Summary
In the aftermath of a heated confrontation with her brother Elyan, Gwen wrestles with the profound pain of his rejection and the realization that his resentment towards magic has driven an irreparable wedge between them.
Chapter 31 Tears of a Queen
Gwen raced from the garrison armory, her composure unraveling with each sharp click of her heels against the stone floor. She blinked back the sting of hot tears threatening to spill down her cheeks, but the anguish swelled regardless, a tidal wave of emotion crashing against the crumbling walls of her self-control. The air felt suffocating, pressing against her skin like a tangible thing, making each breath a struggle. Percival's tentative footsteps shadowed her swift exit, the soft scuff of his boots a muted counterpoint to the pounding of her pulse, despite his towering height.
"We… we heard shouting – Elyan…" he began, his words trailing off as he fell into step beside her.
"Indeed," she responded, steel underlining the quaver in her voice, her words echoing off the cold, unyielding walls. "The voice of fury." The narrow corridors seemed to close in around her, the shadows deepening with each step, mirroring the growing angst within her. She kept her gaze fixed ahead, her chin high, a queen's mask firmly in place, even as her spirit was crushed by the depth of her brother's rage and rejection.
As much as her instincts steered her towards Arthur right now, he was deeply immersed with lords and advisors concerning Escetir's treaty – a matter far more pressing than a family quarrel. And she preferred not to flee to him every time she faced controversy, her independence a cloak she wore with pride. But this was more than a mere disagreement between sister and brother, wasn't it? Elyan's hurtful words sank into her like icy daggers, piercing and inescapable.
In the main square, Gwen halted her hurried steps, the abrupt stillness a sharp divergence from the chaos within her. She pulled in deep breaths of the crisp evening air, the coolness soothing her flushed cheeks and stinging her eyes. The lively chatter of townspeople mingled with the clank of armor and weaponry as soldiers and knights hurried about their duties. Servants scurried to and fro, their arms laden with baskets and parcels, while the clipped clop of horses' hooves on the cobblestones punctuated the air. Each sound was distinct and penetrating, a vivid reminder of life's persistent rhythm.
Pressing a hand to her stomach, she watched the dusk shadows crawling steadily across the weathered castle stone, their elongated forms stretching like ink spilled across parchment. How she envied their silent, tranquil march – unlike her thoughts that roiled without such calm conviction. And what dark hues might her brother's turmoil cast upon the bleak night ahead? The question hovered in the darkening sky, as oppressive as gathering storm clouds.
She glanced at Percival, her vision blurring slightly as tears threatened to resurface. Emotions raged within her like a tempest, thoughts whirling in a relentless flurry – her brother was in trouble, and the realization sat like a stone in her gut. "I need time alone. Please return to your men, Sir Percival," she managed, her voice barely above a whisper. "Thank you for accompanying me tonight."
He quickly stepped forward before she could turn, his chain mail clanking softly with the movement, his enormous height and bulk leaning towards her. "Gwen…" he said, his voice low and earnest. He cleared his throat. "Please… allow me to remain at your side… at least until Arthur concludes the council."
Gwen pressed her lips together a thin line of restraint, and glanced at him, appreciating his steadfast protectiveness in Arthur's and Fredrick's absences. But clarity came in solitude, a precious gem hidden in the depths of silence, and she could not find that amid servants hovering about, their well-meaning presence a constant hum against her frayed nerves. "That could take some time, Percival; and I'm sure you're needed elsewhere," she replied, her words measured and firm. "I insist. Please take your leave. I'll be alright."
She didn't wait for further protests, striding towards the citadel steps with her spine straight as an arrow and hands clasped securely in front of her – to conceal their trembling. The cool evening breeze whispered against her skin, its gentle caress a fleeting solace amidst the upheaval in her mind, rustling the loose tendrils of her hair. Percival suddenly appeared just to her right again, his presence a silent shadow at the edge of her vision. Gwen stopped and faced him, irritation simmering beneath her skin like a fever.
