It was late morning and the bright sun was gleaming through the windows. There were already servants teaming through the corridors and sweeping through the castle going about their errands and cleaning up after last night’s festivities.
Guinevere looked around her. She was lying in a large four-poster bed that sat against the wall. There were two large wooden doors opposite her, and to her right a wall of windows. Two of them were open blowing out a sheer stream of white material and a cool breeze that swept over her skin. She lay where she was for a few moments just resting her eyes and breathing in the scents around her, and then slowly sat up.
After a few hours at the feast the night before, the Prince had offered her and Jay rooms in the castle so they wouldn’t have to journey to the inn at that late hour. The room she had been given was rather pretty actually.
The stone walls were a very pale white that reminded her of a beach and it was a very open space. There were dressers and cabinets around the room but she didn’t look in any of them, nothing of hers had been brought over.
On her left there was a small table and two chairs, draped over one of them was new dress that one of the servants had gotten for her to change into.
There were a few mirrors on the dressers and hung on the walls, and the same sheer material around the windows hung from the bed creating a cocoon of chiffon, soft as the clouds.
Slowly she walked over to the window. She wasn’t hung over, because she didn’t drink. Her governess who used to travel with her had never let her drink, not even with dinner and since she was a child had been told stories of drunks and how easy it was to become consumed by alcohol. She was however exhausted, Jay and herself had been traveling for a long time and she was on her feet for about 4 hours at the feast the night before in 5-inch heels. She was now feeling soreness in her calves and her legs felt as heavy as lead.
Under the window was a little window seat padded with cushions and a fur throw. She lowered herself into it and leaned back into the wall, feet up on the seat, staring out of the open window and letting the light wind caress her face.
Outside there were dozens of people in the courtyard. Some were saddling horses and others were just walking though. It was very simple to just watch people and not think. All the sounds wafting up to her were like whispers hushing her into relaxation. Camelot was so safe, a haven. In Camelot she could just pretend she was a normal girl turning 18, with a normal family, staying in bed till the late morning.
But Guinevere wasn’t a normal girl turning 18, with a normal family, staying in bed till the late morning. Her father was knight of Camelot, her mother died when she was 8 years old and only a few people knew the truth of her death; unfortunately she was one of them. She had been sent to live with her governess and travel Europe by her father who couldn’t bear to look after her without his wife. And then someone had tried to kill her, and she didn’t know why.
Just then a little knock on the door startled her out of her trance and a small brown head popped round it. The woman was plump and a little taller than herself. She had mousy brown hair, hazel eyes, and there were creases all around her eyes and mouth. She wasn’t a crone, but she was motherly.
Guinevere studied the woman for a few more seconds and then her face lit up. All at once everything was a blur, she had jumped out of her seat, ran towards the woman and buried her head in the servants shoulder. Guinevere hadn’t immediately recognized the woman-she had aged since she could remember, but now she recalled her name. Isolde. Isolde was a cook in the castle, she used to be a very good friend of her mothers and Guinevere would often spend the day with her. Now she had remembered her name memories flooded back.
Isolde went to school with her mother, they had planned their weddings together. Isolde baked the cake! She had 6 sons and no daughters, and her husband was a stonemason. She used to sing to her, and taught her how to cook and clean, and how to play the piano. When her mother was busy she would get to spend the day with Isolde. And now she clung to her like she was drowning.
Isolde was taken back but let Guinevere weep, then after a while picked off Guinevere and led her to the edge of the bed. “Good Morning, little Princess.” She said. For as long as she could remember Isolde had always called Guinevere that, it was her pet name. And Isolde wasn’t the only one who had called her that, Jay often called her a spoiled Princess, her teachers had called her it, even on the odd occasion her father.
Isolde was used to tears and hysteria, she took no nonsense, and she patted Guinevere’s hand and straightened up. She continued in a motherly voice “I brought you breakfast. As soon as I heard you were back home I insisted I would get to look after you. I brought your favorite-or your old favorite that is- toasted white bread and gooseberry jam. And I brought you a herbal tea.” She motioned to the silver tray she had set down on the table; somehow when Guinevere had rushed her she had still managed to keep a hold of it and switch it onto the table.
Overwhelmed, Guinevere was tongue-tied. She just stared at Isolde. And Isolde’s smile faded. “Oh my, you look just like your mother.” Isolde was speaking in a whisper now; she raised her hand to stroke her hair that tumbled wildly around her shoulders.
***
At that very same time Arthur had been woken up by the sound of Merlin opening and closing cupboards. Merlin was never subtle you could always tell when he was in a room. Right now, Arthur supposed he was picking up clothes and putting them in a basket ready to be laundered.
With a groan he twisted his head out of the pillow. His arms and legs were tangled in the mess of sheets on the bed he had thrown off in the middle of the night. It was unnaturally warm for April and he couldn’t get comfortable all night. Of course Merlin hadn’t considered opening a window so there was a lot of huffing.
Arthur sat up with one hand to his head and swung his legs off of the bed, he had a bit too much of good mead last night and was now feeling the consequences of it.
“Oh, you’re up, finally. You’ve missed breakfast and your father expects you to practice with the other knights in an hours time.” Why is it whenever Arthur felt worst Merlin got sarcastic and just HAD to rub it in his face. Sometimes Arthur felt Merlin was getting his payback for treating Merlin like his skivvy. But right now the idea of food was the only thing that settled Arthur’s stomach.
“Well then, you’ll just have to get me something yourself and bring it up here. No fruit, I need bread and meat and cheese-a jug of water too. And then I need you to get me something presentable to wear, and while you’re at it come up with an excuse to get me out of guard duty tonight. Think you can manage that?” Of course, Arthur knew how to pay Merlin back.
***
After Arthur had eaten and dressed he decided he should go down to the courtyard for practice, he was nearly late already. Just as he rounded the corridor he almost walked into a little girl. But when she looked up he noticed it wasn’t a little girl, it was the girl he had met the night before. Guinevere, the name came to him immediately, he remembered how shocked he was when he heard her name. He didn’t exactly remember why she was in the castle though; she had her own house and lodgings she should be staying there.
Behind Guinevere was an older servant who bowed down to Arthur. Interesting how Guinevere wasn’t bowing or curtsying, she looked defiant. She looked different than she had the night before. To Arthur’s disappointment the dress that had made her look like a goddess or a dark queen wasn’t present today. Instead Guinevere had on a long, midnight blue dress with a square neckline and sheer sleeves. The velvet material clung to her every curve but the skirt was too long by half a foot. Her hair was half pinned up and decorated with an array of silver beads and flowers, and she wore a moonstone pendant from her neck. Her hair was still the warm gold he remembered, and her skin looked more like cream and roses.
