#but arthurian lit is fanfic all the way down anyway so who cares

[liminalpsych]

Not sure of Tumblr's rules anymore around anything remotely mature, so while it isn't at all explicit, I'll skip the alluding-to-sexual-content scenes. They're in the AO3 edition.

7. You know with me you never need to hide

Arthur and Gwenhwyfar lay entwined in the drowsy warmth that comes after love-making. Their breathing slowed and synchronized. Gwen lay her head on Arthur’s broad chest, letting the steady beat of his great heart soothe her into relaxation, like the rhythm of a lullaby.

Even so, traces of worry remained within the long muscles of her back, pinching and tightening. Apprehension pushed and pulled at her neck. She breathed in the heady bear-like scent of her husband’s musk, filled her mind with his heartbeat and filled her core with the warmth of her love for him. The tension refused to surrender.

The queen sighed, and let fly the arrow of her thoughts. “I suspect Sir Lancelot du Lac is in love with me.”

She felt rather than heard Arthur’s breath catch; felt the sudden stutter of his heart, the steady rhythm interrupted. Gwen lifted her head to better see his face and the furrowing of his brow.

He frowned. “I doubt your suspicion, my queen.”

Her laugh was as soft and dry as an autumn breeze. “You think me not fair enough to draw your knight’s attentions?”

Under her hand, his heart quickened again. “Ah, no, that is not…”

Gwenhwyfar kissed him with a smile. “I only jest, my love, to see you scramble.”

“May the gods save me from womanly sadism,” he muttered, pulling a merrier chuckle from her throat.

Still, her teasing had the desired effect: Arthur’s muscles loosened. Uncertainty continued to furrow his brow. “I doubt,” he said slowly, “because Lancelot is as a brother to me. He is as loyal as any of my knights - more, perhaps, than many.”

“Oh, my king. Love is not traitorous. He has said nothing, acted on nothing. What is more loyal than loving, yet refraining?”

The creases in his face deepened. “You yet assume…”

The queen paused for a long moment, considering her words. “Your skill is in sword and shield, and your power lies in command and inspiration.” She met Arthur’s gaze with a steady confidence. “Mine lies in the dance of court, and in the reading of intent and desire. I am very seldom wrong.”

Arthur exhaled long and slow. His attention shifted to the shadowed textures of the ceiling.

Gwenhwyfar watched him, measuring her breaths by his heartbeat, waiting in the silence.

“Let us say you are correct,” he said at last, in measured tones. “What are your feelings toward him?”

It was she who tensed, then, a hind scenting a bear or a wolf in the midnight wood. “He is charming in his own rough way,” and her voice was low and cautious, “and bright with passion. It is not uncommon for a lady to be drawn to such.”

Arthur’s expression did not change; she could read no reaction in him. Her own limbs tightened all the more in the unknown. A cold prickling crept across her shoulders, up her neck, dread’s icy fingers dancing across her scalp.

“He loves you,” she said with increasing speed, half-breathless. “He loves you more than anything. I think it would kill him to betray you. I have seen him staring at the sun the morning after I arrived at Caerleon, as if to burn this attraction from his mind. I fear for him, for you, because he is the greatest of your men, and for him to exile himself the way of Trystan from Cornwall would be a loss—“

“Gwen.”

Her name rumbled in his chest, low and firm yet somehow soothing. She quieted, inhaled, and stared down at her tight-clenched hands.

“Do answer plainly. Please.” Was that a note of strain in Arthur’s voice? “What are your feelings for Lancelot?”

Fear clenched her chest like a bear-trap. “I… I feel for him, too, my king.” She looked up at him, a rush of words and reassurance spilling out in the next moment. “And I love you, oh so much; I would never betray the vows I made on our wedding day, and nor would I seek to deceive you, I…”

“Gwen,” he said again, gentler this time, a faint smile hovering at the corners of his lips. He touched her cheek; the callouses from his swordcraft were rough and oddly comforting. “Gwen, it is well. I trust the both of you.”

“I — oh.” The fear left her in a dizzying rush that stung her eyes. “That is a weight from my heart indeed.” Even so, she recognized the distance in Arthur’s countenance. He yet had more to say. She waited, curiosity and apprehension warring within her breast.

Arthur studied her for a long moment. “I love you each dearly. You are my wild queen, and he is my brother-in-arms. You have my trust, but love denied is a slow poison of temptation. I would rather you explore this desire between you with my blessing, rather than let it fester and wonder how it might corrode your loyalty and love to me.”

“Arthur…” Her mind filled with incomprehension and surprise, unexpected possibilities churning together with concern and uncertainty, saltwater and fresh meeting in a brackish muddle. “I do not know if I understand. I would not betray you; nor would Lancelot. This is not an inevitability.”

“I mean to say that I would rest easier if you and Lancelot were to explore your desires for one another.” The king’s smile seemed true, yet touched with a melancholy she could not quite interpret. “Act upon them. Let none find you out, but do speak to me of how you progress.”

Incredulous wonder tinged with the golden hues of joy unfurled within her like lilies to the morning sun. “My king,” Gwen said, eyes wide. “Thank you. I did not expect such openness.”

He chuckled deep in his throat. “You see, my hunting hawk… I can surprise you yet.” He enfolded her in a gentle embrace and a warm kiss; she returned it with heated passion, intensifying with every heartbeat and every whisper of skin on skin.

With all the years between us

I know your heart, you know I'd never lie

Let other people judge us with all their own assumptions

You know with me you never need to hide