When the Rock Rolls Back
Arthur strode into the royal chambers, the links of his chain mail clinking as he moved. George trailed behind him as he unbuckled his sword belt and set the gilded weapon on the edge of his desk, maneuvering around stacks of magical texts and scrolls. Troubled by the news of a young boy's tragic death, yet another weight now thrust upon his mounting concerns.
"That will be all for now, George," Arthur said. "Wait outside. The queen should return in a moment or two."
George dipped his head briskly and promptly left the chambers. A perfect model of anticipatory servitude, his abilities, though oddly fixated on polished brass, finally gave Arthur the orderly benefit he deserved.
"Percival's report from last night."
Arthur unrolled the scroll, read the first few entries about disturbances in both towns before the lines blurred and his accumulating pressures raced through his mind – the magic laws, Guinevere and her night terrors, Merlin's secret, the crops, a child's tragic death, civil unrest, Old Religion prophecies. Was he Sisyphus, doomed to roll the same boulder uphill only to chase it down and start again?
The creak of the chamber doors abated his piling anxiety when they swept open, the sound of light footfalls and the swish of a gown bringing a small smile to lips. He rose from behind the desk to greet Guinevere, radiant in a dark blue satin gown and sparkling jewelry to match its richness.
"My queen," he said as she approached with a stack of crushed parchments and scrolls in hands and the crease between her brows betraying worry. His smile cooled.
"The council chamber will be three times as full today," Guinevere said, her tone flat. "We'll be able to gauge the reactions of the classes to your news about Emrys. It'll be a fair representation of how the rest of the kingdom will respond."
She set the parchments and scrolls on his desk and he coiled his arms around her, kissed her forehead. She wrapped her arms around him, yet stood rigid.
"I know," he sighed, feeling tension emanating from her. He released her and plopped back into his chair. "Clergy, noblemen, merchants, commoners. And Lord Badawi Zahir leading the charge. I can feel conflict escalating already."
He thought of the grieving parents from that morning after Zahir had met with them, stroking their sorrow into a rage that drove another family from their home. Patrols also reported other rising grumblings as the man echoed divisive cries across the city.
"Lord Badawi won't let anyone forget that the livelihood of a farmer was lost and that a child was killed with magic. He preys on people's grief and fans it into flames of fear." Disdain crept into Gwen's tone. "And no doubt he'll exploit these tragedies again today."
Arthur grimaced. Badawi's inflammatory words were clearly swelling discontent, stoking embers of fear and distrust among the people into burning animosity. How much further would the lord inflame tensions before the city erupted?
"The kingdom grieves with these families."
"Not all are remorseful," Gwen continued. "That family was chased off by a mob, their daughter may be haunted forever for what she did. More tragedy will come." Bitterness oozed from each clipped word.
Arthur rose to pace, straining to keep his composure. Not even a fortnight since his decree and already such turmoil? So many tears and fears and hatreds roiled just below the surface, ready to explode at any spark.
And Gwen – how far away she seemed now, her words battering him mercilessly.
"People are frightened," Gwen said, her tone sharp. "They have concerns, real or imagined. They need your assurances."
Arthur recoiled as she pressed closer, demanding if he could stop an eruption. His heart twisted to hear contempt towards his life's central duty – protecting her, protecting Camelot.
"I'm prepared, Guinevere," he rasped, perhaps too defensively, too stridently. What choice did he have but to face unrest head on? Yet, crushing rebellions meant his men against his people, an unfavorable herald to start a golden age – he would not allow a stubborn lord to unravel all they were willing to sacrifice for Albion's future peace.
"Are you?" That same edge in her voice again laced her reprimand. "Many have reasons to be angry, not just Lord Badawi. Those of us who have lost loved ones falsely accused of sorcery."
Arthur inhaled, an old wound opening and bleeding out.
"Thomas."
He'd attempted to make amends by posthumously pardoning Gwen's father of the sorcery charges that had led to his death six years earlier. Yet, her pain was still fresh and raw.
"There are countless others like me, Arthur. How much torment and humiliation must I endure? If there can there be no justice for me, then grant me vengeance." Her shifting tones and rapid swings between bitterness, anguish, and retribution stunned Arthur.
She spun away, taking a few steps to put distance between them. "How can we possibly trust sorcerers?" she wept, visibly trembling. "Who knows if some of them are just as powerful as Morg…"
Morgana. Another delicate topic avoided by her in the waking hours.
Arthur stood inert, at a loss for words. A muscle feathered in his jaw as he grappled with his own buried atrocities – the men, women, and children that he'd executed – the innocent lives he'd ended. Though night terrors plagued him infrequently, he'd grown to accept them. Now he tried to learn from them and avoid the same mistakes. Torn by her tears, he advanced towards her.
Upon hearing the clink of his chain mail, Gwen stepped further away. He halted, and tugged at his bottom lip with his teeth, his hands on his hips. Her breathing quickened as she tried to rein in her tears and emotions.
The sight of her trembling form wrenched his heart. She looked every bit the doe ready to bolt, just as she had when Morgana's vile sorcery against her was uncovered. She had almost fled then, nearly slipping away to Longstead. Only his raw desperation had kept her in Camelot.