“Good Morning, your highness.” With a full smile on her pink lips and her chin held high she greeted him. “I was just on my way to wake up Jay. You invited him to practice this morning, but he’s probably still in his room. I think what with him being form Italy he can stand the heat better than us, so he’s probably still lying in bed.”
Now Arthur was at a loss, for the life of him he couldn’t remember who ‘Jay’ was. Actually he couldn’t remember much of last night, but he did remember Guinevere. She made quite and impression on everyone. But she seemed to expect some response about this ‘Jay’ person. The way she talked about him-fondly, made Arthur really hope that he wasn’t a lover. He couldn’t be a family relative because she said he was Italian, but they were obviously close or she wouldn’t know so much about him. So quickly he asked “And how did you sleep?”
“Well,” Guinevere didn’t say anything else, just that. Somehow it was as if Arthur made no impression on her whatsoever, she was looking over his shoulder round the corner with those big blue eyes.
From behind Guinevere a little cough startled her and she looked back at Arthur guiltily. “Thank you for the room. I slept very comfortably and Isolde was very helpful this morning getting me ready. I really should be going.” She started forward and around Arthur and then paused for just a moment and nodded her head gently to Arthur, “Good Morning, your Highness.”
Then she and the old lady were gone and Arthur was left staring around him, trying to work out just what had happened. And who ‘Jay’ was!
***
Once all the knights were gathered in the courtyard Arthur found that his headache had dissipated. He was just strapping on his hauberk when a young man walked up to him and held open his hand. He had dark straight hair and a light tan. He wore black head to toe and was smiling openly. He wore a big black tunic just like the red one Arthur was wearing, tucked into black trousers and soft black leather boots. He wore a wide leather belt with silver gilt and a sword on his left hip. He looked strong, a little taller than Arthur but not by much, and probably a similar age.
Jay still had his hand held out to Arthur and then turned his head slightly to the side, “You have no idea who I am do you?” Arthur didn’t, but he could guess. The man had a slight Italian accent, now he looked closely he did recognize him a little. This was ‘Jay’
“Jay, right?”
“Ah, I see you’ve been talking to Guinevere. Yes, I’m Jay; I am Jared D’Elluca Salvatore from Florence, in Italy. We met last night and you invited me to come and practice.” A little twinkle was in his eyes and he wasn’t embarrassed to explain himself.
Arthur did know briefly who he was and just remembered who he was. Jay was nice enough that Arthur found he couldn’t dislike him, and smiled at him. “Well your welcome to join in, we’re just doing some basic training today. You can fight with that I presume,” Arthur gestured to the sword at Jay’s hip.
“Of course, it’s more than just a decoration. I’ve been fighting with a sword since I was old enough to hold one. It’s in the blood.” Everything he said was passionate and he thumped his chest on the last remark. But his face was not as proud as his remark and a wide smile lit up his face.
Arthur began practice by pairing everyone up and letting them spar for 15 minutes and then partners would switch. The more confident and learned knights did more than spar; they fought harder and took up more space. After and hour or so Jay was paired with Arthur. It was strange but Arthur didn’t want to take it easy on Jay, he saw him as an opponent. Arthur worked harder; he put more effort into his fight and found himself wanting with all of his heart to beat him. He was more than capable. But Jay was a good fighter. He was a little taken by surprise at first by Arthur’s attack, but worked equally as hard in return. Jay hadn’t simply been taught how to fight with a sword according to rules and practice. Years of traveling and fighting bandits had roughened him up; he combined practice with fighting dirty. In the end neither of them won. They took it too far, taking up the whole arena; all of the other knights stepped out of their way and watched. When it was clear their fighting was more than standard practice a small group of older knights took charge and broke it up.
Exasperated Arthur threw down his sword and marched off towards his rooms. The practice was called to an end and Jay walked back to his own rooms after drying himself off and taking a glass of wine.
***
When Arthur reached his rooms he was in a foul mood. He slammed the doors and ran his hands through his hair. Merlin was doing something or other in his chambers-he was past caring. Right now, he was mad.
“What, uh, what’s going on?” Merlin stuttered, unsure of whether he should even try to ask or whether he should run as if his life depended on it.
“Nothing. It doesn’t matter; I nearly lost a fight to a stranger. It’s not right, I was just so mad, so, so…” Arthur ranted, pacing. Slowly his anger subsided as he thought about why he fought so hard. He couldn’t fathom a reason. But it was personal somehow, challenging.
“Would you like me to distract you, tell you what everyone’s talking about in the castle?” Merlin asked timidly.
“Yes” Arthur replied curtly. He didn’t really want to listen to idle gossip, but listening to Merlin blather on about something mind numbing would help.
“Well you’ll never guess. The King saw Guinevere getting ready to leave for the inn, he didn’t even know she was here!” Arthur pulled his hands down to his sides, stopped pacing and stared at Merlin with his mouth open. “Anyway, he went up to her and said that she couldn’t possibly leave. He wouldn’t have it. He’s invited her and Jared (Jay) to stay here, in the rooms they’ve already settled in, for the next two weeks. There’s going to be a feast in a couple of days especially to welcome Guinevere back to Camelot. I wonder if we could call her Gwen instead of Guinevere.” Merlin added, his eyebrows raised and looking off to the side.
Arthur composed himself long enough to know that he would definitely not call her Gwen. Guinevere was such a beautiful name, and whenever he heard the name Gwen he would always think of another. With skin like mocha, black curly hair and a mind that challenges you. But that wouldn’t be, for so many reasons.
***
At dinner there were a few more people than just Arthur and his father. It was very welcome and much less formal. The prince and the King were at opposite ends heading the table. Then next to Uther on his right hand sat Sir Karne, and on Arthur’s right hand sat Jay, also on Arthur’s left hand sat one of his knights who was mainly there in case a fight broke out between Arthur and Jay. And sitting on Uther’s left hand was Guinevere.
Looking like the moon and the sun all at once.
She had changed form the blue velvet dress to one made of layers of chiffon and other sheer fabrics. The colours were all sort of greys and silvers from darkest to lightest. The dress mainly consisted of a corseted bodice and a long skirt with a small train. The ribbons on the back of the corset were silver tinged with the grayest of blues that matched the speckles in her blue eyes. The ribbons fell down all the way from her waist to the floor, entangling and lying on the train, looking like waves against a stormy sea.
There was a type of silver beaded layer of fabric that started where the bodice stopped and covered her arms and chest like starlight.
The neckline was straight so her hair was worn up with a few strands of gold curling round the side of her face so as to frame it. That hair would always look like rays of sun.
