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Forbidden Love	By : ezridax19 Category: G through L > King Arthur Views: 1814 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own King Arthur, nor any of the characters from it. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
- 3
- 4
- 5
A/N:
As promised, the intruder is revealed. How many guessed it right? ;)

Chapter
4 – Farther Still

“What
do you want old man?” Lancelot regarded the intruder with a
vexed tone.

“Did
you succeed in awakening the dead?” Speaking from the shadows,
the man remained seated in the corner.

Rolling
his eyes at the response, Lancelot retorted with a huff. “I
have little patience for your riddles, Merlin. Speak plainly and at
once. Why are you here?”

“The
screams of Arthur's first knight reached my ears this eve.”

“And
you found it prudent to come to me? Why?”

Merlin
finally stood and promptly exited the cave, nodding for Lancelot to
follow him. Lancelot's patience was already wearing extremely thin,
and grabbing the rest of his belongings, he followed Merlin outside.

“Is
it not a beautiful sight to behold?” Merlin asked, pointing to
the surrounding green. The sun was not yet full in the sky, and the
air still held the remnants of last night's chill.

“This?
You come to me to point out the damned trees?” If Merlin's goal
was to annoy Lancelot, he was exceedingly proficient in accomplishing
the task.

Merlin
laughed at the dark knight's growing irritation. Lancelot promptly
decided that he had heard quite enough of the old man's ramblings,
and moved to prepare his horse for the journey. Merlin regarded him
silently, observing as Lancelot led the beautiful animal to the pond
to drink. When the horse had had it's fill of water, it's master
mounted, ready to ride off.

“She
will not waiver. And neither will you.” Merlin spoke pointedly
at him.

“Do
not presume to tell me what I will or will not do. You do not command
me, as you command your daughter.” Lancelot heatedly replied.

“Her
fate was decided before she was even born. As was yours.”
Merlin stated matter of factly.

“I
don't believe in fate!” Lancelot shouted, glaring at Merlin's
deeply mischievous eyes. The Woad was unreadable most of the time and
mostly incomprehensible the rest of the time. One required severe
patience when speaking with the man; and patience was the one thing
Lancelot was fully lacking this morning.

Merlin
smiled at his outburst. “Neither did she. When the sun sets,
does the moon not reign over land and sky? The stars are merely
hidden during the daylight, not missing.”

Lancelot
let out a deep sigh, “I have had enough of trying to discern
your true speech Merlin.”

And
with that Lancelot prompted his horse to canter, leaving Merlin
standing alone with a bemused grin painted on his face.

He
will understand soon enough, Merlin thought to himself. One
cannot escape fate, not even on the back of the swiftest of horses.

------

Not
today!

Guinevere's
mind was groggy and ill-tempered from lack of sleep. Her anxiety over
Lancelot's disappearance had led to a disastrous evening of
nightmares and continual wakings in a cold sweat. She had not the
patience to entertain anyone, let alone deal with dress fabrics and
fittings, which was what lay in store for her this very afternoon.
She would just have to grin and bear it, she thought. The wedding was
fast approaching, and with less than one month to prepare, the dress
fitting was only one item on the long list of preparations.

Guinevere
had never fantasized of her wedding day, as so many young girls were
fond of doing. She was born a warrior. Without her mother's presence,
her father had raised her in the only way he knew how. She knew of no
other life than that of the hunt, the battle, the constant struggle
for freedom. Merlin had done his best to prepare her since birth for
that which awaited her – a life of survival, of fighting for
her land and people, and most importantly, her inescapable destiny.

The
rest of the day past by tediously, with one monotonous task after
another – deciding on fabrics and cuts, enduring fittings and
measurements. It was all so tiresome to her. The whole while
Guinevere's mind was elsewhere, and every time she heard shouting
outside, she would run to her balcony hoping to see Lancelot riding
in through the gates. Yet each time she was greeted with
disappointment when it turned out to be only some random clamoring
below. Maybe some fresh air would do some good, she thought, but just
as she was preparing to leave, a knocking on the door sounded.

What
now? Enough of these infernal wedding plans!

------

Lancelot
rode hard all day long. His black steed was battle hardened, just
like it's master, and could effortlessly gallop for great distances
without rest. Lancelot had easily fled from the castle, but could not
as easily elude the heavy thoughts that weighed in his mind. “What
kind of a knight are you?” The thief's dying words haunted
him still. Indeed, he acquiesced. What kind of a knight am
I? He thought himself a disgrace to the very term – to
everything it stood for. He was doing the right thing, he tried to
convince himself. With him gone now, he could bring no further shame
to the castle. Guinevere would be free to marry Arthur. She would not
have to look at him ever again; he would not ruin her further with
his presence. And he would no longer be betraying his best friend in
the world.

