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Time is like a handful of sand – the tighter you grasp it, the faster it runs through your fingers.
- Henry David Thoreau
Camelot is falling apart.
As much as Gwen tried to quiet this thought, every day it seemed to grow stronger. The dragon attack months ago was only the first of many tragedies to befall the kingdom, and now the people were cursed with a king who, for all intents and purposes, had gone mad.
Uther was still sane by most standards, but his preoccupation with defending his kingdom against magic (his hatred worse than ever), finding the Lady Morgana (more seemingly impossible by the day), and preventing his son from second guessing him (now a daily occurrence) had rendered him an unstable ruler. Desperate for any form of control, he had flung Camelot into war with the first enemy he could find. Now the kingdom’s coffers were nearing empty, men were dying one after another, and the people lived in constant fear of attack.
Gwen sighed and readjusted her arms around the laundry she held as she continued her trek down the hall. Even she, who believed so strongly in a better future, found herself slowly giving into the darkness.
She slowed down as she neared her destination. Under the guise of delivering freshly laundered clothes she had planned to visit Arthur during his noon meal. In the days following the end of the dragon attack, Gwen and Arthur had agreed that a chance of possibility was worth the probable pain—and yet their relationship had continued to consist only of scattered moments. Between training his knights, looking after the kingdom, and battling his father, Arthur had had little time to spare, and Gwen was just as busy with her duties about the castle. It was only during stolen moments such as this that the two were able to spend the smallest amount of time together.
Gwen held the laundry against her hip with one hand and knocked on the doors to Arthur’s chambers with the other. When she heard his voice call, “Come in,” she stepped through the threshold and closed the door softly behind her. Turning around to face Arthur, the smile she had been saving for him quickly fell as she took in his fraught expression.
“Are you all right?” she asked softly. She walked over to the table, near where he stood, and set down the basket. When he did not answer Gwen grabbed his hand. “Arthur?”
After a few more moments of silence Arthur finally spoke, his eyes straight ahead and away from Gwen: “My father wants to ally Camelot with a neighboring kingdom.”
His words were filled with bitterness, and Gwen couldn’t help but frown at Arthur’s tone. “Well, won’t that help the people? If we have an ally then that means fewer men from Camelot must fight, and surely it will help with all the costs.”
“Our coffers are empty, Gwen.” He finally turned to look at her, and Gwen was shocked by the urgency in his eyes.
“But this alliance— ” Gwen said, grasping for an explanation.
“Will bring money, yes, but Guinevere, you don’t. . . .” Arthur trailed off. He ran the fingers of his free hand through his hair and closed his eyes. Gwen furrowed her brow. What wasn’t he saying? “To form an alliance we must give this other kingdom something in return,” Arthur said. “Usually we’d offer a large monetary sum or a promise of defense.”
“But Camelot doesn’t— Oh.” So that was it—the news that Arthur needed so desperately for her to understand but couldn’t bear to tell her. Camelot needed an ally, but it had nothing to offer. Nothing to offer except. . . . “Marriage,” Gwen whispered, licking her lips.
“Marriage.” Arthur almost choked on the word. “My father . . . he’s found someone suitable. So he says. Someone who will return money and power to Camelot. Someone who can help us protect the people.”
Gwen remained silent. What was there to say? She knew Arthur loved her, but he loved Camelot more. It’s why she loved him. How could she stand by him if he put his own desires before the needs of the kingdom? But in an ugly twist of fate it seemed that his loyalty—the loyalty she had so long admired—was to be their downfall.
She managed to find the words at last: “If this union can bring an end to all of this terror and suffering, then . . . ” Gwen closed her eyes. By everything she valued in her life she would not cry. She knew when she began this story that it more likely than not would end in heartbreak. Yet despite everything—the wars, the sorrow, the impending darkness—she had been happy these past four months. Was not that enough for a serving girl who was due nothing? “Then it’s the right thing to do,” she finished, forcing her voice to remain calm. “It's what's best for your people, and I'm sure she— ”
“Guinevere,” Arthur cut her off, and Gwen watched as his eyes widened in fright at her submission. She had little trouble imagining what was running through his mind: how he had expected confusion, anger, perhaps even fear, but not this—never this. Not from the young woman who advocated choice and bravery. It did not occur to him that this was her choice, or how much courage it was taking her to stand by it.
Arthur placed his hands on her shoulders and forced her to face him. “I will find another way.” Gwen kept her eyes closed and willed herself to breathe, still trying to suppress her emotions. “Despite what my father thinks, marriage isn’t the only option, and neither is money or knights. You must know that I’ll find a way out of this.” Gwen looked up, facing Arthur’s determined gaze. “I didn’t tell you as a warning. I told you because. . . .” He trailed off. Gwen held her breath, wondering if he would dare ask so much of her. “You said once that you had faith in me,” he reminded her softly. “Do you still?”
He looked scared, Gwen realized with a start. Scared that he had failed her in some way, that she had finally had enough of waiting and wondering. Overcome, Gwen cupped Arthur’s face in her hands. “Always,” she assured him, her voice hoarse. She placed a gentle, fleeting kiss to his lips and repeated in a whisper, “Always.” She turned away before she could see his reaction (or worse, before he could see hers). She had not lied. She knew that Arthur would fight until the bitter end to find another way to save his people.
Gwen also knew that fortune may finally be against him—that this was a battle perhaps even he could not win. Gwen’s faith, boundless as it was (as it always would be), would not be able to alter that reality.
“Guinevere!” she heard Arthur call after her as she opened the door.
“Must get to the kitchens,” she answered, still walking. “Busy day!” She closed the door, not daring to look behind her for fear he would see the tear that had finally escaped.
They were out of time.