guinevere asked fervently. "He's hurt, but he'll be all right. We'll send the physician straightaway. I'll go and fetch him!" She moved to get to her feet, but once again Morgana was tugging her back.

"Oh, my dear Gwen," she repeated woefully. "Lancelot is dead."

"No!"

"They are returning as we speak. I am sorry. So very sorry, Gwen."

Hearing a sudden commotion from the courtyard, Guinevere tore herself from Morgana's grasp and staggered to her window, bracing herself on the wooden sill.

The hunting party had returned. There was no victorious singing, no prancing about displaying their kills, or even the usual brays of the hounds. Rather than bearing a hart between them, there was a shrouded figure carried on a makeshift litter. The party was solemn, heads bowed. Commoners and nobility alike were rushing about the courtyard, talking in hushed alarm and fetching things and spreading the news.

With a short cry, Guinevere's legs crumpled beneath her, and the world spun wildly.

This time Morgana came and supported her onto her chair, using magic to turn it away from the window. The princess was spared any more of the horrible scene.

Tears poured forth relentlessly, though she made no sound. "What of—what of my brother?" she hiccoughed, graciously accepting the silken green handkerchief Morgana handed to her.

"Shall I fetch him here?" Morgana asked, stroking Guinevere's arm soothingly. When she nodded, Morgana stood and crossed the room briskly, apparently recovered from her vision-induced migraine.

The Princess pressed her face into the handkerchief, wetting it. Her shoulders shook, but she did not sob with abandon. Even in grief she carried herself with dignity.

Only a few minutes later—Guinevere could only assume that Elyan had already set off to her room at a run the moment he had arrived at the palace—the doors burst open, and he flung himself at his sister's feet. A breathless Morgana reappeared shortly after him, her skirts lifted a good few inches so that she could jog.

"Oh, Gwen!" Elyan cried, cheeks stained with tears. "Oh, Gwen! Oh, Gwen!"

Guinevere drew him into her arms comfortingly, but did not trust herself to say anything. She nodded at Morgana, granting her leave, and the sorceress exited with a final pitying look. The heavy door clicked shut almost inaudibly.

"I'm sorry, Gwen, I'm sorry!"

"It's not your fault, Elyan, my dear," Guinevere said, stroking his back soothingly. She had to pull herself together for her brother. She would have to mourn on her own later. Elyan came first, always.

It was a candle mark before Elyan's tears and hiccoughing ceased, leaving him puffy-faced and exhausted. After a good amount of coaxing him up, Gwen led him back to his chambers just across the hall from hers (largely due to the siblings' insistence that they stay close together) and helped him out of his shoes and jerkin. Then she tucked him into bed so that he could sleep comfortably.

For a moment she stood over him, watching as his tear-stained face slowly relaxed. When she was sure that he would not wake, the princess returned to her own rooms and went to her wardrobe. A walk in the lower town always calmed her whenever she was upset, and it had done immense help to her heart after the death of her father, so she hoped that such would be the case. She selected the plainest hooded cloak she owned, a gray one with a braided tie, and donned it.

The princess poked her head out of her door and called for a guard. Her summons were answered immediately, and she kindly informed him that she would be napping, and requested that no one wake her or her brother. Then she crossed her rooms, covering her dark curls with the hood, and slipped out the servant's entrance.

{Birthright}

The marketplace, as usual, was bustling. Merchants and peddlers, women and children, servants and pages, and milkmaids and kitchen maids and scullery maids alike all crammed into the streets, haggling with wares sellers and commissioners and squabbling with one another over limited stocks. Farmers led their wagons, calling for other pedestrians to make way lest they be trampled by their mules or nags. As the disguised Princess Guinevere merged deeper into the foray, the clamor rose and the stifling heat and odor of numerous bodies pressed into her, and her tumultuous thoughts were smothered.

It was a relief to be out of the heavy silence of the castle.

Most times, whenever she chanced to slip out of the palace undetected for a bit of fresh air, some time to think, she walked to the gates of the city and turned back. But this time Guinevere doubted whether that would be enough. All the same, her absence was sure to be noticed sooner than later, so it was best that she return before evening.