If
Merlin insisted that Guinevere's fate was to become Arthur's Queen,
then so be it. But Lancelot would not be around to see it. He thought
himself a disease, contaminating her; contaminating everything he
touched. No wonder she is marrying Arthur. Why would she ever
desire to be with a wretched soul like myself? Things would get
along just fine with him absent, he decided. He had done nothing but
cause trouble of late; they were all better off without him. He was
not noble like Arthur; nor innocent like Galahad; nor hopeful like
Gawain; nor strong-willed like Bors. He was nothing like any of them.
They were all good men, each and everyone. Lancelot had always been
the dark sheep, though they had loved him as a brother all the same.
I do not belong. I do not deserve their love. I do not
deserve Arthur's love. I do not deserve Guinevere.

Lancelot
prompted his horse to gallop even faster. The faster and the farther
away they rode, the better, he thought.

------

Guinevere
opened the door to find none other than Arthur, standing across the
threshold.

“Are
you occupied? May I enter?”

“Of
course. Please.” She replied, stepping aside to allow him
entrance.

“How
were the day's preparations? Tell me everything went well and was to
your liking?”

“Yes,
everything went very well. The fabrics were splendid, in fact the
choices were so many I had trouble deciding on just one."

“I
am certain that whichever you chose will be perfect.” He
reached down and softly stroked her cheek.

I
do not deserver his love, she ruminated, and lowered her eyes to
stare intently at the stone floor.

“What
is the matter?” He asked her worriedly.

“Nothing,”
she replied, returning to gaze into his soulful green eyes. “I
am slightly weary.”

“From
the day’s events?” He queried.

“I
did not sleep well this night,” she explained.

“Something
troubles you my queen. Please share your thoughts with me, so that I
can do whatever is in my capacity to quell your disquietude.”

I
truly do not deserve this man.

She
smiled at him, attempting to alleviate his apparent concern. “Do
not worry yourself over me, my dear Arthur. My thoughts are occupied
with my people and whether I will be an adequate Queen sitting by
your side.”

In
all truth, she was thusly concerned. Though the reason Arthur
would assume would be her fear in her ability to properly rule over
the lands; to do her utmost diligence for her people. Which of course
was only a tiny fraction of the actual truth. Guinevere could not
tell Arthur that last night's lack of sleep had been caused by her
worrying over Lancelot – not just his sudden disappearance, but
everything else that had occurred in the past few days. She was
ashamed, though she marveled in the fact that she mainly felt so only
when in the company of Arthur. And yet despite her shame, Guinevere
could not stop herself from feeling her feelings, from loving her
lover, from betraying her betrothed.

“Fear
not, my fair Guinevere. For you shall be the greatest Queen these
lands have ever known. Of this I am without doubt.” He said,
pulling her into a sweet and loving embrace.

“Rest
now and do not trouble yourself further with these thoughts.”
Arthur gently brushed his lips on her forehead before leaving her
chambers.

------

Lancelot
arrived at the small town just as the sun was settling behind the
trees. The village was wholly unextrordinary, resembling the thousand
others that littered the island of Britain.

“Lancelot!”
A young dark haired boy of about 8 years of age came running as
Lancelot dismounted from his horse.

He
regarded the boy curiously, “Hello. Do I know you?”

“You
are Lancelot, one of Arthur's knights from the great wall. You killed
Cynric in the battle! My name is Bedivere.” The boy was smiling
from ear to ear at having come upon the fortune of standing so close
to one of Arthur's famous knights.

“Nice
to meet you Bedivere.” Lancelot replied, turning to go about
his business. He was weary from his arduous journey and both he and
his horse were in great need of food and rest.

The
boy followed him, speaking with much enthusiasm, “My father
told me all about the battle, and how you and the other knights
defeated the Saxons. How you helped us save our land. When I grow up
I want to be a knight as well. I want to be one of Arthur's knights.
I want to be just like you.”

Lancelot
turned and spoke sharply to the boy, “No! You do not want to be
like me.”

The
boy frowned at Lancelot's outburst, but did not waiver in shadowing
his hero. Like the child he was, the overly harsh words were quickly
forgotten and Bedivere was soon cheerful again.

“What's
his name?” He asked, pointing to Lancelot's horse.

“Her
name is Beornwyn,” Lancelot replied, gently stoking the dark
mare's flank.

