The Lordly Affair

 
Guinevere walked to the other side of the palace.  She needed to get away from her hero lord King Arthur.  He was drunk and had called a meeting to his royal room; the last time she saw of him he had put on great armour which was never supposed to be touched.

“I hate it when he is drunk;”  muttered Guinevere as she shivered in a corner.  “I wish that I could have given him a potion to make him sober;”  she muttered before she began to grow some peace as she rested on the ice-cool brick.

Guinevere rested her mind in the stark still and she began to settle her heart.  She felt it beat still but not with thunder behind it.  Guinevere was able to sigh and she opened her eyes and shivered as she saw Merlin as he glared at her.  

Guinevere wanted to scream as she saw the old wizard who seemed like a a ghost who had crept upon her to scare her. 

“You are frightened;”  he declared as he glared at her with eyes that were so white she could see death itself.

“Of course, you are only the devil;”  told Guinevere as she glared at him with suspect on her eye-lids.

“The devil?”  asked Merlin as he began to grow hot.  “What makes you think I might be the devil?”  he inquired.  

“You seem like a demon – surreal, white, potent, evil;”  she muttered.

“Evil I am not!”  gasped Merlin as he glared at Guinevere with contempt.  

“You put people into trances and turn them into stone;”  told Guinevere as she glared at Merlin as her belly began to worm.

“Yes that is true, but who can do that?”  he asked.  “You?  Arthur?”  he questioned.  “Nay, only me;”  he added.  “That means I can live;”  he declared.

“Oh so?”  asked Guinevere.  

“Oh yes and live I will!”  told Merlin as he raised his brows as though they were cups.

“Praise  be;”  told Guinevere as she began to grow a tad upset.  “How does a wizard live like a free man?”  she asked.

“As each turn comes;”  told Merlin as he glared at Guinevere as though she were meat he would like to divine.  “I see you seek the darker pastures tonight?”  he asked as he continued to glare.

“Oh yes;”  told Guinevere.  “Arthur is drunk and he needs other company;”  she added.

“Oh so?”  asked Merlin as he began to grow a fantasy.  “That is queer;”  he added as he narrowed his eyes.  “He should only need your company when it is so late;”  he muttered before he began to grow a tad bit bitter over the fact that Guinevere had not yet been able to obtain successful pregnancy.  “Have you been drinking those herbs I gave you?”  he asked.

“Oh yes;”  told Guinevere as she recalled the plant that had fallen dead due to an influx of healthy potion.  

“They have not increased your fertility?”  asked Merlin as he narrowed his eyes.

“I do not know;”  told Guinevere as she shrugged.  “I could have a child, but I am not a physician;”  she added as she began to grow a tad cheeky.

“Then perhaps I should offer an assessment;”  told Merlin as he stepped forward.

“No that is not necessary!”  gasped Guinevere as she crumbled into a corner.  “It is too late an hour;”  she muttered as Merlin approached like a person who had wind under their feet.  “I shall not survive;”  she muttered before she gasped as a chill screamed up her spine.

Merlin placed his hand on her womb; it was a large hand, but what was worse was the way he rubbed her belly.  He didn't squeeze her flesh he gave it a good rub and soon Guinevere began to feel her belly burn.  She grew hot, so hot that the flesh on her cheeks began to blush.  Guinevere shivered and she grew faint as her bodice grew wet -  she sweated, and she declared in her mind that Merlin wanted to kill her with his use of witchcraft.

“You think I want to kill you;”  told Merlin as he glared.  “However that is not so, I only wished to inspect you;”  he muttered before he took his hand away.  “It is not my fault you have a heart murmur;”  he added before he stepped back.

Guinevere placed a hand on her belly to warm it.  She could feel it had grown cold and she wanted to throw up!  Merlin walked away as Guinevere began to sob inside of her mind -  life in the palace was too hard, too brash, too much of a surprise;  she wanted to live in a farm house.


Guinevere sat in the still for many minutes before a knight walked into the corridor with a flame in hand.  Guinevere glared at the tall knight for the few minutes it took for him to find her.  Guinevere thought the knight a fine lad indeed, and when he smiled at her it was with a twinkle in his eye which Guinevere thought was special.  

“You almost look blonde in the candle-light;”  told Guinevere as she felt her healthy breath return.

“What are you doing here in this cold corridor?”  gasped Lancelot as he glared.  “Are you ill?  Drunk?”  he inquired.

“No, only the king is;”  told Guinevere as she glared at Lancelot with unblinking eyes.  “He wanted to expose himself and I left him alone;”  she added.

“But it is chilly, there is much draft;”  told Lancelot.  “Surely a warm room would be better then here;”  he outlined.

“There is much charm in secluded places;”  told Guinevere as she began to wish that Lancelot was a king and not a murderer turned knight.  “I like them;”  she added.

“That is nice but still you could catch a cold, and if you chill you can grow sick;”  told Lancelot as he stepped closer to touch her cheek with his warm hand.  “See?  Stark cold;”  he muttered.

