Song 6: link
Beware of the thought
That carries anda to jail,
Where iron is the captive of the bars,
And water complains in its glass,
And be careful of the prisoner’s song.
It has the singer written in.
I’m trapped. Trapped oleh my station. Trapped oleh my poverty. Trapped oleh my gender. The prince loves me. So what? His father won’t let us be together. I cinta the prince. So what? I am only a maid, a servant. Nobody.
I should leave. Just leave in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. Being away from here, away from him would be painful, but staying here, staying near him, is lebih so. I see him and my jantung aches. I hear his voice and my soul cries.
Guinevere.
The way he says my name makes me want to cry. Everyone else calls me Gwen. To Arthur, I am forever Guinevere.
His voice caresses my skin when he speaks my name.
It hurts too much.
Fleeting touches, stolen kisses. They aren’t enough. They’ll never be enough. I tell myself that they are, I assure him that they are, but they aren’t. I tell him that I will wait for him. And I will.
If I stay.
Of course I am staying. I don’t know who I think I am kidding. There is nothing for me out there in the world. There is nothing for me here, either, really. A job. It keeps my hands occupied. My home. I am lucky to have one. Friends. Merlin, Gaius. Morgana, to a certain extent. Arthur.
Arthur.
He makes promises, promises I fear he will be unable to keep.
I hate being a prince. Stifling, suffocating. Bound oleh rules and expectations. Everyone telling me where to go and what to do while somehow looking to me for instruction and guidance.
Slave to my father’s will. Even when I do not agree with him, when I know he is wrong, I am bound to do his bidding, acquiesce to his wishes.
That’s always the worst. When I know he’s wrong. Deep down, in my jantung and in my soul, that he’s wrong.
Like about Guinevere. My greatest fear is not death. It is not the supposed evils of magic. It is not enemy attack.
My greatest fear is that my father will force me to marry for the kingdom. I have made a promise that I intend to keep.
My father will have to die before I can keep that promise. And he could yet live a very long time. And that worries me.
Not that I wish my father dead. I don’t. I wish that he would open his eyes. Open his mind, his jantung to the possibility that judul and station are not as important as he thinks they are. That alliance through marriage isn’t always the best way. That the people would embrace having a queen, atau even a princess that was one of them.
There’s always farming. I would take her with me. Take her away from here to a place where we could be a man and a woman, not a prince and a maid.
I dream of her almost every night. I find myself wanting to retire earlier and earlier because my dreams are the only place I can truly, freely, be with her.
Dreams that are becoming increasingly more… intense. Frustrating.
A tentative knock comes at Arthur’s door. Who could that be at this hour? Arthur wonders, getting up and opening the door.
“Guinevere,” he says, blinking, his voice rising slightly at this happy surprise.
“Um, I…” she starts, looking furtively to the side and biting her lower lip. He waits; she fidgets with the edges of her wrap.
“I just wanted to say goodnight. I was about to walk halaman awal and… I had to come say goodnight before I left.”
“Oh,” he says, his mind blank.
“It’s silly, I know…” she backtracks, feeling foolish now.
“No! No, it’s not silly at all,” he reassures her. “I’m glad anda stopped.”
“You are?” she asks shyly.
There is a noise at the end of the corridor, and she looks suddenly to her left. He grabs her arm and pulls her inside his room, quickly but gently.
“Arthur…” she starts, but he puts a single finger to her lips, quieting her. He gazes down at her for a few moments, his finger resting on her lips. Resting gently, now starting to move, slowly, softly stroking the sensitive skin until she can take no lebih and parts them just slightly, her breathing becoming labored.
He drops his finger, sliding it down her chin to hook underneath it, lifting her face to his. Softly he touches his lips to hers, a sweet, delicate kiss, only touching with his lips and fingertips.
It is a small kiss, but her jantung stops beating and she feels as though she is falling.
It is a small kiss, but his mind swims and his jantung races.
I think I’ll stay.
