Summary

As Arthur and Gwen wrestle with mistakes now come to light, turmoil swirls during Escetir's treaty violations negotiation.

Chapter 33 Brushstrokes Less Vibrant

The daybreak toll sounded, its melody bright and cheerful, the call for all to rise and begin the day. Awakened not too long ago, Arthur peered through his chamber windows, light shifting from dawn across the castle's cold stones. Its cheerless gleam matched his brooding countenance far more than the joyous morning bells. For him and few select, the morning heralded the beginning of his grand machinations, and failure was not an option.

But inner turmoil over his own behavior and iron-fisted commands prickled him more than his hopes for today's successes. Percival. Gwaine. Elyan. His inner circle hung precariously by a thin thread, tempers frayed, loyalties tested, bonds weakening.

He was brutally harsh with Gwaine day before yesterday, the conflict laid bare his own callous indifference to his friend's aching heart. Had Gwaine struck him, well—maybe he deserved it after the unkind words about Gwaine and his lady love, and for his unyielding order that forced Gwaine on the mission. And maybe, Arthur wondered, he could have sent another knight and spared the man the hard choice.

With Elyan, he did not know what to make of his confrontation with Gwen, but Arthur was well aware of his inner struggle. A poor excuse, but as it stood, he'd given Elyan distance, prioritizing other responsibilities over his needs and allowing the man's pain to fester unchecked until he lashed out at Gwen unjustly. He should have taken the time to speak to his brother – perhaps telling of shared experiences, ease some of the tension between them. Too late. It pained him to see Gwen hurting so, her tears unbound and uncomforted through the long night.

As he pressed two fingers to his temple, a disquieting thought took hold – had his single-minded pursuit of that unseen future driven a wedge between him and his most loyal knights? Had he simply pushed them too far?

But what else was he missing? And it's not just about them, is it? he ventured to think.

Calling under scrutiny his own honor, Arthur wondered if his questionable political maneuverings were worth losing integrity. Was his vision of the brighter future corrupting his life in the present, blotting his nobility and losing more luster when forged through compromise? Like an artist carried away on passions, had he resorted to darker paints for the grander purpose until the vibrancy of his humanity lay dulled? Like his father had become?

His eyes traced the faint outline cast by flickering candlelight, questioning the weary figure staring back. Doubts crept in like shadows lengthening across the room, and Arthur averted his gaze, disapproving of the man that stared back.

The rustle of blankets and swish of fabric signaled Gwen rising. A transient rush of joy spiraled through him, the promise of her warm embrace beckoning like a refuge from his troubles. But the moment passed fleetingly, Arthur's mind turning inward again – to the bonds with his men, frayed by his unyielding grip.

Percival's bedrock steadfastness, Gwaine's fiery heart, Elyan's ironclad courage – pillars upholding his quest, yet he now wondered at what cost. To sacrifice nobility, compassion, trust in pursuit of Camelot's unity and Albion's ascent, was this yearned-for dream worth hollowing out the loyalty his men once held for him?

And if not checked, could such prized assets ultimately undermine the foundation, turn into grave liabilities…?

Arthur refocused on his indistinct reflection. An unfamiliar, haunted specter gazed back – a reminder that failure to regain the higher path would leave him a husk of the leader he aimed to be.

The stillness suddenly enveloped him, Gwen's absence a deafening void where her reassuring presence should be. He strode to her side of the chambers to behind her changing screen, and beheld her seated silent, dark curls spilling over her shoulders as she brushed with listless strokes. The light in her eyes extinguished, her spirit dimmed – a shard of heartache pierced Arthur anew.

He moved to her side as she lifted glassy eyes in the mirror's reflection. Taking the brush gently, he gathered brown strands in his hands. "Talk to me, beloved," he whispered, stroking her hair, relishing the feel of its luster.

Gwen exhaled a shuddering breath. "I'm sorry, I..." Her voice trailed off, the words temporarily failing her. "I'm still trying to sort through it myself."

"Take what time you need," he replied gently, brushing slow strokes and pressing a caressing hand down her smooth, long hair. It had been some time since he'd last attended her like so, this simple gesture always a precious moment for him. "I'm here for you."

Her lips twitched into a frown, her distressed gaze dropping for a moment before looking upon his reflection. Still, she hesitated, water brimming on her lids. "I've seen rage like that only once before – in your eyes, Arthur."

Though her voice was gentle and without recrimination, Arthur's ministering hands froze as her tears spilled down her cheeks, a chill spiking cold guilt through him. Fury had gripped him when he'd confronted her about Lancelot. Shame gripped him now as he locked his stunned gaze with hers. A knot formed in his throat, his eyes stinging as he remembered the brushstrokes of condemnation he'd hurled against her. Gwen stood, relieved him of the brush and grasped his hands gently in hers.