Guinevere smiled.  She wanted to tell fine Lancelot not to touch her milk cheek -  however she didn't want him to stop.  He was warm, had a fine touch, and he looked like a lord; how she ached to gave him as her lord then she might gain some peace.  Arthur was a wicked soul having had been brought up by Merlin; she distrusted his right to the throne and every time he was near her she wanted to kick him out.  She didn't believe that he was a true king -  he was brash, bold, obvious, and a drunk;  he didn't seem like anything but Merlin's little boy.  Guinevere wanted to cry as she glared at Lancelot with the handsome face; she wondered about him and his upbringing -  was it all a tall-tale woven together?

“Are you really a fisherman's son?”  asked Guinevere out loud as Lancelot glared at her as he brought the flame close enough to warm her.  

“That I am;”  told Lancelot as he glared.  “I netted, reeled, sliced, hacked;”  he began however he pulled himself back -  he had grown mad on the killing of ten thousand fish, and he grew quite violent when roused from his slumber as he recalled the blood that dribbled over his fingers and toes.  “I was a fisherman left on an island;”  he muttered as he began to wish he had taken a walk through the woods.  

“But you are so fine – your hands, your face, your speech!”  gasped Guinevere as she began to grow sore over how right Lancelot could have been if he had been cast as lord and not as knight.

“Do not sulk over my face when you are married to a king whom you cannot stand!”  warned Lancelot in stern tone.

“I can stand him;”  sighed Guinevere.  “I just wanted a real king!”  she muttered before she flicked her eye-lids up to Lancelot.  “Make love to me!”  she gasped.

“No!”  told Lancelot as he began to step away.

“Why?  Are you impure?”  she asked.  “Have you no manhood?”  she questioned.

“I have all, just not for a queen to hold;”  told Lancelot as he began to grow a tad angered over the queens brave words.  “Now mind your talk or I shall declare I wanted to serve a real queen and not a temptress;”  he said.

“I am nothing that you do not wish to have;”  told Guinevere as she glared at Lancelot.  “I wish that you would have the brave to be a fisherman not a knight and serve me;”  she added.  “If I were a girl in the woods you would not have refused!”  she told.

“I swear that would have been a different world!”  told Lancelot as he glared at Guinevere.  “That would have been two peasants on lusting;”  he added.

“Then let us be peasants!  Let us be lusting!”  cried Guinevere as she glared at Lancelot.  “I have a womb that needs to be filled, fill me;”  she added.

“Not I!”  gasped Lancelot as he moved to step away.

Guinevere rushed and took Lancelot's hand!  He had been fed much anger, however he could only be angered so far; there was no way he would wish to hit her not even if she startled him.  

“Look at you so composed;”  muttered Guinevere as she glared.  “Surely you must need some breaking in;”  she added before she pursed her lips and blew ever so gently on Lancelot's cheek.

“You witch!”  he gasped as he began to feel like a little boy lost in a forest.  “How dare you try to seduce me;”  he muttered as the corridor filled up with much draft.

“Don't pretend you do not wish it;”  told Guinevere as she looked into Lancelot's stare which had turned liquid blue.  “I only wish for  a true king to make me a feel warm;”  she muttered.

Lancelot smiled and then he leaned forward. 

“You have made a great error;”  he muttered as he glared at her.  “I am immortal;”  he whispered.

Guinevere smiled as she felt her heart as it jumped for joy.  The immortals were a plague of holy men who had been sent to earth by God.  They were the holy of holy and kings for having had been created by God.  Guinevere wanted Lancelot in every way, and after he kissed her she gave herself to him heart, body, flesh, and bone!


Guinevere sucked on her finger as Arthur glared at her as she stood in a lone cell.  Merlin had placed her in prison and had told her she was a plague.  

“What have you done?”  asked Arthur as he glared at his freshly laid wife.  “You laid with Lancelot, didn't you?”  he questioned in a light voice that echoed off the walls.  “Didn't you?”  he muttered as he glared with cool calm.

“I am unsure;”  faltered Guinevere as she began to sulk -  she hadn't expected to be treated like a criminal when she was just trying to do what was right for Camelot.

“You thought Lancelot was the king;”  told Arthur as he glared at Guinevere.  “You thought I was drunk and he was the king, didn't you?”  he asked.

Guinevere couldn't talk -  she was scared she might say 'yes'.

“You thought he was king, didn't you?”  asked Arthur as he leaned on the bars that separated them.

Guinevere only nodded and that was when Arthur grew so much heat that he only needed to lean forward before the rack of iron bars fell.  

