The Camelot Betrayal

Guinevere realized with a start that what she missed most about Mordred was the sense that he saw her. In every room, in every situation, he had seen her first and foremost.

Ah. Yes, that is the price of being clever. We win, and we hurt other people, and we always, always hurt ourselves.

Even when the stories told were true, they never talked about what happened after the quest. About all the wounds–visible and otherwise–that lingered long after the neat close of the tale. They had rescued the damsel. The end. But there was still so much pain there, and perhaps there always would be.

I am never in the dark when I am protecting you.

Love should feel urgent. A rush of emotion, an inescapable need. A spark and passion that consumed everything, that burned away caution and fear and left only desire.

That is the part of being king. Of being queen. Making choices that will hurt some but save others. And often not knowing until it is too late who will be hurt and who will be saved. I am sorry you have to share it, but I am glad to have the company.

How unfortunate that nature was both the most peaceful and the most dangerous place possible. But that was its duality. It gave life and it took it, provided and withheld, offered beauty and danger in equal measure. Camelot was safe and ordered and structured, so many things put in place to separate people from nature. Roofs and walls. Pipes for water. Swords with men to wield them. The separation was a protection but also a loss.

The flock of birds always living in her chest these days had been startled. They flund themselves against the confines of her ribs, beating and flapping in a frenzy inside of her.

But it is easier to risk yourself in the pursuit of glory than to accept that you have hurt someone else beyond repair. And not even an enemy, a friend.

You are strong. You are brave. You are quite short.

She had constant tension from her magic knotted into the rooms and surrounding city, and even if that had not been the case, she found herself perpetually mulling over the figurative knots of her life and choices, checking for weaknesses, for where she could have done better.

They had no idea what she was capable of, but she was finally ready to find out.