"I mean no hurt, my love," she said tenderly, searching his eyes. Gwen's gaze pierced him, saw the shame burning there that he could not conceal. "And I shall never bring it up again."

His shoulders sagged slightly, unable to meet her compassionate gaze. The wound reopened, the regret of his actions towards the woman he loved most left him inwardly recoiling. Yet Gwen did not rebuke, only sought to make him understand through shared experience.

"But I needed you to see my point," she continued. "Confronting such fury slung with hate and cruelty... we cannot fully grasp how he's suffered."

Arthur blinked, his throat raw. "Having faced such anger before," he said remorsefully, "I know the power of painful emotions overwhelming reason."

"It goes beyond anguish, Arthur. It was noble of you to lift the ban against magic. But we were extremely naive to think that everything would be love, peace, and harmony because of it.i Some see it as… a betrayal."

Arthur rocked back, Gwen's words striking him like a physical blow. If what she was saying was true, then Camelot was falling apart – not because of lifting the ban – but because of completely ignoring the impact of decades of war and terror and entrenchment. To some, he had been a symbol for the fight against magicii – a prince in gleaming armor. And now, as king in armor cracked and stained, he was no more than the symbol of distrust and chaos, heralding woe for those who'd once believed in his crusade.

Arthur's vision blurred as the weight of Gwen's accusation settled over him. He spun away from her, raking his hair, lips thinning as he cursed his own ignorance. Gwen followed him, turned him gently back to her, forcing him with tenderness to hear words blatantly piercing, yet missing from the equation of his leadership skills. These biting blows – hard-hitting truth from Gwen – was what he had missed. How narrow his perspective!

"Elyan is the voice of many who still linger with pain and loss and violation. I do not know how we can reconcile with these broken souls." Gwen leaned into him, and Arthur caressed her gently. Despite her tremendous sorrow, Gwen's steady grace and wisdom by far exceeded his own… her incredibly powerful counsel… cutting right to the deepest, hidden deficit plaguing Camelot… borne of her own fresh and raw pain.

"I can't bear losing him, Arthur," she wept, her fists clutching his shirt. "I can't allow my faith in our ability to help him diminish."

Arthur swallowed hard, his thoughts racing for answers to comfort both Gwen and himself, her hair soft and smooth against his cheek. "Our resolve will not falter until we find a path to heal these deep wounds, my love." Yet even as he spoke, the emptiness of his promise turned to ash in his mouth. Like Gwen, he grappled with how to mend what decades of turmoil had torn. This was the true meaning behind Lord Badawi's criticisms – not condemning the crown itself, but the flawed principles it upheld.

Arthur buried his head further into Gwen's shoulder, eyes closed as the concurrent tensions of duty tightened around his chest like a constricting chain, never too far distant for long. Time too fleeting to restore all else rapidly unraveling... Escetir demanded urgent audience soon… Merlin and the harvest outcome unknown… George and Sefa likely right beyond their chamber doors awaiting entry. As for them, they both had their critical roles to play.

Arthur pulled a deep breath – reigned in his own anxiety as he'd been taught to do and then gazed upon her tenderly. He cupped her cheek, brushing a tender thumb across fragile skin belying formidable strength equaling his own.

"Can I trust my queen resilient on her throne despite these storms? Affairs relentlessly press us toward duty..."

"Of course, Arthur." She lifted her chin, sadness still upon her lovely features, but a spark returning to her hazel eyes. "Despite my broken heart, I am prepared, my king. It shall not interfere with my duty to our kingdom."

Pride and sorrow filled him, a small smile spreading across his lip. No doubt remained of her ability to reign alone during their personal crises. And yet, with so much to distill, he had not forgotten about her faint episode a few days ago – that concerned him still. Though in truth, he must believe her word and only she could explain her mysterious transformation into a joyous spirit no longer troubled by nightmares and sorcery. With duty's constant calling, that riddle must keep for now, and he yielded with a gentle kiss upon her forehead.

As they separated to their own sides of the chambers and the servants began their routines, Arthur realized clearly that he needed time away from this castle – and so did his queen, leadership's strain weighing upon them both. Perhaps soon he might find some means to whisk them away briefly... grant them both a moment of true respite.

Sir Bernewyn sat glowering as expected with the council, Arthur confidently at the head of the table, Merlin and knights assembled around him. Custom demanded emissaries be accorded every hospitality which his six days' delay had flouted, vexing the envoys. Compounding matters, provoking them further by forcing an encampment outside castle walls four nights was surely salt in diplomatic wounds. But with talks unexpected, strictures had loosened – hard bargains required hard leverage, and Arthur took some pleasure in flexing his might in response.

Now, he paid the envoy a cool gaze, raking him over with cultivated scrutiny, his own troubles neatly secured behind a barrier of fortitude. "I trust your accommodations here in the castle were adequate, Sir Bernewyn."