She looked regal and very serious, the grey made her look serene despite the warmth in her face and the consistent smiles she gave out to everyone sitting at the table.
Arthur only wished that Guinevere were sitting on his right hand instead of Jay. He thought his name with contempt even though he still couldn’t work out why he disliked Jay.
All night Arthur didn’t get to speak to Guinevere but she continued to make witty conversation with his father and her own. Every couple of minutes he would hear laughter or see a look about her that showed she was entertaining them.
***
After dinner the gathering went to the royal apartments for beverages. Arthur went as far as the apartments and then went over to Guinevere and escorted her back to her chambers. She turned to everyone in the room, made her apologies and said goodnight.
Arthur followed her out and once in the corridor Guinevere started giggling. One hand fluttered by her waist and she looked up at Arthur, “I thought I was never going to escape.”
Arthur smiled a little bit wondrously down at her. “It’s not that I didn’t enjoy tonight, but my father’s a bore and I really can’t explain to you the pain of sitting in a corset for 3 hours.” She said a little breathlessly.
Arthur scoffed, but he would take her word for it. He walked her up to her door, and he couldn’t think of a thing to say. No jokes, witty banter. But there was something he had been wondering for quite a while, “Why did you come back here. I look over at you sometimes and you look as if you’re somewhere else. You’ve been so far and yet, come back to Camelot. You even told my father how rural you thought Camelot in comparison.”
Guinevere grimaced in remembrance. She also remembered saying that and Uther’s response. “It wasn’t completely my decision. I … had to. I have to come back here for my eighteenth birthday to ‘claim by birthright’. I also felt guilty that I haven’t been to visit my father in so long. And Jay wanted to see my birth home.” Brilliant, Jay again, the man’s name made Arthur want to swear. “Thank you for walking me back. I’ll see you tommorow?” The last question sounded more like a question.
Arthur hadn’t completely realized but after they had stopped walking they had moved closer to each other, gravitated nearer. Guinevere was so close if he reached out he could take her hand, he could feel the heat of her body rolling off in waves. Arthur swallowed and replied, “Yes, you’ll see me tommorow.”
The fact that she was going to be eighteen in the next couple of weeks kept bouncing round his head. He was so wrong thinking she was a child before. When even now talking to her he knew how completely mature she was.
She wasn’t even that much younger than he was-four or five years at the most. He couldn’t remember Guinevere in Camelot, he worked out that if he were five years older than her he would have been about 13 when she left. He could just remember her mother he thought.
***
Guinevere woke up late again in her new room. She was woken by the sounds of people outside her window. It was so warm, she couldn’t bear to have it shut in the night-it was too uncomfortable.
Strange how Guinevere was already thinking of it as her room, she had only slept in it for two nights. But as she was going to be staying here for more than two weeks she had already started bringing her belongings over from the inn to the castle. She didn’t have much as she was always traveling. All of her real belongings were in her home in France.
But on her bedside table she had a small vase made of Venetian glass in a pretty duck egg blue, and underneath it a circle of lace form the same island. Jay had bought these for her a few years ago. There weren’t any flowers in the vase yet; she didn’t know where to get them. She had so much to do today she just added it to her list.
Her clothes where in a cherry wood trunk, with a gilt fleur de lis symbol engraved on it. She also had a trunk of books, and a few boxes that contained jewellery, music sheets, crystals and candles. She would rummage through the boxes later and find temporary homes for everything.
This morning she didn’t lie in bed where she was, she was restless. And before even opening her eyes she knew what a state she would look. She could tell front the way she was laying that her hair would be all over the place, her eyes were thick with sleep and it had been so hot last night she would defiantly need a bath. Of course she would need to find the box of toiletries first.
She sat up and Isolde knocked on the door in the same manner as before. She didn’t wait for a reply but came straight in; smiling when she saw Guinevere was awake. She had a teapot and a plate of fruit that were all different shades of red.
She would ask Isolde where the best place to buy flowers was and where she could take a bath.
As it happens Isolde already had it planned out; a tub was going to be brought up in about an hour which gave them plenty of time to break their fast, find the toiletries and move the screen around so she could have some privacy. Plus they would have to go through all of the boxes to get out clothes to wear.
***
As Guinevere lifted herself into the hot liquid bath she could feel all of her stress and anxieties melt away.
She had filled the water with lavender oil and bubble bath, sprinkled in some assorted dried petals and used chamomile hair shampoo which made her hair shine and brought out her natural highlights. She put a warm flannel over her face, which was soaked in some sort of rose water and various other ingredients, which smelt wonderful and gave her skin a sort of dewy glow.
After soaking for half an hour she rinsed herself off and got dried behind the privacy of the screen. It was a beautiful screen made of the same cherry wood as the other furniture in her room and panels of azure blue silk painted with patterns of a winding tree blossoming.
She wore a dark green dress with a cowl neck. It was unfitted and long, but her waist was cinched by a type of makeshift belt of cord in the same colour. It was a dress she could move boxes in and still feel beautiful in. There were no sleeves to it too, which was a definite plus for heavy lifting.
***
At the end of the day Guinevere felt more at home than she had in the last four years. She had moved all of her books into a cabinet on the left side of the room, and arranged them in alphabetical order. Her clothes were hung up in her wardrobe and shoes and the like in the draws underneath.
On one dresser next to the door she had put a ring of white candles and a little jewellery box with an oil painting on the lid. The colours of the painting had always reminded her of Greece where the sea was a brilliant turquoise that crashed against the white of the beaches. At the opposite end of the table was another circle of candles this time purple.
She had circles of candles dotted all over the place. Each with a certain colour or scent.
On the dresser next to her bed she had jewellery and hairpieces in each of the trays, and some of her precious crystals. Lined along the length of the dresser were little bottles of perfumes and oils, and in the centre a little bowl of potpourri.
Isolde had taken her to a market where she had bought a new rug for the room that was a pure cream colour that melted underneath bare feet. She had changed the pillow covers on the window seat to match the bed sheets and vases dotted around that were a duck-egg blue shade, and on top of her bed was a cashmere throw she couldn’t remember from where she got it.
She had gone a bit wild with flowers when she had gone to the market too! In the vase on her bedside table she had black magic roses that were the darkest red they were nearly black. They also had the most heady scent possible and the petals were plush and juicy. She had two white orchids on dressers, and another vase on the main table with white carnations.
Now she had to think about what she was going to change into for dinner. Last night there were six people and tonight there would only be four. Everything had been planned for her. In two days time there would be an honorary banquet for her return, she would dine with her father at some kind of restaurant in three days time, and she would go on a state visit with the royal family at the end of the week and then sometime in the week after it was her birthday.