She was jolted out of her reverie when her shoulder collided with a solid figure passing the other direction. "Oh!" she cried, momentarily off balance. "I am sorry, sir," she said, reaching out to him but not touching. "I was not paying attention."

The roguish-looking man merely grinned amiably and released her arm once he was sure that she was not going to fall. "No harm done, m'lady."

Guinevere offered him a polite smile and turned to continue on her way, but she was stopped short when he grasped her hand in his own rough one.

"Please excuse me, m'lady," he said, "but ye seem incredibly familiar. Do I know ye?"

"I—I don't believe so," she uttered. The princess resisted the urge to pull her hood lower over her face, for that would only heighten suspicion.

But the man's eyes only twinkled merrily, and she saw no spark of recognition—he was making a valiant attempt at wooing her. "Ye be very beautiful, madam. Yer name must be Esmeralda."

Guinevere couldn't help the small smile that flitted across her lips. "I am sorry, you are mistaken, good sir. I must be going."

He shrugged, unoffended by her rejection, and let her go. But after only a few steps, he caught up to her and walked at her side. "Ye seem like ye need a bit o' cheering up, madam. Perhaps I can be of assistance. My name is Gwaine."

For a moment Guinevere marveled at his perceptiveness. She was so schooled in propriety that her expression felt as though it were transfixed in a pleasant countenance—perhaps the eyes were the windows to the soul, if it were possible for them to be read. But it was too dangerous for her to make friends. "A pleasure, Gwaine," she said. "But I am fine, thank you."

Just then, another young man careened around the corner and linked his arm into Gwaine's, tugging him away. "Stop bothering the ladies!" he hissed. "Have you been drinking again?" Cutting off Gwaine's response before he could iterate it, the blond turned to Guinevere, handsome face smoothing out. "I apologize on my friend's behalf, my lady," he said cordially. "He's not right in the head, you must forgive him. He shan't be bothering you for any longer."

At that, Gwaine snatched his arm back. "I've not been bothering her!" he exclaimed. "And o' course I've been drinking, Arthur. Now, join me in song so that our brotherhood will remain intact. Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—"

With a roll of his eyes, Arthur stuffed a piece of bread into Gwaine's mouth, effectively silencing him. "Again, I really apologize," Arthur said to Guinevere, who, for all that moment, had only been able to stare at him speechlessly.

But then a ghastly wash of shame overcame her, and she ducked her head. Less than two candle marks after learning of the death of such a kind man as Lancelot, whom she was surely to wed should he have asked for her hand, and here the princess was lusting after another!

Arthur looked down at her with slight concern, for she had not replied to him. A familiar glint of metal over her shoulder caught his eye, and he glanced up with a start. "Gwaine!" he hissed, ducking slightly. "Knights."

Gwaine shot a look over his shoulder, and sure enough, a couple of guards were pushing their way through the crowd. They had yet to be spotted, but if they were to stay where they were, being noticed was certain. Hearing Arthur's hushed warning and seeing his cautious demeanor, Guinevere turned as well. She recognized them as the knights assigned to guard the corridor that housed her and her brother's rooms.

So her absence had been noticed, and far too soon at that.

Heart fluttering in her chest like a panicked bird, Guinevere pinched her lips together and pulled the hood down further, intending to blend into the crowd, circle back unnoticed, and return to the castle undetected. She would come up with a reason for her apparent disappearance on the way.

The princess's evasive movements had not gone oversighted by the thieves.

Immediately assuming that she was the object of their search, Arthur and Gwaine quickly ushered her away. Guinevere, taken so by surprise that she could not find it in herself to protest, was swept out of sight and down a nearby alley.

There was no sound of a chase behind them, so they had not been spotted. Despite this, the men hurried along, Gwaine leading the way and Arthur following up behind so as to trap her in a misguided attempt to protect her. She realized that they were nearing the citadel, which surprised her. She had expected them to move away from it. Those who ran from guards did not run to a place where more guards were.

But then they came to an abandoned cobbler's shop, boarded up. She supposed someday the charred remains would be rebuilt, but as the rickety structure stood it looked uninhabitable. Gwaine knelt down and swiftly shuffled into a dark, dusty hole near the ground.

Arthur nudged Guinevere toward it, standing idly by as to keep an eye out for danger. The princess hesitated unsurely, but then Gwaine popped his head back out.

