Summary

Wrestling with guilt after hurting Yaminah, Gwaine is commanded on a ten-day mission by Arthur, his objections overruled by appeals to logic and duty.

Chapter 24 War of Duty and Destiny

Al-Sayyidah Yaminah Zahir had granted him one delightful waltz at the queen's celebration, and though wounded thereafter denied, he gallantly bid her fair evening with a tender kiss on her hand, then retreated from the hall as far as he could to resist the pull drawing him back. He searched for her the next day, however, before the tourney's sword fighting competition. Finding her in the stands and enticing her playfully for a favor had spurred his victory and another fond smile from her.

Joyfully, she'd permitted her champion a stroll afterwards – though her chaperones never too far away. Yet, the heavenly moments he shared with her, conversing things of import and trivial, wandering with no destination in mind, had awakened a hope he thought unattainable by him. Every word out of her mouth stimulated his senses, her knowledge of things, her innocence of others, deepened his understanding of her.

Each look upon her roused feelings that Gwaine was sure he'd never felt. It was not just her great beauty, but the twin soul beneath it longing for the same deep connection as he. Blinded by affection, he stood poised to plunge from the edge of the pit he kept digging. He'd known the follies of passion oft before, yet for her, this leap tempted profoundly – consequences be damned. Already she'd utterly bewitched him.

And unless his deluded heart misread flashes of want in her eyes, he'd imprinted upon the lady too... stirring affections laid dormant yet masked behind elegant defenses.

The evening drew late as they lingered over their last goblets, tucked away in a quiet tavern corner. Her hazel eyes glittered in the candlelight as Gwaine spoke sweet parting words and pressed another chaste kiss to her hand. She gifted him a final enigmatic smile that seared into memory before gliding away into the evening mists.

But at dawn today, the hope they'd ignited was extinguished in a single, anguished act carried out by him and his knightly comrades. Though his effort to be relieved had been rejected straightway, his shame still burned fresh from the arrest. Yaminah's anguished pain had pierced like arrows, he unable to move nor utter a word to comfort her, duty to Arthur holding him fast – and a strong arm of Percival halting his one feeble attempt. A fool and a coward. Could she ever forgive him?

Reassuring her father that he'd watch over her – giving his solemn vow – had not eased his conscience for his actions. At first, the ten-day journey had been a welcomed mission and he'd looked forward to a little adventure. But since meeting Yaminah and his foul deed this morning, how could he keep his newly-sworn avowal to her father so far away from her and for so long a time?

Yet, she would not receive him after returning from the dungeon, his futile efforts blocked by servants and a hard, wooden door. The fool who squandered trust so swiftly won ignored. Had he lost her already without ever having the chance to truly love her as his heart silently pleaded?

Now, as guards spread the doors to the lesser hall, he and Fredrick marched in, his frown deeper than ever. Arthur was seated at the head of the table surrounded by councilmen, the king's sleeves rolled to elbows, George dutifully several paces behind him, silver pitcher in hands. Parchment and maps covered the tabletop, something in front of every man, including the king. He and Fredrick stopped a respectable distance before them and awaited their orders.

"That's less than half the territory Lot demanded," Arthur was saying. "Less richer lands."

Lord Gregory nodded. "Indeed, and we'll have to resettle a few villages, towns –"

Arthur shot a glance to Geoffrey. "How many and which settlements?"

"Um… one moment, sire," Geoffrey replied with a grunt, sifting through his parchments.

"Brecfeld, Alvedon," Gregory recited tightly some of the larger settlements. "Ancroft – to name a few."

"About eight villages and towns, sire," came Geoffrey's firm response.

The room grew silent, but Gwaine's racing thoughts had drifted inward long before.

Damn fool, Gwaine. Fool! Idiot! …

Yaminah – gods, your anguished face haunts me… what must I do to give solace…?

Arthur demands, Yaminah grieves. Fealty severs my heart's compass…

Damn quest! Maybe Arthur?... Yaminah waits…

Yaminah… Yaminah… what price would heaven demand—?

"Thank you both for undertaking this urgent task for me," Arthur said, cutting through the emotions swelling and suddenly standing in front of them.

Gwaine shifted uncomfortably having not seen Arthur leave his chair nor advance to speak privately to them.

"We're here to serve, my lord," Fredrick promptly replied.

"There's a young woman whom Guinevere befriended when she lived in Longstead," Arthur continued. "I want you to escort her safely back to Camelot."

"Sire?" Gwaine shuffled his stance again. Displeasure simmered his already roiling emotions. Were his skills now relegated to accompanying travelers?