Right now she was trying to choose between a black fitted dress with a train edged in lace or a red dress that left her shoulders bare and made her neck look longer.
She had finally decided to go with the red dress; she would pair them with a pair of 3-inch heels and wear her lace effect ruby necklace. It was made from a shiny satin, the red was darkened so that it looked like blood. There were no sleeves the neckline was asymmetrical with a length of the material going over her left shoulder and trailing to the floor over her skirt.
Very patriotic she thought, the royal colours. If only her necklace was made of gold and not silver! Guinevere was sitting at her dressing table with Isolde behind her braiding and arranging her hair so half of it was pinned up. She never could do it herself- unless someone helped her she would just leave it natural.
Looking into the mirror it was like looking at a familiar stranger. She had always had golden hair, but now it looked shining, the red highlights in her hair making it look warm. Her skin had always been pale too, but now it looked flushed and luminous-healthy.
I’ve always had nice eyes she thought- big and round and all of the colours of the sea, their colours changed with her mood and the weather; and they had always been framed with thick dark lashes. Tonight, they looked bigger, rounder, and they were the bluest they had ever been, a sort of lapis tinged with flecks of chalcedony and warm gold.
Guinevere had always hated her lips though; her upper lip was bigger than the lower so she always looked pouty, and her lips were kind of thin, she guessed that she had inherited this from her father, she couldn’t remember her mother well but she had always thought that she had full lips. She always remembered that her mother painted them different shades of red depending on the time of day. Now they looked soft and sensuous, but still pouty and seductive.
She leaned back into Isolde content, she missed being taken care of. Usually the only company she had was Jay, and as good a friend as he was he didn’t give her the same care and attention as a mother would. He couldn’t help her with her hair, or help her bathe, or talk about clothes for hours on end. Finally being in Camelot, being home, the little pieces of her heart she always thought were broken were mending.
“You’re ready, little princess,” Isolde softly said, laying her hand on Guinevere’s shoulder.
“Thank you Isolde, for everything” She really did look beautiful tonight, and she felt it too.
“You’re welcome, you forget, I have six sons and no daughters. I don’t get to do this for my own; I’ve always considered you to be like a daughter to me. Who knows, maybe one day you will be. You always used to get on with my sons before,” Isolde sat down on the corner of the bed with a hopeful twinkle in her eye.
“Isolde, Xantha always said I have a destiny, she read it in the canticles of the seers. I’m supposed to be waiting for someone. I don’t know who, she would never tell me, but I do know I’ve had to reject a lot of men already, and I don’t want to get your hopes up.” Xantha was her governess, she was … special. There weren’t any other words for it. She knew things that others didn’t know and she had a sort of foresight that let her into secrets.
***
On the Thursday morning Guinevere was down in the stables. A year ago she had been given a horse as a birthday present, and now she had to look after it. The only problem was she didn’t ride, so Jay did and Guinevere did all the looking after.
It was a big black stallion, with a shiny coat and strong flanks. She had called him Darsor. Technically he was a black Andalusion breed, a typical warhorse, very loyal and sturdy. She picked up a curry comp from the wall and started from Darsor’s neck to comb in fluid movements. She was so involved she didn’t notice Arthur coming in the stables after her and watching her.
“We’ve all been wondering who this horse belonged to,” When Arthur spoke she jumped. Her breath caught in her throat and she let out a little squeak. She had to pat and reassure Darsor who had shied when she’d squealed and start up combing again.
“He was a present,”
“He’s too good a horse to pull a cart or travel around, he’s a thoroughbred.” Arthur had come up close to the horse inspecting him, lifting up his shoes and measuring his muscles.
“I’m not stupid. I know horses aren’t big dogs or a little girls romanticized dream of a pet that will always understand you. Horses are work, I understand that and you shouldn’t have one if you can’t look after them properly. And Darsor has never pulled a cart in his life. Jay always rode him.” She didn’t know why she was angry, but she hated being treated like a child. Again she calmed down towards the end when she remembered to whom she was talking.
Arthur was grinning. She concentrated on the how to groom Darsor and the sawdusty, horsy smell highlighted by leather and polish that mixed together to make a pleasant smell. Even thought, part of that ‘pleasant’ smell was horse manure. Ewww. The corners of her mouth pulled up a little, Arthur was still grinning like a fool.
“His name’s Darsor,”
“You don’t ride him?” It wasn’t really a question, she had already said that Jay did, he wanted a reason.
“You still don’t remember me,” she answered back accusingly.
“Again, should I?”
Guinevere walked over to the far wall where she hung up the curry brush and kicked off her mucking boots, which were huge leather galoshes that went all the way up to her knees, and slipped on her pumps. “ My mother, she was a singer here in Camelot, and uh, one day she was riding to the concert hall for practice and a child ran in front of her horse. The horse, Syren, shied, my mother fell off and the horse trod on her stomach. There was, a lot of damage, she was bleeding out from the inside and there was nothing anyone could do. My father never let me ride a horse, I was never taught.”
“I remember, slightly. You’re mother, she looked like you. She sang at court often.” He wasn’t smiling anymore, Arthur felt sorry for her. She looked so young and scared talking about her mothers death. If he could he would have walked over and took her hand, or put his hand on her shoulder, something, and anything to comfort her. But something held him back, it wouldn’t be appropriate, so he clenched his fists and stood where he was.
Guinevere hid her face in her hair and squeezed her eyes shut. “We didn’t look that similar. She was a brunette, and she was at least 2 inches taller than I am,”
“How are you a blonde then?” He asked to change the subject.
Guinevere laughed, she had always wondered herself. She thought it was probably a reflection of herself.
“Alright, so I remember your mother, and I know your father, but I still don’t remember you, not really,”
Under Arthur’s gaze Guinevere squirmed, and she looked for an excuse to not answer this question. Then she remembered there was something she wanted to ask Arthur. “Do you have a library in the castle, there’s something I’m looking for,” When she looked up there were unshed tears in her eyes.
***
Arthur walked her through the castle to the library and told her she could read or take out anything she wished. If she liked he would come back to get her later.
Guinevere loved books. Their smell, the stories, a thousand untold tales and possibilities. She walked through the isles her fingers brushing against the different spines of books stacked high. There were books everywhere.
She found the book she was looking for at the end of the library, a dusty section that smelled dry and musty. This must be the section no one visits she thought, but there in the corner underneath a tall window was a very large padded seat. It looked soft and pillowy, but firm. It was also huge, so big in fact that she dusted it off, shook off her shoes and clambered on to it leaning into the material, feet up in front of her.