"Come on, then! It's perfectly safe, m'lady."

Seeing that it was a hard situation, Guinevere decided that it would be best to go along with it until such time that she could reason with these men to let her go. Because she was smaller than her helpers, the princess crouched down on all fours and crawled through the opening, and allowed Gwaine to help her to her feet. Arthur shimmied in shortly after, and took a moment to brush the dust from his breeches.

Guinevere peered around at the dark room. It appeared thoroughly unused—the bench and table layered with thick dust (or perhaps it was ash), as well as the barren mantelpiece and the floor. The wooden walls and floor surrounding the fireplace were charred, bespeaking the reason the place was no longer lived in.

Gwaine leaned against the wall, flicking his hair back from his face. The wood creaked ominously, and the princess tensed fearfully as a few pieces of the ceiling fell. Nothing more happened.

Perfectly safe, indeed, she thought ruefully.

"This way," Arthur said, taking the lead. "Don't worry, miss. We'll not be staying here, but we've got a hideaway farther along."

"Oh, I see," Guinevere said. No getaway plan was forthcoming. Soon enough, she'd have to reveal herself and command them to lead her back to the street so that she could return to the castle.

First the death of Prince Lancelot, now an accidental kidnapping of the Princess. What next?

The trio crossed to the back of the room, where a rickety wooden ladder led down into the cellar. But, as they reached the bottom, Guinevere realized that it was not a cellar at all, but a very dark tunnel.

A tunnel beneath her city? The only ones of which she knew were the catacombs and the siege tunnels that would allow escape should the citadel come under attack. Those were carved through stone, rather than the dirt as this one was.

The tunnel winded and twisted, and grew darker the farther they went, but the men seemed to know precisely where they were going, and the way was smooth and clear. Soon enough, the dirt turned to chilly stone, and Guinevere guessed that they were now in the catacombs beneath the city. But it was beginning to grow light again, and Arthur grabbed a burning torch as they reached it.

"Nearly there," he said, taking a series of turns that left Guinevere thoroughly flabbergasted.

Because she saw no bones, it was decided that they were not, in fact, in the catacombs. There were few places these tunnels could be, then, and she half-wondered whether they were unmarked on any of the maps she had seen in her father's study all those years ago.

Finally, they came to a round chamber.

The room was rather cozy, with faded red and moth-eaten tapestries hanging over the other entrances to ward off the chill, and several pieces of mismatched furniture distributed throughout the room, and piles of blankets and stuffed pillows upon dusty rugs, as well as stoppered bottles and barrels presumably filled with drink, and several piles of sacks throughout the room, either of food or for makeshift bedding. All of this was revealed to her as Arthur circled the room, lighting the torches in their brackets.

But she was quite startled when he passed the far end of the room, and the light revealed a large blanket thrown carelessly over a lumpy pile—but her gaze was sharp enough to catch a glint of gold where the blanket did not cover the loot sufficiently.

These men were thieves.

"We'll be safe here," Arthur said, putting the torch in a bracket and dusting his hands off. "They'll move on from that area soon, and then we can move about again."

Guinevere swallowed hard, desperately trying to think of a way out of this mess. They certainly didn't seem to recognize her, so she supposed they weren't going to hold her for ransom. She had to be extra careful to not reveal her identity.

"Please," Gwaine said politely, gesturing to the room, "make yerself comfortable, madam. 'Tis not much, but 'tis home."

The princess gave him a strained smile and took the nearest seat, a rickety wooden one with a back cushion. She sat ramrod straight, hands folded tightly in her lap.

Gwaine and Arthur exchanged a look.

"I know it's not ideal," Arthur said apologetically. "But those guards were after you, were they not? We don't know what it is you've done, if you have done something, but I'm sure they'll forget about it soon enough."

He turned and rummaged about for a moment, then found what he was looking for: a chalice. This he filled from a nearby bottle and brought it to her. "Honeyed water," he offered. "I'm afraid it's all we've got at the moment."

"Thank you," she said, taking it. But she did not drink, even though she was thirsty and honeyed water was one of her favorite flavors.

"My name is Arthur," he said. "This is Gwaine."

"A pleasure."