"I'll see you safely to your chambers then," said Percival gently, his clear blue eyes soft with understanding. "And I insist, my queen."
Gwen sighed heavily. "Very well," she conceded begrudgingly, resuming her path toward the keep. She tilted her head back to meet his gaze, his towering frame making her feel small and vulnerable. "Since I can't rid myself of you, tell me about Elyan. What have you observed?"
Percival cleared his throat, his gentle voice carrying a note of concern as servants and nobles alike parted to give them space, bowing their heads respectfully as they passed. "Elyan has been distant and withdrawn, even more so than usual," he began, his tone laced with worry. "He's been quick to anger, lashing out at the other knights, showing excessive ferocity during training sessions. Just yesterday, he nearly came to blows with Sir Geraint over a minor disagreement. It pains me to see him so lost, so far from our path."
Gwen listened intently, her brow furrowing with trepidation as Percival continued. "He's also been neglecting some of his duties, arriving late for his shifts once or twice. I've had to cover for him on several occasions, and – well, the other knights are starting to notice."
As they climbed a winding staircase, Percival's chain mail clinked softly with each step, the sound mingling with the distant chatter of castle life. "I've tried to talk to him, but he brushes me off or changes the subject," he admitted, his broad shoulders sagging slightly. "I'm worried about him, Gwen. He's not himself – not since Merlin revealed his magic. It's gotten worse since Arthur repealed the ban on magic. I fear that if we don't intervene soon, he may do something rash."
"What can we do, Percival?" she asked, her voice distant, Percival's words settling like a tombstone upon her spirit. "We've tried talking. What's left?" She knew Elyan was struggling, but hearing the scope of his difficulties from his commander made it all the more real. Elyan had avoided her except when duty forced them together, and then afterwards, he'd depart abruptly without saying a word to her. Why hadn't she done something sooner? "Relieve him of duty for a fortnight – give him some space. There's venom in his bite if you get too close."
Percival nodded, his fair features clouded with unease, his blond hair catching the flickering torchlight as he climbed the stairs behind her. "Leon's recommendation as well. I'll start working on the order right away." His broad shoulders seemed to fill the narrow stairwell, and he had to duck under the arches as they landed upon level three.
They walked through the candlelit corridors, their footsteps echoing off the stone walls, Gwen's thoughts drifting to her need to be left alone as well. Sefa, her new handmaiden, was likely already in the royal chambers, the gentle druid preparing her nightly rituals with diligence. But the thought of Sefa's lingering presence, her well-meaning attentions smothering her need for solitude, made Gwen's stomach churn as they entered the turret to continue the climb up.
She needed time to process her emotions, to come to terms with the harsh reality of her brother's pain. The last thing she wanted was to be coddled or fussed over, no matter how well-intentioned the servant's efforts might be. The narrow stairwell felt increasingly confining as they ascended, her anxieties seeming to wrap around her like a shroud, inhibiting her breath and clouding her thoughts.
True to his word, Percival escorted her to the royal chambers and promptly left once she was safely inside with Sefa. Gwen roamed about the lavish space, allowing her maidservant's activities to distract her from the raging emotions, but the fire glow and flickering candles in the almost eerie atmosphere didn't help soothe Gwen's disquieting mood.
Sefa carefully arranged the silver cutlery for her meal, the soft clink of metal against the silver plate a melodic accompaniment to the aroma of freshly cooked food filling the chambers. She then gathered Gwen's nightgown and organized her hygiene articles for use before bedtime, Sefa's delicate hands moving with practiced and careful efficiency. Gwen was pleased with her services, the young woman's sweet countenance and gentle smile making it easy to forgive any early missteps.