This was how Arthur found her an hour or so later.
“ I didn’t even realize the library went this far back!”
Guinevere didn’t look up, and this time she didn’t squeak at his re-appearance, it was so quiet she could hear his footsteps. “Why doesn’t that surprise me,” she glanced up with her eyes but only for a moment, “you don’t seem like an avid reader.” She folded the corner over of the page she was on and shut the book with one hand. It took her a while to slip out of the chair and put her shoes back on, then she skipped over to where Arthur was standing and put her hand on his lower arm pulling him towards the exit with him.
Arthur was laughing a little at Guinevere skipping down the passage, her golden head bobbing up and down. “What were you reading?”
She slowed down looking back at him. She held up the book and opened the first page reading from it, “ The complete canticles of the seers of Lanorgil, the 15th generation. Don’t tell anyone but the seers wrote down their dreams and predictions for the future. I’m reading what’s supposed to be relevant for this year. Supposedly, and don’t laugh, I have a destiny, and I want to know what it is!” She slowed and linked one arm through Arthur’s and put her hand from the arm holding the book on top of her other hand.
***
After dropping Guinevere off at her room, again, he went back to his chambers and hissed at Merlin to do him a favor. Merlin dived into Arthur’s closet for a new shirt while Arthur stepped behind the screen and pulled off the one he had been wearing that morning.
“Guinevere was reading a book called the canticles of something or other,” he paused long enough to grunt as he tugged the shirt over her head. Merlin silently thought that Arthur’s head was going to be too big for his crown one day! “I want you to go and get that book form her when she’s not looking, don’t let her know. Be subtle, I know it’s not your forte but, try.” He looked sarcastically at Merlin.
“Why does this book matter so much, or are you hoping that if she loses it she’ll come and ask you if you’ve seen it?” Merlin didn’t care about how far he was pushing Arthur right now, the girl was beautiful and Merlin knew Arthur’s type: blonde, to sum it up in a word.
“Merlin, I don’t know how you attract girls in your little world, oh wait you don’t. Personally I hadn’t even thought of that. She said something about these canticles being prophesized, I’m just wondering if there’s anything in it.” It was true that Arthur hadn’t thought of this little perk (Guinevere looking for him to ask if she had seen this book), but he would make the most of it none the less.
“Oh one more thing Merlin, have a word with the tailors about having a dress made for Guinevere, I’m thinking blue, silk, long and well, you know, expensive looking.” Merlin raised one eyebrow and a smile pulled at the edge of his lips, “Don’t make faces, my fathers having a banquet in her honor, it’s only right we give her some sort of gift. Keep it on the quiet though, if it gets out I’m ordering her presents I’ll never live it down.”
And with that Arthur walked out of the room leaving Merlin standing there thinking of how he was going to steal the book away from Guinevere and exactly what was in the book.
The Great Dragon had always told Merlin that he had a destiny and his destiny was tied up in Arthur’s and Arthur would unite all of Albion when he becomes King. If the canticles held secrets to the future, surely his and Arthur’s future would be of big importance. He needed guidance, this book could help him.
As it happened getting the book from Guinevere was easier said than done. She loved reading and all afternoon stayed in her room with her servant (or that’s who he guessed the older woman was) who never left her side. Guinevere sat in the window seat and read; she laid the book on the bed and helped the servant tidy things up a little, and then went back to reading.
He decided to briefly give up trying to get the book; it wasn’t going to happen until Guinevere and her servant left. However just as Merlin got to the end of the corridor, Guinevere and her servant did exactly that, without the book he noted.
Silently Merlin moved back to the big closed doors and whispered an enchantment, hand over the locks to open them.
Inside the room straight ahead of him lay a thick book with a leather binding. The leather was a bright red, it wasn’t shiny, it was matte and slightly scuffed which showed its age. The pages inside them were bordered with gold filigree and on each page were small illustrations in the corners. There was a long suede bookmark of the same colour as the bindings marking it as the books brother that held a page with a large drawing of a woman sitting in a meadow.
Her long hair was undone and splayed out in the wind, making her look wild and elemental. Her head was bowed and her hands were resting on her knees. In one hand was a necklace and the other was dripping red. On the floor in front of her was a small dagger. She looked beautiful and dangerous at the same time, her hair was almost black and her skin white-like the moon shining in the dark.
At the bottom of the page were two paragraphs of writing in golden italics:

She is the briar growing on the wave,
Power over lightning and power over fire
Her soul mate she is bound to save
And in return he shall save her from the pyre

True and false the cunning flame
Burning in the darkest night
True and false the secret name
Meant to nurture a city of light
I am White Wave

Quickly Merlin closed the book, leaving the bookmark on the same page, and took it back to Arthur’s room. He didn’t know if he should be sneaking around and playing innocent with his stolen book tucked under his jacket, or if he could just get away with it. Three sharp knocks on Arthur’s chamber door Merlin was looking around him desperately, panting a little and his eyes were turning sharply.
Arthur opened the door to a guilty looking Merlin. Merlin practically pushed through Arthur and slammed the door behind him. He opened his jacket and the book spilled out onto the floor, Merlin grasped at it looking like a frightened deer.
As Merlin bent down to retrieve the book Arthur grabbed it out of his hands and sent a sarcastic look his way. “I’m amazed you got it Merlin, I was about to send a search party out for you!”
“See, you should put a little more trust in me. I mean it was touch and go for a bit, but with my amazing talents I managed to sneak the book out.”
“And what amazing talents would they be Merlin; your talent to land yourself in trouble or your talent to shine my boots?” Arthur answered back tiredly as he flicked through the pages. All of the pages were written by different hands and in different colored inks, when he got to a page with an illustration of a dragon on it Arthur stopped and opened the book fully to that page.
It was probably a mere coincidence but the dragon looked exactly like his family crest, it was even drawn in golden ink and had been colored in with a washed-out red background. “Here look at this,” Arthur angled the page so Merlin could see it.
“Cool, looks like a dragon”
“Thank you for that insightful response Merlin, it is a dragon. If you look closely it looks like my family crest. Wait,” Arthur leaned over the page.
Around the edge of the page a golden border was made up of writing, the first sentence said ‘The Age Of Camelot’, followed by the names of Kings of Camelot. He got about two thirds of the way through the list when his own name was written in capital letters and a long succession of names after his.
“This book really does tell the future,” he muttered under his breath. Quickly he turned through the pages till he found his name again. He had a whole 17 pages dedicated to his personal future. There were amazing pictures all through the passage and on the second page was a painting that was so exact he may as well be looking in a mirror. But the passage was a complete jumble. It was written in riddles. “Well how am I meant to know what that means” Arthur looked to his left at Merlin, “Well, I’m going to turn in,” he said slyly, “I guess I’ll just have to let you figure it out as a little homework.”