He waited a moment for her to continue, but she was not forthcoming. "Shall we continue to call you 'madam'?"

"My name is…Gwen."

"Gwen it is."

"I…" She swallowed. "I must go soon. I have to get back to my brother. He's…very ill."

"What's he got?" Gwaine asked.

"Gwaine," Arthur chastised.

"Oh, uh," Guinevere stammered.

"You don't have to answer that," Arthur assured her, shooting his friend a dirty look.

"I only ask 'cause we've got some medicines right 'ere," Gwaine shrugged. He flipped open a wooden box and rummaged through clinking vials. "Let's see…fever tonics, cough tonics, some sort o' paste for bruises or summat…"

"He's not…Nothing like that," she said, embarrassed. The situation was so horribly flustering that she could hardly keep the conversation straight, and worried that the thieves would discover her and not let her go.

The men did not pursue the subject, for which she was grateful.

Arthur cleared his throat awkwardly. "Are you…erm, are you hungry, Gwen?"

"No, thank you."

"All right."

Silence descended upon the group once more.

Until Gwaine broke it with an abrupt question: "Yer a thief, ain't ye?"

Guinevere jumped in surprise, her honeyed water clattering to the floor. "Oh!" she gasped, quickly stooping and picking up the chalice, but it was too late—the water had soaked into the rug. "Oh, I'm terribly sorry, sirs!"

"Don't worry about it!" Arthur interjected quickly. He grabbed the nearest spare blanket and threw it over the stain to protect the hem of her dress from wetting. "No, I apologize. Please, don't hold it against Gwaine, he's just a fool. I'll—I shall—"

"We're thieves, too, not to worry," Gwaine said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair. But his gaze was intense, studious. "We understand."

"I'm not," the princess gasped, flustered and appalled at the thought, "I don't—I would never!"

"Gwaine," Arthur growled threateningly.

"A mighty fine pair o' shoes ye've got, Gwen," Gwaine drawled.

Arthur and Guinevere both looked down. When she'd dressed to sneak out of the castle, she hadn't thought to change her slippers. The smooth, decorated leather was clearly visible as the hem of her dress lifted when she sat. Her mouth went dry.

"I…They were a…gift," she blurted unconvincingly. It was the truth, at least.

Neither of them looked convinced, but they did not press the issue. Gwen fretted over the shoes, wondering whether she should lie and say that she stole them from her mistress and hope they believed her then, or else stay quiet about it and let them come to their own conclusions. Oh, but what if they inferred of her royal status while she was silent? What did common women do? Talk? Or stay silent?

It was Arthur who broke the uncomfortable silence. "We steal for a good cause, you know. We're not bad, Gwen."

"A good cause?" she repeated, eyes flicking toward their horde.

The blond nodded.

Gwaine leapt to his feet, drawing a dagger—a movement that nearly made the poor princess faint. But he only held it aloft and gallantly cried, "We steal from the rich and give to the poor!"

"Well," Arthur said more modestly, "most of it goes toward funding the orphanage and helping poor families care for their children. That way the children don't have to be sent away to work and send back the money they earn."

"Oh," was all that Gwen could say. The thieves seemed to be in earnest, and if what they said was true, then Gwen had no reason to fear them nor even report them. She had heard of the orphanage; it had cropped up mysteriously some years before, and catered not only to true orphans but to young men and women who had no place to live or work, and also housed the elderly whose family could not afford to feed them. For some time she had suspected Gaius of supplying the funds, but he removed those suspicions soon enough when he caught her looking at him queerly and guessed at what she was thinking, and told her that all of his funds went to the Church as they should, though he approved of the mysterious patron of the orphan house.

Then she found her voice again and said, "Well, that's very good of you both. Wonderful, really. Very kindly of you."

Arthur seemed to blush slightly under the praise, but Gwaine only grinned roguishly.

"Anything to stick the rich in the pants!"

"Gwaine, please," Arthur said when he made a rude gesture toward an invisible lord that caused Guinevere's cheeks to darken.

The man shrugged. "Serves them right, anyway, for being so fickle. A man dies fighting their way, and his family is left to rot. I say let the plague take them!"

Arthur gave Gwen an apologetic look as Gwaine started off on a rant about the nobility. He whispered to her, "His father was a knight. Died in the last war. His family's fortune was taken away, leaving them destitute. His mother and sister passed from the plague fourteen years ago."

