[Locked to Lancelot] Battle Fatigue

((OOC: This was supposed to be posted a few days ago, after Tristan and Lancelot returned from their ride, but medical foo caused it to be late. So this happens before Arthur returns.))


After Guinevere returned from her meeting with Gerard she had avoided everyone---including the one she most needed to see. For the longest time, she had sat up upon one of the highest parapets of the fortress. It was one of the few places that ony a handful of people within the walls could get to. Up ehre, she could watch people come and go.

Gerard

Guinevere buried her face in her hands. Gerard was threatening Arthur and Lancelot and she didn't know how she was supposed to combat him. Gerard wouldn't just use weapons made of steel and wood and strength. He'd use the dark magics that he had been mastering since he had left the tribe. Thanks to her father, she herself was a master in one side of the magics. She had only dabbled in the dark arts. Those scared her and she hated to go anywhere near them. But to combat Gerard and protect those she loved...

After a very long time, Guinevere climbed down from the parapets. She went to the training area in the back of the stables. She bulled bales of straw and barrels out and arranged them around her. She made her way up to her rooms and retrieved a multitude of weaponry. When she came back down to the battlefield she had made, she took a deep breath and closed her eyes.

After focusing her breathing, Guinevere leapt into action, throwing knives and hatchets at her targets with deadly accuracy. At first, a few of the braver boys in the area engaged her in sparring, but after a few hours and more that a few serious cuts and bruises, they left the driven warrior to her workout. One of the squires thought it might be a good idea to go and fetch someone who would be able to approach the maid and not get killed in the process.

Gerard was threatening to harm the men she loved more than her own life.

"Kyah!" she screamed out as her sword tore into a target dummy.

She was vaguely aware of sweat streaming down her body. Her leathers began to stick to her as she continued to push herself.

Her past was promising to destroy her future.

She felt pains from her wounds, but soon they became a dull throbbing at the back of her mind as she focused on her work out.

Gerard was plotting with the enemy. He had made arrangements with the Saxons to attack Arthur and the Knights. He was trying to drive a wedge between the Britons and Arthur. He was going to harm Lancelot and Arthur.

Guinevere spun, throwing two small axes into a target with a cry that seemed to be torn from deep within her soul. She rolled from a crouch and let loose with two daggers from her wrists. When the sky opened up and rain started pouring down upon her, she didn't falter.

The woman pushed herself until her breathing was ragged and every muscle in her body ached. Still, she wouldn't stop the torture she was visiting upon herself.

Gerard. Gerard. Gerard.

She stabbed at the targets in front of her and then dropped her sword to use her fists as well.

He would take everything from her. He would make sure that she suffered the pain of knowing that it was he who had taken away her happiness. He wouldn't fight her men outright, but he would destroy them and everything that they had worked for.

Arthur. Lancelot.

She would die for them. She would kill for them. She would sell her soul for them.

Guinevere took up her pair of short swords and continued to stab at the targets as rained poured down and turned the ground into mud.

She pushed herself until her strength gave out and she dropped to her knees, still stabbing at the shredded target in front of her. The rain mixed with the sobs being torn from her as she continued to try to fight even from her knees.

What Is Your Most Prized Possession and Why? (#69)

((OOC: This answer takes place amidst a storyline that the King Arthur muses are involved in at the moment.))

Guinevere sat on her bed, tears long since dried as she looked at the blade sitting on her bed in front of her. She reached out and ran her fingers down the sharp blade and then along the handle. She could still see his hands holding this and it's twin...that twin being broken and gone, now. She curled her hand around the handle and swung it up in front of her.

Lancelot...

He was gone, her dark knight with the dancing eyes. He had been killed by the one person from her past that she hadn't expected to ever see again.

Guinevere stood up and danced with the sword, swinging it in a deadly arc around her body. She did this for a few moments before dropping to her knees on the floor as a strangled cry was drawn from her throat.

Lancelot...

He was never coming back and this was all she had left of the dark Sarmatian knight that had stolen her heart. She held his sword close to her, not caring when the blade cut into her hand and wet the blade with blood.

He was gone. He had escaped death once, but the gods had decided to take him away from her at the whim of a half-mad would-be leader.

Guinevere sat there on her knees for what seemed like hours...she held on to the sword like it was a lifeline and her eyes stared down at the floor as she started to sob again. It seemed like she had done nothing but cry since the news had come.

Merlin had come and had tried to comfort her, but for the first time in her life, she refused to see him. Ever since Tristan had brought back the news and the swords...one of the two blades broken, she had stayed locked in her room. She had locked the door and refused to come out. She had lost track of how many days it had been. She was only vaguely aware of the passing from dawn to dark and back again.

No one knew where Arthur had hidden himself away in grief or they might have gotten him to break in on Guinevere. He would be the only one that could safely approach the grieving warrior.

She screamed out her rage and grief until her throat ached and her voice was hoarse. The screams echoed throughout most of the fortress and those that heard it bowed their heads. They understood her grief and her pain. It was well known how much she had loved the dark Sarmatian knight.

He was dead.

Lancelot was dead and all she had left of him was his sword and the memory of his touch.

One very deadly sword.

She held the sword to her as she cried out again, but the sound was muted. She had no voice left with which to scream out at the wrongness of this death.



Word Count: 515
Muse: Guinevere
Fandom: "King Arthur"; Misc Movies and Mythologies