“Hey, that’s not fair”
“I am the Prince, Merlin, you can’t expect me to do everything”
***
It was cold, and dark and damp. Water drips down from the ceiling, down the cave walls, puddles have formed in the enclaves and the dips in the stone flooring. A stone throne carved by human craft sat in the centre of the cavern. The back of the throne was tall and narrow, there were flowers carved up the legs and sides, and on the back of the throne was a foreign writing like an ancient tablet.
In front of the throne was a stone table, tall and narrow with a low dip in the centre. In the centre water filled it and spilled over the edges. Morgana sat and gazed into the waters and in the depths she saw the future and she saw Camelot. She was what was becoming of her home, what was becoming of the people she had once loved. Now all she saw was what she had been robed of. What really stirred Morgana’s hatred was how easy it was for Uther and Arthur to get on without her, her adoptive family seemed to have forgotten her, and Merlin seemed to have forgotten what he had done to her.
Morgause had rescued her and brought her here, to hide in these caves. She had been learning how to refine her magic, how to use it to her strengths, all the while harboring revenge for what her “family” had done to her.
And look at her now, all of her finery and jewellery gone, no comfort around her, cloaked in darkness. She wore a long dark blue dress with sleeves that fanned out from her elbows. The v-neckline wrapped around to her waist and fastened with a brooch. Her dark hair was wild and tangled around her shoulders. She never smiled anymore, her eyes no longer shined, every inch the dark sorceress.
***
After supper Arthur and Merlin were in the Prince’s chambers. There was a package left on the table that had been wrapped and folded in scented paper and decorated with ribbons. The paper it was wrapped in was scented and there were flower petals between the sheets. Hesitantly they approached the packaged.
Arthur wasn’t a stranger to expensive packages but the appearance of this one was plain scary, everything was so opulent. Arthur stood blank-faced, pointed at the package and said “WHAT is THAT?”
Merlin went over to the package and pulled at the ribbon. It came loose with a quick jerk and then Merlin had to pry the layers of paper away from what was inside.
The paper came away and inside was a neatly folded pile of fabric or that’s what it looked like on first appearance. Merlin tilted his head to one side, and then the other, and then looked back at Arthur.
With a huff Arthur picked up the fabric that swirled around in the air until it took shape. Hanging from Arthur’s hands was a dress made of blue silk with a v-neck and long sleeves. At the elbow the material was creased and folded so it fanned out delicately and above that at the elbow was a silver trim that also bordered the dress and neckline. At the waist a silver snake was embroidered to like it was coiled around with large emerald beads for eyes.
Merlin looked it up and down and said, “Suits you” while trying not to smile at the same time.
“Don’t be an idiot Merlin, look it’s for Guinevere you cretin,” Arthur let the garment fall away and looked over the brown paper tag. He pointed over at the dress as if not wanting to damage by simply touching it, “How much did that cost me?”
Merlin pouted, “I thought you said expensive,”
Arthur rolled his eyes and passed his hand over his brow, as always Merlin got the wrong end of the stick, “I said expensive looking. Looking -being the important word. Tell me, how much?”
“More than my entire weeks wage, twice” Merlin played with the end of his shirt nervously.
Arthur’s eyebrows shot up to meet his hairline, his face reddened and his eyes started to bulge. “MERLIN!”
Before Arthur could smack him round the head or throw anything at him Merlin backed out of the room and hide behind the shelter of the doors. Just as a last baiting Merlin waited until Arthur’s back was turned and he was calming down to come back in and say “ So I’ll give it to Guinevere later then shall I” With that Merlin went back to running away and Arthur turned poised for attack.
***
That evening there was an honorary feast hosted in the grand hall in Guinevere’s honor. It was supposed to be all ready for that evening, but Guinevere had gotten bored and decided to take control. The tables were arranged in two vertical rows with one table at the top of the hall for the royal family and the guest of honor.
There were golden silk ribbons twisted around the columns, and by every window a smaller column with a large vase of golden roses and creamy orchids spilling out like a soft cloud.
The napkins on the table were a deep cream bordered with golden thread embroidery and all of the cutlery, plates and goblets were a brassy gold colour. Running down the whole table were little white tea lights that let off small glowing flames illuminating the table in the dark of the evening, and flickering off the gold array on the table. On the ceiling large chandeliers were re-filled with long white candles ready to glow the whole night long and light the hall in a warm glow.
In the left hand corner behind the door a raised podium was erected for a small orchestra. Already in place where a harp and a piano, there were 8 chairs for the whole orchestra, the others would be bringing their own instruments.
She was so involved in getting everything done to how she wanted she was running out of time. Isolde sauntered into the hall looking flustered and a little annoyed. “There you are Guinevere, you have about forty minutes and you haven’t even gotten dressed. Get to your room, now”
There was no messing with Isolde in this mood, Guinevere widened her eyes momentarily, then kept her head down and got moving. Fast.
***
Once in her room Guinevere ran straight to the bath that was already poured for her. She used minimal perfumes; she wanted to use only one delicious, heady scent. She had a bottle of sweet nerolli jasmine on her desk and she poured a little into the bath and dabbed a little at the hollow of her throat, behind her ears and on her wrists when she was dried off.
Wandering out of the bath waters, Guinevere for the first time noticed a large package on the table. Inside was one of the most beautiful dresses she had ever seen in her life. The material was soft like butter on her fingertips and it slipped over her skin as light as a second skin.
The uneasiness she had felt for the last 10 minutes and the rush she was in slipped away when she looked at herself in the mirror. Standing in front of her was a confident young woman who looked like some sort of goddess or immortal. Her skin looked clear and unblemished but full of youth, fresh. The dress was pure lapis blue, it had a long and deep v-neck to show off her décolleté, the straps were thin but a wide strip of a sheerer material in the same colour went from the straps to the wrists like wings under her arms. The waist was cinched with an embroidered and beaded silver snake that glinted in the light. The skirt was thin, long, narrow but swirled out around her feet like a cloud.
Her golden hair sat around her shoulders looking wild and dangerous, her eyes smoldering and her lips pouty. She slipped on silver heels so she felt more like a woman than a child (she was so tiny it was unbearable, she was always treated like a child unless she behaved or dressed inappropriately) and finished her outfit by putting in some dangling lapis lazuli earrings and a ring on her forefinger of the same jewel.