"Oh, the poor dear," Guinevere said, feeling genuinely sorry for him. It was no wonder he was so embittered.

"I wouldn't feel too badly for him, my lady," Arthur chuckled. "He's a right drunkard who loves a good fight. It's a miracle I didn't turn out like him, the way he raised me."

The princess started. "Oh! Is he your father? I'm sorry, you two don't look—"

"No!" Arthur laughed. "No, no. My father abandoned me when I was a child. Gwaine took me under his wing so I didn't starve. We're only a few years apart in age."

"I see," she said. "Then you are both orphans. I am sorry for it."

"You've nothing to apologize for," Arthur said.

Gwaine's voice pitched suddenly, "And worst of it all, the damned—"

"You won't have to sit through this for much longer," the blond promised. "We'll get you back home soon."

"That's all right. I suppose I can understand it. My mother and father have passed away, too."

"I see. That's too bad," Arthur said softly. "I am sorry for it." He bowed his head and fingered at the tear in his trousers. They lapsed into silence, listening to Gwaine's rant until he tapered off and sank down into a plush chair. His head lolled to one side as he checked the nearby candle.

"It's not even been one candle mark," he exclaimed in surprise. "Ah well, tha's long enough tha' our friends have gone, eh?" He pushed himself up again and went over to the stock of gold, scooping out a handful and depositing it into a sizeable purse. This he tossed at Arthur, who easily snatched it out of the air one-handedly and proffered to Guinevere.

"For you, my lady."

"Oh!" she gasped. "Why, no, I couldn't!"

"Please, take it," Arthur said kindly. "It's the least we can do, after practically kidnapping you."

"Oh, no…"

But Arthur did not back down until she took the purse and fastened it onto her girdle with the drawstring.

"Right, then. Shall I—ahem—shall I lead the way?" Arthur asked awkwardly, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

"Oh, if you don't mind," Guinevere responded.

"Oh," Gwaine drawled, "I'm sure he doesn't."

The tips of Arthur's ears turned red, but he said nothing. Instead, he grabbed the nearest torch and marched doff. Gwen delivered a small curtsey to the rogue and hurried after her guide, guiltily feeling the coin purse bouncing at her hip. She laid a hand over it to silence the jingling. A moment later, though, Gwaine caught up with them.

"I can't let a beautiful lady just walk off without a proper goodbye, can I?" he said by way of explanation, winking.

Once again the princess followed her wayward helpers through the tunnel, marveling that they knew the correct turns despite so many branches leading off in different directions. If her eyesight had been more suited to the darkness, she might have noticed the small arrows scratched into the walls, faint and chalky white.

In a shorter time, it seemed, than the first trip, they reached the ladder. Gwaine squeezed past them both and went up first, poking his head out like a gopher and looking about for danger before exiting fully. He waved the other two up, and Arthur gestured that Guinevere should go. She did, holding her skirts a bit tighter around her thighs in case the thief got any ideas; however, Arthur was a perfect gentleman and only glanced upwards a few times to make sure she was not having any trouble. She ascended with little difficulty, and accepted Gwaine's helping hand once she reached the summit. Arthur was with them a moment later, sticking the torch in a barrel of stagnant water to douse the flame.

Gwaine crouched and moved to the wall so that he could look inconspicuously out of the window—or what was left of it. Whatever movements he saw did not appear to alarm him, and he shimmied out of the hole.

"Shall we?" Arthur said.

Guinevere adjusted her hood to hide her face, then crawled out on her hands and knees. She was slightly surprised when Gwaine did not offer to help her up, but she was far from a damsel in distress and pushed herself to her feet. She heard Arthur shimmying behind her, but froze nevertheless.

Two knights, armor shining in the sunlight, had Gwaine at sword point. He grinned lazily at them. Arthur looked at first speechless, then crestfallen. He gave Gwen an apologetic glance, and she shifted nervously, unsure what to do.

Finally, one of the guards spoke. "We arrest you under the authority of Regent Bishop of Camelot. Come quietly."

"What?" Gwaine said with mock offence. "We'll not have a serenade?"