Now here they were, scarcely into their reign, and Arthur tasted the same haunting fear. The terror of her retreating into herself and disappearing from his side. He could not fail her. He must be the anchor keeping her from the dark abyss within.
"Guinevere," he said after another painful moment of silence. "Morgana can't hurt you ever again. I promise you: when this is all over, I will execute her myself. I will protect you."
He desperately wanted her to believe him, for what he promised was not an indulgence for her vengeance, but a balm to soothe it. He'd do the dirty work to keep her virtuous and pure for as long as he could.
Guinevere was silent for a long moment. When she spoke again, her voice was softer, lacking the venom of before.
"I did not truly mean it, what I said about wanting vengeance. I was overwrought with anger and pain. The thought of more bloodshed, of sinking to her level..." She trailed off, conflicted.
Arthur tempted another cautious step closer. "I know how the soul darkens when pain and sorrow are allowed to flourish, Guinevere. Please tell me what truly concerns you."
Gwen dabbed at her cheeks and turned to him, an embroidered handkerchief grasped tightly in her fist, now pressed against her stomach, eyes glossy with a veneer of poise veiling the turmoil behind them.
"With all that is happening, all that you must do, you have your own burdens to bear, Arthur. I don't want to distract you with mine." Her voice quivered, but her gaze remained steady.
One last gentle step forward and then he stood in front of her, his whole being aching with her. "I would worry less knowing that you are well. You're troubled and that troubles me."
"I don't want your pity, Arthur," she bit out, resentment glinting in her eyes. "No one can truly understand. Least of all you."
Her words pierced his heart, confirmed his fears that she still harbored some degree of blame toward him. By God, he hadn't fully absolved himself, so why should she? But as painful as it was, he reached for her and held her by the arms, his hands gently rubbing them. This time he would stop her retreat, would stand stalwart against the ghosts driving her toward the edge.
"All right, then. But you're not being fair to me." She lowered her gaze. "You're not giving me a chance. Look at me." Arthur gently tilted her chin to gaze into her eyes.
"If all I can do is listen and hold you in my arms, then that is what I will do. If you need to hurt me with words and recriminations, you have my permission for that, too. I'm here for you. You are not alone. You're safe now. We're not through this, Guinevere, until you are through it. Let me help you. Just tell me what can I do."
Guinevere held his gaze. After a moment, her anger melted away and she blinked back more tears.
"Oh, Arthur. I try to hide it, but I feel as if a part of me is dying." Wrapping her arms around him, she rested her head against his chest, her breathing slowing to the rhythm of his. "There's so much to unravel, so many threads that keep tangling across each other. One painful memory only leads to another. It's hard to reconcile my thoughts and feelings at times. How can I possibly explain them to you?"
Relieved at the morsel of trust she'd finally extended, Arthur's heart ached, both in sympathy and in guilt. He bore some responsibility for what she had suffered. If only he had been wiser, had seen the truth sooner, her pain would have been spared. He rocked her gently in his arms. They must move forward.
"Let's start with just one memory. Any one. We'll work through it. And when it's conquered, we'll move on to the next. However long it takes, we'll do it together."
As she nodded into his chest, Arthur rested a tentative hand on her head, fingers sinking into her soft brown locks. A simple gesture of comfort, yet intimacy bloomed anew each time they touched. And yet, in some moments of closeness, an invisible barrier lingered – her true self guarded against him and the world.
He yearned to reclaim the profound connection they once held. If baring her anguished soul was the only pathway back to her heart, he would walk it gladly. Even with the sins of his past poised to haunt them both.
With great care, Arthur smoothed back a strand of hair from her temple. No matter the pain still echoing, this felt like a first step - the beginning of banishing the ghosts driving them apart. One memory at a time.
"It isn't easy for me to share my problems with others," she said softly. "I've always been there for everyone else."
Always the rock when chaos swirled, Arthur mused. Even now, barely recovered from her own exile and agony, she stood stalwart as he grappled questions of magic and other blind spots with her. Shame prodded him now – that he had failed to shield her fully from the scourges of magic…and from himself. Not this time. He would help shoulder whatever ghosts haunted her.
"Listen to me, my love. Do not think you're not worth others taking care of you."
She afforded him a weak, but sincere smile as she nodded her head.
Arthur pecked her cheek and withdrew. He lifted Excalibur from the tabletop and buckled it around him. Guinevere pressed down her bodice and skirt with her hands, dried the last of her tears.
"We're late," she said, gathering her papers from his desktop, the tension seeming to slip like raindrops on rose petals, as if her previous outbursts had never surfaced.
"The king and queen are never late," he reminded her with a smile.
As Gwen attempted a faint smile and took his arm, Arthur felt his own mask settle into place. A public facade that barely concealed the churning worries within. Hers was a polished disguise as well – yet now he knew painful secrets lurked underneath.
Should he feel hope that she trusted him enough to expose those wounds? Or more troubled that she still refortified barriers against the outside world?
No, he resolved, what mattered most was the promise now blooming between them. He would slowly unravel the threads tangling her, stand steadfast despite old ghosts that may haunt them both. And each glimmer of the remarkable woman he loved would be enough to outshine the darkness.
Zahir's chaos still required immediate attention. But with Guinevere, Arthur could practice eternal patience. Their route may wind and shake, but he would walk it faithfully by her side.