“She's
beautiful.” The horse whinnied in response, causing both man
and boy to chuckle. Lancelot felt badly for having yelled at the boy,
and quickly thought of the perfect way to make it up to him.

“Indeed
she is. Do you think you could walk her over to the stables for me?”

Bedivere's
face lit up with a massive grin as he nodded profusely in
affirmation. Lancelot handed the youngster the reins, and headed out
in search of the nearest tavern for some much needed food and ale.

------

Weary
from last night's fitful sleep, Guinevere decided to retire early
this evening. Lying in her grand bed, she closed her eyes waiting for
much needed sleep to take her. Despite her exhaustion, her mind was
unable to properly relax and after more than two hours of tossing and
turning, she had had enough. Rest would not come tonight, not while
Lancelot's whereabouts were still unknown. Rising from the bed, she
quickly dressed and headed down to the stables.

Slinging
her quiver of arrows onto her back, she tightly grabbed her bow and
turned to make an unnoticed exit from the castle.

“Where
you going?” Guinevere nearly jumped as Bors emerged from the
shadows.

“Out
for a walk,” she replied defiantly.

“What's
the bow for?” He asked, nodding at what was held in her hand.

“I
may do a little hunting,” she replied. It was not exactly a
lie. She knew not what would await her whilst searching for her
missing lover.

“A
little dark to be hunting, don't you think?” He retorted.

Guinevere
responded only with a silent stare. When the other knights addressed
her, they always did so with great deference, treating her as if she
held the title of Queen already. But not Bors. Surely he respected
her greatly; however, he was never afraid to speak his true mind.
Normally she regarded him quite highly for his apparent inability to
hold his tongue. She could always count on him to speak the plain
truth. But this evening, Guinevere wholly lacked any desire to hear
his frank and forthright speech.

“You're
going to look for him aren't you?” Bors stared at her, waiting
for an answer.

Instead
of replying, Guinevere lowered her eyes, suddenly finding the dirt
exceedingly interesting. She would not lie to him, she would not even
dare. Another of Bors's infamous traits was his ability to smell a
lie before it was even spoken. She was not so stupid as to test this
proficiency.

“You
know, you shouldn't go out alone.” His previously gruff words
softened a bit. “I'll go with you. Don't want anything
happening to our future queen.”

“I
don't need you looking after me,” she responded with an icy
tone and an even icier glare; her defiant streak quickly rising to
the surface. Guinevere needed no man to look after her. She never had
and she never would. Priding herself on her self-sufficiency, she
took grave offense to anyone who hinted at her lack thereof.

Before
Bors could respond, Galahad interrupted the pair by awkwardly
stumbling into the stables.

“What's
going on? Has Lancelot returned?” The words slurring off his
tongue.

“Nothing!
Go to bed you drunk!” Bors roughly commanded the young knight.

Galahad
took no offense to Bors and laughed loudly. “Well if you ask
me, he probably just ran off with that woman.”

The
words instantly tumbled from Guinevere's lips, “What woman?”

“He's
drunk, don't listen to him!” Turning to Galahad, he screamed at
the young knight. “Nobody bloody asked you!” Bors ran
over and grabbed him by the arm, intending to drag the drunken knight
to his room and away from Guinevere before he could cause any more
damage.

Pulling
Galahad along with one hand, he pointed at Guinevere with the other,
“Now don't you go anywhere.”

She
watched as the two knights left, Galahad protesting all the while
that Bors was not his mother and should not treat him thus.

------

The
first thing Lancelot noticed when he the entered the tavern was the
complete and utter silence. Each and every patron had their eyes upon
him, watching with bated breath as he moved to seat himself at the
bar. He nodded to the elderly bartender who quickly came rushing to
take his order of meat and ale. People soon began whispering and
Lancelot was growing quite irritated at the reaction he was causing.

“It's
not everyday one of Arthur's knights comes here,” the bartender
addressed him, sensing the dark knight's frustration.

“That
is understandable. But what is not understandable is the reaction one
of Arthur's knights provokes in these people.” Lancelot
replied.

The
bartender laughed, “You are a hero Sir Lancelot! You are all
heroes. Knights of the great wall. Arthur's knights. How would you
expect these common people to react to you? They are in awe.”

Lancelot
crinkled his brow. How quickly they have forgotten how just a few
months prior I was in the service of Rome - their enslavers.

“I
am no hero,” he said shaking his head, “Arthur is the
only man who deserves that title.”

“You
fought the Saxons at Badon Hill. You killed Cedric's son. You saved
the Queen. You, Sir Lancelot, are as much a hero as King Arthur;
perhaps even more so.” The barkeep nodded.