As the knights roughly grabbed the thieves' arms, Arthur turned to Gwen and mouthed, "Go."

A sudden bravado overcame her suddenly, and she drew herself to her full height. "Halt!" she commanded.

The men were taken so by surprise that they did just that, looking at her.

Princess Guinevere lowered the hood of her cloak and glared with steely eyes at the knights. "Release them, Sirs."

"Your highness!" they exclaimed. But they did not obey. Gwaine and Arthur exchanged alarmed looks, both nearly bent double from having their arms twisted behind their backs.

"Well?" she arched a lithe eyebrow. It was the same expression she made when Elyan was being stubborn.

"Our deepest apologies, your highness. We are under direct orders form the Lady Morgana to bring them in."

"They are thieves, madam," said the other lamely.

"I know that!" Guinevere retorted. "Do the orders of a lady carry more weight than the orders of a princess?"

The knights shuffled uncomfortably. "We dare not disobey the Court Sorceress, your highness."

"Court Sorceress?!" Gwaine's eyes bugged out of his skull. "Bloody hell! What use has she o' us?"

Guinevere drew herself up again, ignoring Gwaine's inappropriate outburst. "Fine, then. We shall bring them to the palace, and I shall order the Lady Morgana to grant them a pardon."

The knights bowed respectfully, unwittingly loosening their holds on the thieves.

"Now!" Gwaine hissed.

He twisted free, lashing out with his foot to catch his captor in the knee, then made a break for it. Arthur tried to do the same, but the knights too quickly recovered and tackled him. Gwaine stopped at Arthur's pained grunt and Gwen's cry of alarm, turning back.

"Gwaine!" Arthur yelled, struggling. "Run!"

The rogue hesitated only a moment. He turned and fled. Arthur was roughly hauled to his feet, his angry growl punctuated by Guinevere's cry of "Be careful!" The blond glared at the cobblestones, spitting a mouthful of blood from his bitten tongue.

Guinevere resisted the urge to shed frustrated tears. The men weren't helping themselves by trying to escape, and there was only so much she would be able to do to help them.

"Let us go," she said stiffly.

They began to march off, wending their ways through the streets toward the palace. She suddenly wondered whether Elyan had woken and alerted the guards that she was gone. She could not begrudge him for it, of course, but there were days when she wished he weren't…well, there was nothing that could be done about it. Even Lady Morgana had been unable to cure his simpleness.

But now was not the time to think on it. Guinevere chanced a glance back at Arthur, who was trapped in the tight grasps of the knights. He was still scowling at the ground.

The journey was made in terse silence. The princess spent it contemplating how she was going to convince Morgana to let Arthur free. The Court Sorceress could be quite stubborn at the best of times, and she was still fuming about the loss of the Stone of Cornelius Sigan from the vaults. Perhaps Guinevere could barter for leniency: if Arthur and Gwaine were to return the Stone, they could purchase pardons.

Yes, it was decided.

Once they reached the courtyard, she picked up her pace, forcing the knights and prisoner to keep up. The sun was reaching its pinnacle, dazzling the whitewashed stones of the palace, whose glorious turrets reached for the heavens. The air was stiflingly still, rent by the low buzz of the market not far off. A lump formed in Guinevere's throat as she saw the funeral pyre being constructed beneath the late king's balcony, a place of honor. And then the doors at the top of the steps were flung open, as though their presence had been awaited. Out came the Lady Morgana, followed by Gaius and Elyan.

"Gwen!" the Court Sorceress cried. "Thank the gods you've been found!" She embraced the princess tightly, preventing her from saying anything. Her eyes turned to venom as they landed on Arthur, who had yet to look up. "Take him to the dungeons immediately."

"Yes, your ladyship," responded the knights at once.

Before Guinevere could tear herself free and reverse the order, they were gone. "Oh, Morgana!" she uttered, voice laced with disappointment.

Elyan interrupted, flinging himself past Morgana into his sister's arms. "Gwen! Gwen! I thought you were gone forever!"

"No, of course not," she responded, still locking gazes with Morgana. She tried to silently convey that Arthur should be set free, but to no avail; Morgana could not read minds. "I'd never leave you, Elyan."

"Guinevere, my girl," Gaius said. He appeared troubled, his eyebrow arching at a dangerous level. "Where on earth have you been? Guards have searched all over the city for you."