The emissary hesitated a moment as he considered his response, dark eyes boring into Arthur. "Your treatment of a messenger on a diplomatic mission is unworthy of a king," Bernewyn retorted, indignation dripping on every word.

Arthur scoffed lightly – not a careful consideration, but he would allow some leeway on this matter. "It couldn't be helped, my lord, considering your timing for unexpected negotiations," he evenly reminded, holding the man's glare. "Surely, your king was aware of my wife's coronation?"

Instinct had whispered that Lot deliberately timed grievances for maximum disruption of a sanctioned coronation, spurring Arthur's play to postpone until after. Perhaps, not a wise move, but by Bernewyn's lips slightly twisted into a subtle half smile, he harbored no doubts about having done so.

"Nonetheless, Sir Bernewyn," Arthur ceded, knowing what must be extended to the emissary for protocol's sake, "the crown apologizes for its treatment of you and your party—however justified they were under the circumstances."

Bernewyn's jaw twitched at Arthur's half admission of fault, but accepted it with a stiff tilt of his head. "Your majesty," he replied, squaring his shoulders. "As for our terms, your response is much anticipated."

"Your terms have pushed the boundaries of acceptability," Arthur replied smoothly. "They are extreme, excessive. You may inform your king that the sovereign of Camelot refuses to relinquish the Forest of Ascetir. The forest—"

"King Lot will broker no—"

Arthur leaned forward, silencing Bernewyn with a hard, disapproving glare. His patience for the envoy's affronts had worn thin during their initial negotiations when presenting Lot's unconscionable terms – that allotment of grace had now expired. The rustle of his tunic punctuated his movements as Excalibur thrummed against his thigh.

"I'm unfamiliar with how you address your sovereign, but in my court, such interruptions of the king will not be permitted. You will not do so again, Sir Bernewyn. Are we understood?'

A shadow of intimidation crossed the man's features before his pride reared again, yet he reluctantly lowered his gaze and replied, "Yes, your majesty."

Arthur leaned back in his chair to allow his words to settle upon the chambers, but time was fleeting and Merlin's deed would soon unfold before the city – another urgent matter that required this meeting to end and these men sent swiftly on their way. He knitted his hands in front of him before he spoke.

"With the Forest of Ascetir as non-negotiable, we will meet King Lot's gold demand of 10,000 pieces, and generously offer an additional 5,000 pieces and 5,000 pieces of silver. Camelot is also prepared to cede control of the Balor region – 25 leagues north to south from the southern border of the Forest of Balor to the southern border of Camelot; and twelve leagues west to east to the western border marked by River Lothlaurë."

Bernewyn's eyes had narrowed as he took in the counter-offer, staring with suspicion at Arthur. Drawing the man's attention, however, Escetir's advisors unrolled a few maps, comparing them, pointing, speaking in hushed tones – "no forest coverage", "limited water access", "smaller concession". But Bernewyn raised discerning eyes to Arthur.

"The inhabitants of this—much smaller territory – how many settlements do you estimate?"

Arthur hummed softly, the hairs on his neck prickling. Bernewyn was giving this counter-offer legitimately serious thought despite the disadvantages pointed out by his advisors. Would Lot also see value in this territory? But this worried him. He'd anticipated stronger opposition. His counter-offer was certainly unpalatable compared to what they had sought. Arthur nodded to Geoffrey.

"There's one modest village near the river trade route," Geoffrey said, scanning a parchment. "Two to three tiny hamlets – likely tribal or transient – and approximately five to eight isolated homesteads and small farms. We estimate a population of about five hundred citizens."

"What happens to these five hundred citizens if taken under serious consideration?"

Arthur replied, "The people would be given the choice to voluntarily move elsewhere within Camelot before formal transfer or they are allowed to stay on the land under new rule and pledge allegiance to the new kingdom – provided there is a six-month grace period for the villagers to decide if they want to pledge loyalty and continue living on that land under Escetir's rule or if they prefer, they can voluntarily leave during those six months and migrate farther inland to remain under Camelot's jurisdiction."

Bernewyn considered this for a moment, his eyes dropping in concentration as they roamed over the maps. Then one of his advisors leaned in, whispered something to which Bernewyn nodded.

"Is that all you have to offer, King Arthur?"

He fought the urge to scowl, but Arthur kept his expression stoic as he reclined again, an arm dropping into his lap. The council had debated a conciliatory offer of one hundred precious gemstones annually lasting ten years as tribute. He'd summarily dismissed this recommendation not wanting to overcommit resources to an antagonistic kingdom. But he judiciously chose the needed middle and reduced the annual tribute to only five years – if it became a necessary negotiation tool.