Lancelot
had indeed done all those incredible things, but he had never once
considered himself a hero.

Heroes
do not flee at the first sign of trouble, Lancelot thought; as he had
run away from the castle yesterday. Heroes do not covet their best
friend's lady; as he so desperately loved and desired Guinevere.
Heroes do not enjoy the kill, as he had so thoroughly relished the
taking of Cynric's life. Indeed, he had never taken more pleasure
from killing anyone before, than that fateful day on Badon's Hill.
The Saxon had been a split-second away from ending Guinevere's life,
when Lancelot had stopped the heavy sword mere inches from striking
her.

As
he lay on the battle-field, his lungs desperately panting for what
surely were his last few breaths, the woman he had saved knelt down
beside him.

“Guinevere
...”

“Shh.
Do not speak. Save your strength.” She gently stroked his
cheek, tears spilling from her grieving brown eyes.

He
had to tell her. He could feel the life draining, his heart slowing.
He had to tell her now, before the end, before it was too late.

“Guinevere,
I ...”

He
lost consciousness before he could finish, and the last two words
remained lodged in his throat.

“I
know,” she replied, though he could not hear her. “I
know.”

The
barkeep brought Lancelot his plate and a tall mug, rousing the dark
knight from his musings.

“Shall
I have a room prepared for you sir?”

Lancelot
nodded his approval. It only made sense that he would spend the night
here, then tomorrow he could be off again. To where exactly he was
not certain, but he loathed the thought of staying in the town for
too long. I will decide tomorrow morning. For now he was
content to simply enjoy his meal, pass the occasional word with the
barkeep, and then retire for the evening.

------

With
Bors and Galahad out of her way, Guinevere slipped silently out of
the stables into the cool night air. She made her way to the first
place that occurred to her to look for Lancelot – the cave.
Galahad's words remained foremost in her thoughts, though her heart
refused to believe them. She could not conceive that Lancelot would
bed another woman, let alone run off with one. It is not possible.
Galahad was full of ale, and surely he was only joking. Surely he
was. Though she would not take heed of the rumor, the second the
words had fallen on her ears, her stomach had instantly turned to ice
- ice which had still refused to melt. Forging on, she forced herself
to push the thought into the back of her mind and quickened her pace.

Arriving
at the cave, she found recent ashes of a fire and knew Lancelot had
been here the previous day. She returned outside and by the light of
the full moon searched for and found what were surely his tracks in
the dirt. These were her woods. She knew them like the back of her
hand. Effortlessly she followed the faint path marked by footprints
and littered with fallen leaves. Soon she came upon the first dead
soul and her heart quickened anxiously. The trail from there was more
scattered and harder to follow now, yet Guinevere persisted until
coming upon Lancelot's second victim's decapitated corpse.

She
knew Lancelot was a more than capable fighter, and from the state of
the two bodies she had found, he clearly had been the victor.
However, this did not quell the concern in her heart, and she bent
down beside the body looking for any sort of clue as to the happen
chances or whereabouts of her missing love. After thoroughly
searching the surrounding area, she was unable to pick up any clear
signs, and was about to wander farther away when she heard the cries
of a voice in the distance.

The
faint calling quickly grew louder, until Guinevere could finally
discern the words.

“Father!
Father!”

A
young blonde woman of Guinevere's age came running through the trees,
stopping in shock when she caught sight of the corpse.

“Father!”
The girl rushed to her father's body sobbing tears of agony.

“I
am so sorry. I do not know what has happened.” Guinevere heart
was saddened for this poor girl, for having found her father in such
a state.

“Who
could have done this?” She screamed, clutching her father's
lifeless body tightly to her chest.

Guinevere
did not reply, yet she indeed did know who had done this. Though she
could not be fully certain, the proof was quite positive that
Lancelot had had an altercation of some sort with this man. An
altercation which had ended badly. Badly for the man of course, and
now even more so for his daughter.

“I
am totally alone now. All I had left was my father,” she wept,
soaking her father's shirt with the tears that streamed relentlessly
from her soft cerulean eyes.

Instinctively
Guinevere knelt down and reached out to touch the girl's shoulder in
condolence, watching silently as the young lady continued sobbing.
Guinevere stayed by her side until the girl's tears were all but
spent, and attempted to speak to her again.

“What
is your name?” Guinevere asked the fair-haired girl.

“Eliza.”
She replied, wiping the tears off her flushed cheeks.

“Eliza.
That is a pretty name.” This garnered a small smile from the
girl, who finally looked clearly at the other young woman aside her.

“Guinevere!”
In her mourning, Eliza had not taken full notice of the other woman,
and finally with tear free eyes she recognized who it was kneeling
beside her.

