#oflogres

THE CHILDREN OF KING ARTHUR 

@oflogres​ (ARTHUR) sent: [ RECKLESS ] : sender yells at receiver after receiver endangers themselves unnecessarily.

         he has never yelled at her before. and how strange that that is the first thought of hers about all of this: that he never has, before. she watches him, almost impassively, her head held high as his voice raises, but she does not flinch. she does not waver. not the flicker of a smile nor the glimmer of tears show on her face. only her eyes show traces of something: anger, perhaps, or simply frustration. it boils and freezes in equal measure, though - - for a long time - - she says nothing at all. 

          “enough,” she snaps at last, clear and cool and sharp. “i have heard enough. you seek to lecture me for living, arthur.” the attempt at kidnap had been close, she would admit, but she does not regret what had led up to it, the wild freedom of her horse’s gallop, the wind in her hair and the sun up above and the ground streaming below, fast as water. they had come out of nowhere, chased off at last by lancelot, they had not even pulled her from her horse. some part of her hoped that the news would be chased off, as well..but, of course, the high king had heard. (it was fear, some errant thought whispers. perhaps it was fear that makes him so upset. and something in her softens.) 

          the head imperiously raised tips lower, just a fraction. like a melting, like something softening. and yet she gives no mental ground, none emotional. the only ground she gives is ground she takes, moving toward him with sure, even steps, reaching up to take his face between her hands. “i did not leave my home to suffocate under stone,” she says, choosing her words carefully. it is not he who stifles her, it is that ever-present desire for different, for more, for that feeling of flight and of freedom. “to be cooped up like a pet bird, or leashed like a dog, allowed only to keep my horse to a gentle walk and surrounded by knights - - it would kill me more swiftly and surely than any man with a blade. i was not alone, and i am fine.” thumbs stroke against his cheeks, and just like that she lifts up onto her toes until they are but a breath apart, eye-to-eye, the distance of a kiss and yet without the brush of lips. “and do you really think i would allow myself to be taken from you?” 

@oflogres​ :   “ i don’t know what my choices are! i don’t know if i have a choice. ” / from medrod

          his hand had been forced. the whole castle was already talking, was already calling for a trial. for treason. and a piece of him had known, hadn’t wanted to accept that they would carry on without telling him. because it wasn’t the affair that hurt. he was not so selfish to believe he alone deserved their love. no. it had been that they had not trusted him enough to say something. anything. and now it was arthur that could not speak a word, even with lancelot standing in front of him. 

@oflogres​ (ARTHUR!) said: ❛ dance with me. ❜ 

            the feasting and celebrations that followed the tournament were strange things, stilted and quiet and full of whispers, more grave and solemn than any guinevere had seen. word of the failed plot had now spread far and wide, her sister’s traitorous planning and all it had done - - and failed to do. (there had been, of course, murmuring that wondered at the wisdom of carrying on with the feasting and the celebrations, but the food had been bought and prepared, the musicians found, and it seemed a waste not to use it. 

            it had been worst at the beginning, all that strange silence, the undertones of muttering, like the undertow of the sea. but as the food had been eaten and the music begun, the wine and ale flowing, the mood had begun to lighten. just a little bit, step by step, even laughter beginning again. but it all flowed back to murmurs again when the king held out his hand to guinevere and asked her for a dance. 

             his hand is large, though that was no surprise to her. she had noticed it while they sat side-by-side to watch the jousts, but it felt still more so, now. green eyes flick down to it and then up to his face, and though she is not hesitating she is certainly...considering. a consideration that ends with a little smile and another flicker of her lashes. and, at last, a curtsy that comes to its own conclusion with her hand set in his. she can feel the room watching them, every pair of eyes turned toward them, all watching with baited breath. breath that does not release when she rests her fingers in his grasp. 

              “i would be delighted to dance with you, your majesty.”