(Untitled)

[most_generous]

In the apple orchard in the land beyond the North Wind, the apples, red and green and pale around the edges, hang heavy from the trees all year, surrounded by white blossoms. The grass under the trees is all strewn with white petals

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[mother_lost]

*She is looking up into the branches with an odd smile, but looks back to him at the question.*

Of course.

[most_generous]

Arthur flattens the gold fringes at the edge of the cloth and rises, waiting for Guinevere to sit. When she has done so, Arthur sits on the grass, leaning his back against a tree, for all the world as if the tree were his throne in the castle's central hall.

"I remember, you used to like to go out in the woods."

[mother_lost]

When I could. Which was rarely as often as I should have liked.

[most_generous]

"There was rarely quite enough time," Arthur agrees.

Britain had had peace, for a while, when Arthur ruled. They called it the Pax Arturus, then and after. But even when the warriors were home, or out travelling on their own quests, the king had his work to do. Petitioners from distant villages and emissaries from far countries were always coming to Camelot, and Arthur had to see them, talk to them, smile and give gifts to each comer. He went to the woods when he could, to hear the wind in the trees and the birds perched on the branches, but these snatched moments were rare enough.

What did Guinevere do, to fill her hours while the king worked? Arthur realises that he does not know.