Guinevere
smiled in return, “Yes, I am Guinevere.”

“You
are so lucky, you have no idea.” Eliza's blue eyes stared
intently into Guinevere's deep brown ones. “You have not one,
but two men who love you."

“What
are you talking about?” Guinevere asked, shaking her head in
confusion.

Eliza
looked at her in disbelief. “Do you not know how Lancelot loves
you?”

Who
is this girl to know anything of Lancelot and I?

A
bitter laugh erupted from Eliza's throat. “I thought I loved
him as well. He used to come to the tavern, and I would pray that he
would notice me. Well last night he finally did. And now, I pray that
I had never met him.”

Though
dreading the answer, Guinevere asked anyway. “What do you mean
he noticed you?”

Eliza
light blue eyes suddenly turned dark. “He took me to his bed.”

“You!
You are the woman!” Guinevere stood up in a fit of rage, her
shaking fists curled into tight balls at her waist.

Eliza
rose and regarded her with equal fire in her eyes; the two women
staring defiantly at each other. Eliza recognized well the glare in
Guinevere's gaze for it mirrored her own.

“I
see Lancelot is not the only one harboring hidden feelings,”
she spat out, causing Guinevere's anger to increase. Eliza continued,
regarding her with utter loathing. “You are both disgusting
creatures. I would do well to tell Arthur of this!”

“You
will stay your tongue!” Guinevere's entire body was aflame with
red hot wrath.

Eliza
laughed to herself at her brilliant scheme. “Yes, that's it. I
will tell Arthur all about this. Make him ask you both. He will see
the guilt written so clearly all over your faces!” She paused
for an instant, madness flickering in her eyes before continuing. “I
will destroy his love as he has destroyed mine.”

“I
said you will stay your tongue!” Guinevere roared.

“Or
what?” Eliza replied haughtily.

The
words came hissing off Guinevere's tongue, “I will cut it right
out of your mouth!”

Eliza
laughed darkly. “You two belong together. You are cruel just
like him! You don't deserve the affection of Arthur.”

Not
bothering to glance again at Guinevere, Eliza turned her back to
leave.

Guinevere
called after the blonde woman, her voice franticly hostile. “Where
are you going?”

Eliza's
laughing answer came from over her shoulder. “I already told
you. To destroy your love. To tell Arthur.”

“No!”

Guinevere's
body moved faster than her mind, and before she had even realized,
her bow was strung, the arrow was shot and had pierced through the
heart of it's target.

The
fury raging through Guinevere's slight frame overwhelmed the aching
in her heart at having learned the truth of the revolting rumor. That
disgusting pig! Taking that filthy little whore to his bed! Lancelot
had done this just to spite her, of this she was certain. Well, he
will have to find pleasure with another wench now, she thought; for
this one was dead, by her own hand, and Guinevere herself would never
allow Lancelot to touch her own body ever again. Lancelot would do
well not to return too swiftly to the castle, lest he was fully
prepared to face the wicked wrath of the woman he had so deeply
scorned.

------

When
Guinevere returned to the castle, she found Bors waiting for her in
the stables. She was in no mood to converse with him, or with anyone
else for that matter. But it seemed there was no getting around it.
He was just standing there, looming in the middle of the room,
watching her like a hawk. Watching and waiting. She had no idea how
long he had been here, waiting for her return. Not that she cared.
The icy cold glare her deep brown eyes held would have struck fear
into the fiercest of men's hearts. But Bors held his ground and
stared right back at her. They played the game for a few agonizingly
long minutes, until Bors finally broke the spell.

“Did
you kill anything?” He asked sharply.

Guinevere
freezing stare suddenly turned fiery. “Yes.”

Without
another word, the fierce Woad marched right past him, with a death
grip on her bow and her quiver now missing a single arrow, still
dangling from her shoulder, and promptly headed back inside the
castle.

“These
two are gonna be trouble.” Bors spoke aloud to the horses, the
only other occupants of the stables, shaking his head somberly.

A/N:
I wanted to give Lancelot's horse a name, but I could not find any
evidence of his horse being named in any legends, so I found the Old
English name of Beornwyn which means “warrior joy” and I
liked the sound of it.

Yes
I know - in the legends Bedivere is one of the first knights of the
Round Table. Well I wanted the boy to be one of the famous knights
and I like Bedivere, so there we are!

Yes
I killed Eliza. It was this thing I had in my sick and twisted head -
I had to have Guinevere kill her! When the plot bunny takes hold you
gotta go with it ;)
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Forbidden Love