***
The hall was crowded with people, wanting to get either their first or second glimpse of Guinevere. There were rumors circulating around, hushed up. Some say she was a singer just like her mother and was here to take back her mothers position, others say she was here for revenge. One man said to another that she returned because she was rejected in other countries, and one older man near to the king said that she had to come home because someone had tried to assassinate her. Fortunately for Guinevere none these were the real reason she was returning.
Perfectly timed, Guinevere waited until the tension was unbearable; everyone was gathered, speculations running through the hall getting more and more outrageous. A new song had started by the orchestra slow and dangerous, there was a steady rhythm with low notes.
The whole crowd was silent as soon as the large doors opened.
At the top of the stairs ahead of the door Guinevere steadily made her advance. The lighting was just right so she looked confident, sultry, and beautiful. Exquisite that you could say any word and apply it to her. She didn’t smile, didn’t speak, just slowly walked with her eyes lowered but looking from side to side stealthily.
As she walked into the hall people parted the crowd for her to walk through to the back end of the hall. Uther stepped out and offered Guinevere his hand with Arthur, Merlin, and Guinevere’s father. She took it gratefully and a smile lit up her face. Arthur noticed how well the dress looked on her and it took a large amount of effort to lift his eyes to her face and not on the low front, when he did look up he saw Guinevere looking straight into his eyes with her head held high. She winked slyly at him and pulled one side of her dress out a little as if to show him her gratitude and recognition.
The music rose to a crescendo and Guinevere swung round in a whirl quick as lightening, her dress whipped around her feet obediently like dark blue waves crashing against each other. The audience gawking as if they had never seen anyone so awe inspiring.
In a clear voice ringing out she thanked everyone for coming to celebrate her returning home and her birthday with her; she thanked her father and the King for his hospitality and she thanked the orchestra, the servants, the cooks, the maids. She thanked everyone she could so she was gracious and looked good in everyone’s eyes. “And now, would everyone take their seats and enjoy!”
Laughter and music filled the hall, people took to their places with more gossip than they had at the start of the evening, because now the audience had Guinevere to gawk at and make opinions. As a royal guest Guinevere sat at the top of the hall. The King sat in the centre of course, Arthur on his left hand and next to Arthur, Guinevere. There were two other people on the Kings side to even out the table, Jay and Guinevere’s father.
Arthur turned in his seat, behind him was Merlin ready with his wine jug, and behind Guinevere was the same servant he had seen her with previously. If only he could remember her name.
Guinevere leaned over to Arthur, her smell Arthur thought, was so heady, it made him want to lean in further. Guinevere’s low sensual voice broke his trance-like state, “Thank you for the dress. I’ve never felt so confident, did you see people’s reactions?” She wasn’t looking directly at him, but her chin was turned in his direction, and her voice was lowered so only he could hear. Arthur realized this was because so many people were still staring at her; they would probably be paying attention to her smiling and joking with the Prince.
To put some space between them Arthur motioned at Merlin with the hand nearest to Guinevere. Merlin stepped forward with his jug of wine; he poured a generous amount into Arthur’s and another to Guinevere. Guinevere sat back and stared at the goblet, eyes drawn close together, lips parted. Arthur had a flashback to the first time he met Guinevere and she had made the exact same face at a goblet of wine –like she didn’t know if she should drink it or not. Arthur let out a giggle and tried to disguise it by coughing.
This only made it worse of course, and Guinevere immediately looked quite guilty and upset. “You do realize you’re eighteen, you can drink. I thought Europeans drank wine all day long” he chuckled.
A little smile pulled at the corners of Guinevere’s colored lips, “Don’t, you sound like Jay when you say things like that. I’ve never actually tried wine before. And I’m only half European, it’s not my fault my mother was foreign.”
Sounding happier again Arthur pushed the goblet nearer to her brushing her hand accidentally. Her skin was so smooth and warm, in that second he couldn’t see anything but her and imagine anything other that holding her hand.
***
Three hours later guests had started to leave. The food had been cleared away, the candles were running down and the tables had pushed over to the sides for dancing.
Guinevere had been dancing solidly for an hour with men actually waiting for their turn, this truly was her night.
Arthur was standing over the table laid out with beverages and decidedly downed his drink. Ignoring his friends and fellow knights he walked over to where Guinevere was dancing. Just as one song was ending and another was about to begin, he waved off the next man who was walking over and coughed at the man who had just had his turn.
The man he coughed at was a little smaller than himself, probably about 5,7 or 5,8 feet. He had dark hair, but in all other aspects he looked mediocre, nothing particularly special, not muscular, not even a remotely good dancer. He stepped away anxiously, nodded at Guinevere and then Arthur held out his hand to Guinevere.
The music stopped altogether and not only did Guinevere’s dancing partner move away to the side of the room, but so did all of the other dancers on the floor.
The music started up with a quick beat with a sweeping sound to it, not suitable for a slow dance. And because of that Guinevere and Arthur were pressed close to each other, electricity running through their arms and legs, brains foggy. They were spinning round the floor with every one watching.
At first the both of them looked serious but after a while Guinevere started giggling and Arthur couldn’t help but smile too, then Guinevere started playing with the dance, showing off. Traveling round Europe she bound to have learnt to dance differently and more exotically. Arthur swung her to the side and she span into the centre of the room, her skirt swirling round her feet, the rest of the dress clung to every curve. The music crashed sounding like waves against the rocks, and Guinevere looked like the storm itself, elemental, destructive, beautiful and deadly. Caught up in the moment and the dance Arthur swept her up so her feet were off of the ground and other people started dancing along with them or just gawking with there mouths wide open.
That’s when they broke apart. Staring at one another but shocked. They were both breathing heavily and there was something hungry in each others eyes, like animal attraction. Arthur offered his hand out to her and they walked back into the crowd. At the drinks table Arthur unthinkingly offered Guinevere a glass of red wine to drink, then looked at the goblet outstretched in his hand and checked himself. But before Arthur could put it back onto the table Guinevere placed her hand on top of Arthur’s and took the goblet.
“You know, I’ve never tried wine before – not even once.”
“You’d probably enjoy it most people do”
Looking into the goblet’s depths Guinevere watched the deep colour sitting in the cup, and then testing it took a sip of the wine. The taste was like an explosion in her mouth. It was flavorsome and fruity, but left a dry ache in her throat, it seemed to vibrate through her blood.
“And?”
“It’s good, I thought it would be bitter and kind of addictive. I mean you see people drunk all the time, I thought it was because whatever is in the wine.”
“Technically it is, but not in moderation.”