Song 8: link
Beware of the thought
That carries anda to jail,
Where iron is the captive of the bars,
And water complains in its glass,
And be careful of the prisoner’s song.
It has the singer written in.
I’m trapped. Trapped oleh my station. Trapped oleh my poverty. Trapped oleh my gender. The prince loves me. So what? His father won’t let us be together. I cinta the prince. So what? I am only a maid, a servant. Nobody.
I should leave. Just leave in the middle of the night, never to be seen again. Being away from here, away from him would be painful, but staying here, staying near him, is lebih so. I see him and my jantung aches. I hear his voice and my soul cries.
Guinevere.
The way he says my name makes me want to cry. Everyone else calls me Gwen. To Arthur, I am forever Guinevere.
His voice caresses my skin when he speaks my name.
It hurts too much.
Fleeting touches, stolen kisses. They aren’t enough. They’ll never be enough. I tell myself that they are, I assure him that they are, but they aren’t. I tell him that I will wait for him. And I will.
If I stay.
Of course I am staying. I don’t know who I think I am kidding. There is nothing for me out there in the world. There is nothing for me here, either, really. A job. It keeps my hands occupied. My home. I am lucky to have one. Friends. Merlin, Gaius. Morgana, to a certain extent. Arthur.
Arthur.
He makes promises, promises I fear he will be unable to keep.
I hate being a prince. Stifling, suffocating. Bound oleh rules and expectations. Everyone telling me where to go and what to do while somehow looking to me for instruction and guidance.
Slave to my father’s will. Even when I do not agree with him, when I know he is wrong, I am bound to do his bidding, acquiesce to his wishes.
That’s always the worst. When I know he’s wrong. Deep down, in my jantung and in my soul, that he’s wrong.
Like about Guinevere. My greatest fear is not death. It is not the supposed evils of magic. It is not enemy attack.
My greatest fear is that my father will force me to marry for the kingdom. I have made a promise that I intend to keep.
My father will have to die before I can keep that promise. And he could yet live a very long time. And that worries me.
Not that I wish my father dead. I don’t. I wish that he would open his eyes. Open his mind, his jantung to the possibility that judul and station are not as important as he thinks they are. That alliance through marriage isn’t always the best way. That the people would embrace having a queen, atau even a princess that was one of them.
There’s always farming. I would take her with me. Take her away from here to a place where we could be a man and a woman, not a prince and a maid.
I dream of her almost every night. I find myself wanting to retire earlier and earlier because my dreams are the only place I can truly, freely, be with her.
Dreams that are becoming increasingly more… intense. Frustrating.
A tentative knock comes at Arthur’s door. Who could that be at this hour? Arthur wonders, getting up and opening the door.
“Guinevere,” he says, blinking, his voice rising slightly at this happy surprise.
“Um, I…” she starts, looking furtively to the side and biting her lower lip. He waits; she fidgets with the edges of her wrap.
“I just wanted to say goodnight. I was about to walk halaman awal and… I had to come say goodnight before I left.”
“Oh,” he says, his mind blank.
“It’s silly, I know…” she backtracks, feeling foolish now.
“No! No, it’s not silly at all,” he reassures her. “I’m glad anda stopped.”
“You are?” she asks shyly.
There is a noise at the end of the corridor, and she looks suddenly to her left. He grabs her arm and pulls her inside his room, quickly but gently.
“Arthur…” she starts, but he puts a single finger to her lips, quieting her. He gazes down at her for a few moments, his finger resting on her lips. Resting gently, now starting to move, slowly, softly stroking the sensitive skin until she can take no lebih and parts them just slightly, her breathing becoming labored.
He drops his finger, sliding it down her chin to hook underneath it, lifting her face to his. Softly he touches his lips to hers, a sweet, delicate kiss, only touching with his lips and fingertips.
It is a small kiss, but her jantung stops beating and she feels as though she is falling.
It is a small kiss, but his mind swims and his jantung races.
I think I’ll stay.
Song 8: link
