(not really sure what this is, but... threesomes fix everything? *g*) -
The room’s occupants started guiltily as soon as Arthur entered. Lancelot jerked back, almost as though he had been struck, and Guinevere’s eyes flew to Arthur, her lovely features holding the tiniest bit of fear.
Arthur felt the familiar heaviness in his heart but the path seemed clear. He went to them.
Guinevere graced him with a smile, warm and only faintly tinged with nerves. “Arthur,” she said, and went on her toes to brush a kiss to his cheek.
“I hope the day has treated you well,” Lancelot said, backing up another small step to put yet more distance between Guinevere and himself.
The fools, Arthur thought, the dear, sweet fools. “Do you think I do not know?” he asked. “You whom I love most in all the world?” Arthur looked at them each in turn so that they would grasp his full meaning.
Lancelot dropped his gaze, full of shame, and Arthur knew he would not insult Arthur further by offering a single word of defense. Guinevere, however, took but a moment to gather herself and said, “Oh, Arthur, you must--”
Arthur raised his finger to set it to her lips and she quieted. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “Did you think I would not rejoice to know that you hold as much love for each other as I hold for you? Is there not room enough in our hearts?”
The two stood staring as though they could not believe what they were hearing. Then Lancelot said, “You are not angry? Our betrayal--”
“I am angry only that you sought to keep it from me.”
“I am afraid, then,” Guinevere said, swallowing, taking Lancelot’s hand and bowing her head. “I am afraid that we have been fools.”
“Yes, fools indeed.” Arthur put a hand to Guinevere’s chin and raised it, smiling gently at her. “Aren’t we all in such matters?”
She smiled back at him, his beautiful Guinevere, and Arthur knew that all was right between them.
Lancelot, though, had dropped Guinevere’s hand and was clenching his fist until the knuckles whitened, his eyes still clouded with guilt. He would forever be stubborn.
“Do you love me, my Lancelot?” Arthur asked.
The reply was swift and firm. “I love you above all, as my king and as my friend, however you shall have me.”
“And do you love my queen?”
Lancelot did not duck his head but he looked ashamed all the same. “I love her as my queen, and I love her as I should not.”
“You love her exactly as you should.” Arthur leaned forward to press a kiss to Lancelot’s forehead, feeling how he trembled. “We are all of us as we should be, here, in this moment.”
“But... the court...”
Arthur held out one hand to his wife, which she took, and his other to Lancelot, who grasped it after only a moment’s hesitation. At Arthur’s nod, Guinevere and Lancelot joined hands again, their expressions light and wondering. They stood, united as they always had been, but with a new path ahead.
“All will be well if we stand together,” Arthur said.
-
The room’s occupants started guiltily as soon as Arthur entered. Lancelot jerked back, almost as though he had been struck, and Guinevere’s eyes flew to Arthur, her lovely features holding the tiniest bit of fear.
Arthur felt the familiar heaviness in his heart but the path seemed clear. He went to them.
Guinevere graced him with a smile, warm and only faintly tinged with nerves. “Arthur,” she said, and went on her toes to brush a kiss to his cheek.
“I hope the day has treated you well,” Lancelot said, backing up another small step to put yet more distance between Guinevere and himself.
The fools, Arthur thought, the dear, sweet fools. “Do you think I do not know?” he asked. “You whom I love most in all the world?” Arthur looked at them each in turn so that they would grasp his full meaning.
Lancelot dropped his gaze, full of shame, and Arthur knew he would not insult Arthur further by offering a single word of defense. Guinevere, however, took but a moment to gather herself and said, “Oh, Arthur, you must--”
Arthur raised his finger to set it to her lips and she quieted. “You misunderstand me,” he said. “Did you think I would not rejoice to know that you hold as much love for each other as I hold for you? Is there not room enough in our hearts?”
The two stood staring as though they could not believe what they were hearing. Then Lancelot said, “You are not angry? Our betrayal--”
“I am angry only that you sought to keep it from me.”
“I am afraid, then,” Guinevere said, swallowing, taking Lancelot’s hand and bowing her head. “I am afraid that we have been fools.”
“Yes, fools indeed.” Arthur put a hand to Guinevere’s chin and raised it, smiling gently at her. “Aren’t we all in such matters?”
She smiled back at him, his beautiful Guinevere, and Arthur knew that all was right between them.
Lancelot, though, had dropped Guinevere’s hand and was clenching his fist until the knuckles whitened, his eyes still clouded with guilt. He would forever be stubborn.
“Do you love me, my Lancelot?” Arthur asked.
The reply was swift and firm. “I love you above all, as my king and as my friend, however you shall have me.”
“And do you love my queen?”
Lancelot did not duck his head but he looked ashamed all the same. “I love her as my queen, and I love her as I should not.”
“You love her exactly as you should.” Arthur leaned forward to press a kiss to Lancelot’s forehead, feeling how he trembled. “We are all of us as we should be, here, in this moment.”
“But... the court...”
Arthur held out one hand to his wife, which she took, and his other to Lancelot, who grasped it after only a moment’s hesitation. At Arthur’s nod, Guinevere and Lancelot joined hands again, their expressions light and wondering. They stood, united as they always had been, but with a new path ahead.
“All will be well if we stand together,” Arthur said.
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