Sefa finally finished her tasks, serving supper as Gwen sat at the table – her normal spot at Arthur's right elbow, the empty chair beside her a chilly reminder of his absence. So many long hours apart since Escetir's envoy's arrival, and she missed him so, yearning for his comforting presence. Gwen dipped her hands in the cleaning bowl that Sefa held, the cool water refreshing against her skin, and then dried them before taking another cloth to spread across her lap.
"Is there anything else, my queen?" Sefa asked, her voice soft and respectful.
"No. Thank you," Gwen replied, her smile genuine but tinged with weariness. "You may leave. Fair evening to you, Sefa." The words sat uncomfortably on her lips, a dismissal that promised the solitude she craved however, even as a part of her longed for the succor of Arthur's embrace.
Sefa hesitated, confusion etched on her face as she shuffled her feet, twisting her fingers with nervous tension. She and George usually waited upon them during the meals and then cleaned up afterwards, and this alteration in routine obviously perplexed her.
Gwen looked at her and exhaled a quiet breath, then glanced at the food on the table. She always ate light meals and preferred smaller portions be prepared to minimize waste. Still, what wasn't eaten and left out would spoil instead of being returned to the kitchens to be consumed by them or any others in need of sustenance.
"Please wait in the antechamber," Gwen finally said. "You may clear this a little later."
She curtsied. "Yes, your majesty." Quickly retreating to one of the smaller rooms designed for the servants' convenience, the swish of her skirts and click of her heels receded, providing Gwen with the tranquility she'd desperately been seeking.
She nibbled on her meal, her mind floating back to the harrowing encounter with Elyan, the memory of his furious words and tormented face imprinted into her thoughts like a searing brand. Each bite of food was ponderous, the rich flavors marred by the bitter realization that her own brother had marked her as an enemy.
Gwen pressed a trembling hand to her mouth, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she fought to steady her racing heart. He clearly blamed her and Arthur for his scars, despite neither of them being ever aware of such a notion. Her brother – flesh of her flesh – had disowned her as blood. Elyan's pain and anger rested upon her shoulders like a leaden cloak, dragging her down into a mire of despair. Could anything bring him back from the brink of his hatred, or had she truly lost him to the darkness that consumed his soul?
As she reached for another morsel, Gwen's fingers shook, the silver cutlery clattering against the gleaming plate. The sound echoed in the stillness of the room, a discordant note jarring her nerves. Elyan's distrust and resentment towards magic had always simmered beneath the surface, but now it boiled over, scalding everyone in its path. Surely others shared the same deep and dark feelings – for she had, not too long ago – and not everyone reaped the benefit of magic curing them, nor would some of them want it, she wagered. Had she lost him? Gwen's blood ran cold, frosty tendril stretching across her skull, through her body. Could he be trusted with their secrets now?
Her gaze drifted to her flat belly, her hand instinctively coming to rest upon the soft fabric of her gown. The life growing within her, a child born of magic, seemed suddenly fragile and vulnerable in the face of Elyan's rage. Would he look upon this innocent babe with the same harsh judgment he now cast upon her and Arthur? His angry shouts, the shattered look marring his face as he roared condemnations at her whispered that he would. The thought made her chest constrict, the room suddenly feeling oppressive and stifling despite the warmth of the fire.
What must she do? What could any of them do?
Unable to eat any further and rising from the table, Gwen made her way behind the changing screen, her movements slow, exhaustion dragging at her limbs. She stripped away the day's clothing, each layer feeling like a weight lifted from her weary body. The cool water of the washing basin provided a momentary respite, the gentle splash of liquid against her skin a soothing balm to her frayed nerves.
She slipped into her nightgown, the soft fabric whispering against her skin. Her thoughts continued to churn as she performed her nightly ablutions, routines she could accomplish without conscious thought, her hands moving through the motions while her mind raced. What could she do to bridge the chasm that now divided her family? How could she protect her unborn child from the storm that was surely brewing on the horizon? The questions swirled in her mind, a relentless tide that threatened to pull her under.