“That is what everyone has gotten wrong!”  he declared as he began to hate himself for having had gotten drunk, so drunk not even his eyes could see when Guinevere had slipped out of the room.  “It is his hair, it is his mighty chest....”  he garbled as he began to throw his thoughts around his mind.  “They think he should be king...”  he whispered in a tight tone.  “He should be....”  but Arthur could not say the words that he dared to speak so bravely.  “Well they are wrong!”  he gasped.  “You are wrong!”  he added.  “I am the king!”  he gasped as his heart grew heavy.  “How dare you question me!”  he added.  “How dare you sleep with him!”  he steamed.  “A fisherman's son!”  he lectured before he began to cough.  “I smell the fish that rests inside of his veins, he is a fish;”  he muttered.  “You have been impregnated with his seed;”  he declared.  “Rotten foul smelly fish, you are to gasp when you have a son or daughter whose skin, hair, and eyes have turned stark black!”  he yelled.  “That is what you will have;”  told Arthur before he grabbed one iron rung.  “That is what everybody has;”  he drawled.  “They get confused on what they see and what they want to see;”  he added.

Guinevere touched her heart as she began to cry; she wanted to call for help, but she could only glare at Arthur who aimed to make her feel ill.

“I thought you were special;”  told Arthur as he glared at Guinevere.  “I thought you would have been different and trusted in your lord the king;”  he declared.  “But you have let me down;”  he muttered as he began to chip at the iron with his thumb.  “I am the king;”  he muttered in a quiet tone as he looked to Guinevere.  “I am the lord, I am the son, I am the reason;”  he added.   “I am the king;”  he gasped in a whisper so hollow Guinevere wanted to scream.  “Do you think me false now that I have explained?”  he questioned as he saw Guinevere's eyes moisten.  “Will you lie and tell me that I am right when in your eyes I can see that you call me false?”  he asked before he took his hand away from the bars.  “I will not forgive;”  he muttered as he began to pant inside of his chest.  “You will not be forgiven, you have broken my trust;”  he added.  “I shall not forgive you, and you shall not live;”  he declared before he picked up his shoes and walked away from the dungeon.  “Such a shame you would have lived forever...”  he muttered as he left.  “Because  I am the king;”  he whispered as he turned around to take the last torch that had been left in the ice-cold cell.  “You shall not need this;”  he muttered before he left.

Guinevere felt relief after Arthur had left her alone, but she still felt sick!  She sat on the ice-cold floor and began to sob inside of her chest; she didn't want to die, she didn't want to die!


Guienevere stood for trial and was given no hope.  No one would speak for her, all she had were her flimsy words which seemed to insult Arthur and infuriate the clergy.  Guinevere battled to ask questions which were scoffed at, and then she sobbed as she was taunted by Arthur's questions which he spoke himself.  It was a fair trail -  two pips of royalty in argument and in question.  At the end Guinevere crumbled as Merlin cast a magic spell and showed to the clergy what he had seen with his witchcraft eye.  Guinevere nibbled on her lip and hung her head -  the world was going to kill her, as soon as Merlin stopped the film every man and woman near screamed and threw bits of scruff at her.  

Guinevere rubbed her eyes as Arthur laughed behind his mind.  He wanted to taunt her more then protect her, and he clapped as all the others growled.  The trial was through, she was to die a painful death on the stake.  


Guinevere felt brittle in the dark cell.  She was going to burn and Arthur was going to yell for her to 'go to Hell'.  Guinevere shuddered and then she called for help in the pitch black room, however there was no one there; there was only darkness.

Guinevere sobbed for hours, and after a long time she fell asleep.  The morning sun had been on the rise and she had only a few hours before he execution.  Guinevere wanted to die as she slept, but she woke good in health after a pitcher of water  had been thrown over her face.  

“I don't want to go to the stake!”  she cried before she was lifted to her feet.  “Help me!”  she muttered as she began to grow distressed. 

However no one wanted to help her.  She was alone as she was tossed out of the cell, dragged up a flights of stairs, and then tossed towards two lines of crowd who paved the way to the stake.  The crowd reached to her and began to clutch her, rip out her hair, tear her clothes, and spit!  Guinevere was urged forward by hands that grabbed her and pushed her along.  It was a traditional march and she shivered as she grew ever so closer.  

Suddenly a hand grabbed her neck and squeezed.  The crowd let go and cheered as she began to struggle with her breath.  As all hands were raised she was grabbed and lifted with two arms that were strong.  She was thrown over a mighty shoulder and within moments she was being marched through the crowd.  Strange enough no one grabbed her or tousled her hair; only Arthur could be heard and he shouted as Guinevere was mounted over a horse and then taken away by her new lord who was Lancelot.

“Perhaps in the Isle of Avalon!”  he declared before he waved a hand and galloped away.

The crowd sighed inside of their heads as they watched the horse as it fled.  Only one lone knight was brave enough to follow Lancelot and when he left he left for good.

“Goodbye then, goodbye!”  gasped Arthur as he waved.  “Wherever you are I shall find you!”  he told as he began to grow hate for the mighty fine rescue.  “I shall, and then you shall burn!”  he spat before he hacked down the stake with his mighty sword.