"I'm sorry," she apologized. "I only lost track of time. See, I had gone for a walk."

"And found yourself in the company of thieves?" Morgana finished, frowning with displeasure. Then another expression crossed her face, one which the princess couldn't read. "My lady, were you abducted that man?"

"Goodness!" Gaius exclaimed, alarmed at the idea.

Elyan at last allowed her to extricate herself from his arms. She cried, "No! That is not what happened."

"Perhaps it is unwise to bring this up in the open," Gaius said, lowering his voice as a trio of handmaidens passed with laundry baskets balanced on their hips. "Shall we go inside?"

"Of course," the Lady Morgana conceded. "You are right, Gaius."

The nobles ascended the steps together, Elyan and Morgana supporting either of Guinevere's arms as though they expected her to faint from the shock of her ordeal.

"Perhaps you should rest first, my dear," Gaius said sympathetically. "This can't have been an easy morning for you."

"Yes," Morgana agreed. "And Gaius was in the midst of addressing a letter to King Ban of France, Lancelot's father. Of course we shall have to send Lancelot's things back with his entourage. Such a shame his body cannot last the journey so he may have a proper funeral."

Guinevere blinked back stinging tears. Now was not the time to cry for a man who had been practically a stranger to her. Arthur was alive, and in need. "No," she choked out. "I am quite all right."

"Nonsense," Morgana crooned.

"You're crying," Elyan pointed out, patting her shoulder awkwardly. Though he could gracefully receive comfort, he was less adept at giving it.

In the end, the princess had little say in the matter. She was led directly to her chambers and deposited into bed after having her slippers and cloak removed. Gaius drew the curtains closed as Morgana put away the cloak in the wardrobe, and Elyan tucked her in.

"We shall speak on the matter when you wake, dear Guinevere," Morgana said, patting her curly head.

"All right," Gwen agreed grudgingly. Despite her protests, she was really was quite exhausted and emotionally drained; her eyes slipped closed, and in moments she was asleep, and the others exited the room, whispering amongst themselves.

{Birthright}

Guinevere knocked on the heavy oak door and listened.

"Enter," came the muffled command.

She did so, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. When she did not immediately speak, Gaius looked up from his parchment.

"Ah," he said, setting his quill aside. "Guinevere, my girl. How was your rest?"

"It was well," she replied.

He beckoned to her. The princess crossed the room and sat in the chair on the opposite of his writing desk and leaned forward earnestly. Her tension affected the elderly man, whose eyebrow rose up.

"Gaius," Guinevere began, wringing her hands in her lap. "Gaius, we must free Arthur."

"Who?"

"Arthur, the man in the dungeon. He did not kidnap me. He was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time."

A wry smile touched Gaius's lips. "I'll make certain that he is not charged for a crime he did not commit. But he is a thief."

Guinevere lowered her head, slightly chagrined. "He steals for good cause."

"And what cause is this?"

"Arthur funds the orphanage."

Gaius sat back, surprised at the revelation. "A good cause, indeed," he answered carefully. "Unfortunately, I have to act within the sacraments of the law. I cannot pardon a thief, regardless of his intentions. It would appear arbitrary to the court, and besides that, all those who were condemned for stealing to feed their families would have been guiltless."

Her shoulders sank. "Then…Then perhaps lighten the burden of his punishment?"

Most thieves were subjected to the cruelty of thumbscrews—horrid devices that rent flesh and crushed bone, mangling and crippling the hands that had taken that which did not belong to them.

Gaius exhaled through his nose, apparently thinking hard. "I will do what I can," the Bishop promised at last.

Guinevere offered a tentative smile. "Thank you, Gaius."

"You are very welcome, Guinevere. If that is all, then, I must return to my work."

"Of course." The princess stood and prepared to leave, but turned back just as suddenly. "Gaius? Is Lancelot's funeral nearly prepared?"

"It will begin tomorrow at dawn. If you like, the prince is in the throne room. I have administered his last rites this morning. I believe he is saved, and will hear your prayers."

"Thank you, Gaius."

Then she swept out of the Regent's chambers, head held high. She would pray over Lancelot before visiting Arthur in his prison.