***
At the end of the feast night Guinevere was completely insensible. After two glasses of red wine she was drunk and her body and mind were acting slow, her balance was off and she had a headache. Jay had seen her leaning against the wall trying to see straight and immediately looked at Arthur whom had his back turned to him. Jay strode over and grasped his forearm to get his attention.
Arthur turned, “I take it you are responsible for that.” Jay pointed to Guinevere.
Arthur looked shocked. Guinevere. Was. Drunk. How? I mean, she’s only had one glass maybe two, that’s not even possible he thought. “She’s never had alcohol before, she has absolutely no tolerance, the least you could have done was stay with her in that state.”
Jay was furious. Guinevere was like a sister to him. He had found her when she was younger, about 11 years old. She was staying in a camp with her guardian, Xantha. She was the most serious little thing; her blue eyes were so grave and horrified, scarred by the terrors of her childhood, she had watched her own mother die and her father fall apart right in front of her. But with time he saw the life come back into her eyes, she acted more like a child and less like a ghost. She laughed. She was so pixie-like, and adorable, simply looking at her as a child you automatically felt the uncontrollable need to protect her.
“I didn’t even know she was drunk, she took a sip of wine and went off to talk to other people. I had no idea. If I had I wouldn’t have let her keep drinking or left her on her own, and unlike you, Jared, I’m going to help her now and not argue about it.” Arthur sneered his name, liking Jay less and less and jogged over to Guinevere.
She wasn’t looking so great. Her skin was grey, she was hunched over at the waist and she had her fingers pressed to the temples of her head. Arthur put an arm around her waist to support her; the wall didn’t look like it was doing such a good job. With the other hand he lifted her face and forced her to look up at him into his eyes. She was drunk, just as Jay had said. She was looking at him but not clearly; hesitantly he let go of her chin and asked her to tell him how many fingers he was holding up.
There was hardly any one left, most people had given up and gone to bed-it was half two in the morning. So looking around at who was here he felt satisfied and picked up Guinevere in his arms despite her shock and protests. Finally when she realized how helpless she really was she settled in and leaned her head against Arthur’s shoulder where he was steadier.
Even in her current state Guinevere could sense Arthur. Strong and immovable, not just in body but in mind, he was stubborn; he wasn’t going to put her down whatever she said. As she turned her head into his shoulder she breathed in his scent deeply. It was like nothing she could describe. Like Earth, and rain, sweet and musty, but that was probably the clothes. She even thought she could smell the sun on him, warm, deep, smothering.
And then she was asleep, completely blank, cradled by Arthur’s arms.
***
In the morning the air was still and stifling. Sleep was encrusted in Guinevere’s eyelashes, her skin felt taught and her stomach was churning. Slowly she turned her head from one side to another and slowly got up holding her hand to her head.
“If you think your going to be sick go sit next to the window and breathe deeply.”
Without registering who was in her bedroom Guinevere stood to walk to the window, on her way she swayed a little and he was there at her elbow guiding her until she was seated. She sat and closed her eyes while a window was opened for her and he sat on the other side of the window seat. After a minute or two inhaling and exhaling, concentrating on the breeze, then the sound of people down in the courtyard.
When she was ready she looked straight ahead of her at Arthur.
“Umm, did you stay here? All night?”
“Well it was the least I could do considering it was my fault you were drunk. And, uh, Jared let me know it. I slept in the chair.” Guinevere’s look of pure terror turned into one of guilt.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” she groaned. “You’re a Prince, I should have taken the chair and you the bed, or you could have left me and gone to your chambers.”
Arthur started to laugh. “I couldn’t do that, you were already passed out before I got you here. And what if you had woken up all alone, in the dark, being sick. Or had a killer hangover this morning and had no idea why?”
“Well, when you put it like that thank goodness my Prince is here to rescue me.”
Strange how easy it was flirting with the Prince, Guinevere thought. And he really is quite noble, not nearly as spoiled and self-righteous as she thought he would be. Like others were.
“So everyone else is recovering and won’t be doing a thing all day. How are you feeling?” He had one leg on the window seat and he was looking around the room at all the changes she had made.
“I feel like I’ve walked into a brick wall, my stomach is completely empty, and I have blank spots form last night.” She said cheerily.
“Good so you’re ready to go out. I’ll be back in twenty minutes with breakfast, get changed into something. It doesn’t have to be fancy.”
Guinevere looked down to see she was still wearing last nights dress, the material was all creased, she hoped that could be fixed. It was such a magical dress.
***
Dressed in that green dress that frees up her arms, that cinches her waist and the cowl neckline kisses her skin, Guinevere made her way down to the courtyard. Arthur was with his manservant Merlin who hadn’t been given the morning off and was currently saddling. a. horse.
“You do know I can’t ride”
“You’re not riding, I am, and you will be behind me.” Arthur said smugly, packing a canteen in the saddlebag.
“On a horse,” The horror started seeping in, Guinevere looked wildly around her hoping her father may be somewhere and confine her to her chambers for even being near a horse. But no such luck.
Watching her face again Arthur stood in front of her and took her hands in his, “You will be fine. Come with me,” he pulled her over the horse letting go of one hand and raising the other to the horses nose “this is Kestrel, she’s very calm and fast, but she won’t do anything unless I tell her to, okay.”
The horse was big, only a hand or so less than Darsor. Her coat was palomino, it was glossy and in good condition, she was probably groomed everyday. Finally Guinevere gave in, Arthur got up, leaned his hand down and pulled her up. Unfortunately wearing that stupid long skirt, she couldn’t sit on the horse with her legs apart without it riding up to her knees. She looked at the skirt for a minute, and then looked at Arthur who was just looking at her to check she was okay. “Do you have a knife?” Guinevere posed. Arthur looked quite taken aback, what could she possibly want with a knife on a horse? He pulled out the knife he had hidden in his boot and handed it to her wordlessly.
Guinevere took the hem of her skirt on the left side and cut it up to the middle of her thigh, then did the same on the other side. She laid the skirt pieces out appropriately and then handed the knife back to Arthur.
Arthur rode them into the woods to an open space with flat soft grass next to the river, everything was green and there were wild flowers growing on the bank and beautiful forget-me-nots around the bases of the trees.
“It’s beautiful,” Guinevere murmured. She let go of Arthur’s waist and he dismounted; Guinevere swung her leg over so she was sitting sidesaddle and Arthur took her waist and lifted her down. They stood close together in front of each other for a moment and then Guinevere slid around him to look into the river, the breeze blowing her skirt out behind her leaving a lot of skin on her legs showing.
Arthur sat down in the middle of the clearing and Guinevere followed suit, they ate breakfast together Arthur sitting, leaning his back against a tree trunk and Guinevere lying flat on her stomach. Her green dress camouflaged with