"Mistress Jacinth?" asked Fredrick. "I remember her. Frail, but strong-willed. Gwen was quite fond of her."

Arthur nodded. "Gwen needs friendship from one who understands burdens shouldered in common. Who can nourish her spirit as only women together might. Perspectives I regrettably lack – though strive each day to remedy."

"A friend from darker times may well offer some light to the queen now," said Fredrick agreeably. "I look forward to seeing her again as well."

"Arthur –" Gwaine said tightly, hairs prickling his skull.

"Travel swiftly but discreetly," Arthur continued. "She's important, men."

Gwaine's lips twitched, his cheeks burned. As much as he recognized Gwen's need for female support and companionship, any knight could carry out this mission. Departing now meant abandoning all hope of keeping his vow and making amends with Yaminah – something far more urgent to him right now.

"I leave my queen under your protection, King Arthur," Fredrick said with a bow. "Rest assured; we'll deliver Mistress Jacinth safely to Camelot."

Arthur nodded. "Make haste. I want you back sooner than a crow flies. Much is happening in the days ahead, and I need you both here."

Fredrick turned to go, but Gwaine wavered as he swallowed conflict of duty and affection. "Sire, allow me to remain while another is sent."

Arthur shook his head. "Your duty lies where I command it, Gwaine, without question or qualm. Your courageous skills are required for this task."

"Any other knight, Arthur, but not me. Lord Badawi's family – the Lady Yaminah..." his voice trailed off awkwardly, his body swayed in its rigidity.

Comprehension dawned on Arthur's face before his lips thinned, a tempest brewing in his blue eyes. He turned away with controlled effort.

"Gentlemen," he said tightly to the councilmen. "I need the hall. Please wait outside." He nodded to his servant and George promptly streamed into the flow of the other men. Arthur turned back to them. "You too, Fredrick."

The doors closed sharply. After a moment of taut silence, Arthur approached him, each step radiating contained rage. "Are you mad?" he demanded through a rigid jaw, his eyes blazing hot.

"I made a vow to protect her in Lord Badawi's stead."

Arthur blinked, taken aback. Then his face mottled red in outrage. "You swore an oath to a traitor – a man you knew a threat to this kingdom's stability?!"

"A father begged solace for his child!" Gwaine shot back. "What would you have done?"

Arthur averted his eyes briefly, anger and disappointment at war in them. He glared at Gwaine – his wrath reigning and his voice rising in fury. "I would have you walk away under the circumstances! Gwaine, could you not see the problems you've courted?!"

"I gave my word!" he replied equally. "And you know nothing of my heart!"

"I know you let passion cloud reason – fleeting like always!" Arthur stepped too close, provoking him. "Would you forsake your vow to me over a maiden's glance?! Is she so different than any of the others?!"

Gwaine grabbed a fistful of Arthur's shirt, wrenching him near. Arthur's livid eyes met his unflinchingly – a dare through gritted teeth as his own rage boiled. Yet he dared disparage his lady's honor! Every muscle screamed to teach this arrogant boy a few lessons in compassion and humility. His grip tightened.

Then he blinked; the red haze passed. This was Princess – his friend and liege lord for all their quarrels. And he'd made one foolish move – he didn't want to make another.

Breathing harshly, Gwaine uncurled his aching fists and stepped back. "She's nothing you claim," he rasped. "And it seems neither are you…." Arthur's hard glare turned into a bitter pout before his features eased into an uncomfortable victory.

"I'll depart at once, King Arthur," Gwaine said tightly. He pivoted sharply, biting back a curse, words ineffective against the king's cold indifference.

"Gwaine," Arthur beckoned, sympathy and authority battling in his tone. "I'm sorry."

He stopped, considered not facing him, but turned around reluctantly.

"Make this one for Guinevere," the king appealed, "then return to your lady."

Gwaine's chest tightened as his heart splintered, eyes burning behind his lids. "Damn you, Arthur," he said, his curse throaty, his glower unforgiving.

He left without dismissal, the bitter taste of obedience clinging, disappointment churning his gut and fury burning his blood. Clenched fists matched his clipped angry steps echoing down halls now cold and lifeless.

This abrupt departure gnawed as dereliction of duty to Lord Badawi and Lady Yaminah – nearly a fortnight away from her. Though if honest, a sliver of craven relief yielded escape from the anguish in her eyes.

But only a sliver. Relief was the coward's way. Swallowing his resentment of Arthur and despair over departing, Gwaine hardened his resolve – Gwen first, then mending what he could with Yaminah.