With a deep sigh, Gwen emerged from behind the screen, the flickering lights casting a glow across the luxurious chambers. She made her way to the bed, the plush mattress and soft sheets a welcome embrace after the trials of the day. As she lay down, her head sinking into the feather pillow, Gwen closed her eyes, willing sleep to come and grant her a momentary escape from the troubles that plagued her waking hours.
She drifted into a restless slumber, only to be woken by the dip of the mattress beside her – Arthur joining her. Through sleep-laden slits, she watched him attempt to settle without disturbing or jarring movements, his body radiating a calming warmth as he carefully adjusted the blankets around them. It was only then that he noticed she was staring, her eyes glinting in the soft fire glow.
He smiled sheepishly, shifting further down to be eye to eye with her, both lying on their sides. The warmth of his breath mingled with hers as he spoke, his voice a soft whisper in the stillness of the night. "Apologies for the late hour, beloved," he said, his words a gentle caress for her burdened soul.
Arthur looked deeper at her when she didn't respond, his smile fading like a candle flame extinguished by a gentle breeze. A tender thumb, hardened but smooth, brushed away the moisture from the corner of her eyes, tears only he was allowed to see. "What's happened, Guinevere?" he asked, his brow furrowed with concern, his lips drawn into a thin frown.
"Elyan refuses my counsel," she replied softly, her voice breaking over the bitter memory flooding back, the words leaving a sour taste on her tongue. "He blames us all for what he suffered." Her throat tightened, each word a struggle to push past the lump that had formed there, her breathing growing labored with the depths of her brother's rejection. Each tremulous word was punctured with heartache and disbelief as Arthur's expression shifted from concern to shock, his eyes widening and then narrowing in the dim light of the room, his brow furrowing as he grasped the severity of her words.
"I'm certain my brother is lost to me," Gwen whispered, her voice barely audible, the admission a rugged shard lodged between her breasts, cutting deeper with each breath.
"No, Gwen," he said gently, his voice trying to balm the jagged edges of her anguish. Gently shifting his weight, Arthur pulled her into his arms, and like a river unleashed from a shattered dam, tears began to flow freely in the comfort and strength of his embrace. "I cannot believe that to be so."
"It is so." Certain of this truth, Gwen shivered, her body suddenly quaking with the tumult of heartbreak and dread tearing her asunder. Wracking sobs tore through her at last as the horrific encounter crashed over her anew, each wave of memory more brutal than the last.
Arthur's breath whispered in her hair, his chest heaving and arms tightening his hold. She felt his body stiffen, his muscles tensing as he drew her closer, his legs intertwining with hers as if to anchor her against the maelstrom of her grief. His heartbeat thundered against her cheek, a frantic rhythm that echoed her own. "Guinevere..." His voice was filled with alarm, the sound vibrating through his chest and into her very bones.
"You did not hear him," she gasped, her words punctuated by ragged breaths. "Resentment deeper than any crevasse – the torment and rage – his cruelty." The bleak void in Elyan's eyes, a yawning abyss of anger and pain, hinted that their filial bond was already dust, scattered to the unforgiving winds. "I was frightened, Arthur. I felt threatened for the first time in my life by my own brother."
Arthur's embrace strengthened around her, his strong arms a fortress against the onslaught of her despair. He caressed her curls, his fingers gentle and reassuring as her tears stained his linen, each drop a bitter testament to her grief. "I'm sorry, Guinevere. I'm so sorry, my love," he murmured, his words a fervent prayer against the darkness that engulfed her. "I'm here. I'm sorry."
He offered no other words to her, for were there any he could say to salve such a profound severing? Gwen despaired, the realization constricting her heart like a coiling serpent, each beat a struggle against its tightening grip. Yet she clung to Arthur, his anchoring strength the only lifeline in the tempestuous sea of her sorrow. He weathered the raging storms of her grief through the long night with her, an unwavering beacon in the dark hour.