With restrained reluctance, Arthur replied, "Camelot graciously offers as annual tribute one hundred precious gemstones to the king of Escetir not to exceed five years." Arthur's fist curled under the table, his nails biting into flesh.

"These are gracious offerings indeed – fine gems, new land and filled coffers. Yet still Escetir Forest remains the ultimate treasure of value to my king."

"That is a lost cause, Sir Bernewyn," Arthur replied tightly. "The offered territory is a strategic location that still expands you king's holdings."

"While keeping us distance from Camelot's central lands." Bernewyn's challenge struck true, and Arthur barely veiled a small knowing smile.

Bernewyn's mouth furled, his eyes narrowing with contempt. "You know as well as I that land is also surrounded on two fronts – three if including your ally in the south, Nemeth. I tell you now, King Arthur, you risk open conflict by refusing –"

The sudden peal of the tower bells interrupted Bernewyn's gritted rebuttal, all head perking up to listen. Some of Arthur's knights glanced around in confusion, hands drifting to sword hilts.

Arthur hitched a silent breath, his shoulders rising only a little as Merlin took a few steps forward to stand beside his throne chair. The joyous tone paused between euphoric ringing – just as expected, but he'd taken too long. Arthur's jaw tensed. Had his unbending pride slowed these vital negotiations needlessly? Or Sir Bernewyn's, for that matter?

"The victory bell," said Geoffrey, the bulky man shifting in his seat, hushed whispers spreading and the click of chainmail, rustle of clothing, shuffling of feet filling the room. Arthur's heart pumped to the beat of the bells and Merlin's unease practically seeped into his space. Shoulders rigid, he stood, his chair scrapping against the floor.

"Good news, perhaps," said Lord Godfrey, rising with the other councilors. "What, pray tell, has happened?"

"We'll find out soon enough." Arthur straightened his belt, Excalibur humming at his side. He eyed Bernewyn, focusing again on the unwanted visitors. "Lord Geoffrey, my terms."

Geoffrey passed Arthur a sealed scroll, the parchment crinkling from hand to hand, bearing demands that, unmet, promised to reignite long-simmering hostilities with Escetir's forces.

"I shall relay your terms to King Lot directly," Bernewyn replied tightly. "But know your refusal may kindle calls for war among my countrymen."

Arthur's jaw clenched at Bernewyn's obstinance. Twice he had defended Ealdor and its people from violence and ruin, yet Escetir's emissaries acted as if such deeds meant nothing in their self-serving quest for his valuable territory.

He pierced Bernewyn with a hard, lingering gaze at the thinly veiled threat before speaking to his first knight. "Sir Percival, prepare Sir Bernewyn and his party for departure. I want them on their way back to their lands. Immediately."

Arthur extended the scroll, the weight of the tightly furled parchment belying the monumental consequences it could unleash. "Take my generous conditions to your king," he said, his voice taut with authority, "and council him wisely. You do not want the might of Camelot and our allies to fall upon you."

Bernewyn tilted his head as he accepted the parchment, but leveled Arthur with an equally stern stare. "We too have allies, King Arthur. If you think my sovereign will easily abandon rich timberlands despite your generous counter, you are gravely mistaken."

Arthur's insides churned with foreboding as they locked gazes. For a fleeting moment, he saw the ember of Escetir's fury smoldering behind Bernewyn's eyes – a promise this was not ended.

"By your leave... your highness." The honorific dripped scorn, and Arthur gave the barest nod of dismissal.

Cape swirling violently, Bernewyn pivoted on his heels and fell in behind Percival and his knights, his boots echoing his haunting threat, his advisors stiffly following. Arthur's gaze lingered on the parchment clutched in Bernewyn's hand – that solitary scroll now a definitive line drawn in the sand, a harbinger of conflict that could sow the seeds of greater unrest to come.

His hand gripped Excalibur's hilt tightly, the familiar heft of his sword offering little comfort. He was risking far more than just conflict – painting darker brushstrokes that could engulf the kingdoms in war's terrible blaze. Should he have extended more concessions? Or negotiated for partial control over the forest? Were there other options he'd overlooked? With so many decisions ensnaring, he suddenly felt strangled by uncertainty.

With a sweeping glance across the hall, Arthur met the eyes of those awaiting his next move. He reigned in his swirling emotions, refusing to betray even a tremor in the wake of this hostility. Something grander had unfolded and he could not falter now.

"To the throne room, gentleman," he stated, jaw flexing as he turned for the doors. "The queen awaits us there."

i The exquisite words in this sentence and the sentence before were provided by AndreKI in a private email, February 13, 2024.

ii Most of the magical opening of this paragraph was provided by AndreKI in a private email (embellished and paraphrased slightly), February 13, 2024. Thank you so much for a succinct and impactful summary for both Gwen and Arthur on what's wrong with Camelot.