mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*Guinevere worries.

She does her best not to, to put her faith in God and, truthfully, in Arthur; she does her best to focus on helping Bran, but that hardly lessens her worry. Still, she has a duty, and she assists Bran calmly and confidently. It all is part of the vigil.

When the day is done and evening comes, she leaves the shadowy castle to walk in the gardens and orchards, and tries to let her mind clear.

But generally, she worries.*
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*A few weeks have passed since Arthur was summoned away, and Bran was summoned to the Summer Country -- a time of unusual tension in the castle. Guinevere, Merlion, and Bran see to the running of the land, but the strain of the magic being worked is beginning to show in some faces, and worry is beginning to show in Guinevere's.

She has slipped off, finally, to the tranquility of the chapel. It may not be consecrated, but the space is quiet.

Besides, Arthur had it built for her.

She kneels and brings out the rosary Bran gave her, closing her eyes.*

In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti . . .
mother_lost: (Default)
[Millitimed to June 13.]

*Guinevere's response was left with the Bar yesterday, and she still awaits some acknowledgement.

A seat by the fire, then, and a harp to give her hands something to do.*
mother_lost: (A quiet smile)
In reply.

My lord, you do me too much honor.

If you will have me, then yes. Yes.

Guinevere of Britain
mother_lost: (A quiet smile)
*The evening wears on, until Guinevere, Owen, and Bran are left at her table near the door. Sometimes they talk quietly.

Guinevere is sober.*
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
My lord,

To begin, I must apologize for the delay in this letter's arrival. I had much to think on after your last letter.

I told you, in our earlier correspondence, that you need only ask forgiveness of me, and I would grant it. But when you did ask, I found myself uncertain that I could keep my promise. It would have been so simple to run away from the troubles of life, as I did before, and try to pretend to myself that I need not answer your letter at all, that I could ignore the old hurts.

But such thoughts would only mire me further in this place. I thank God that I found myself here, for I have been able to know our son, and thank the man who took us in. But I feel that something yet holds me back. I think it can only be that these old wounds have yet to be healed.

Arthur, I forgive you, with the fullness of my heart, and gratefully. I am sorry it took so long. This afterlife has given me perspective I wish I could have had in life.

Your land sounds wonderful, and peaceful. I am glad your work is done, though I might wish you had more satisfaction in it.

This place, this bar, still seems very strange to me, though it has been my home for over a year. Most of its inhabitants are from far after our time, and some, it seems, from other worlds.

The windows show the end of the universe. Words fail me here, and I can only say that it is terrible to watch, but beautiful. If one steps outside the bar, though, there is a lake, a forest, blue sky as in our own world. Perhaps, one day, you may see it.

I send you all good wishes, and I remain

Guinevere of Britain

mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
[OOC: In response to this letter.]

My lord,

I hope you continue well.

Some of your most recent letter came as a surprise to me, and unfortunately, I cannot say all of it was welcome. But it has succeeded in setting me thinking of the past. After you have been so open with me, how can I do anything but the same?

I cannot excuse the way in which I treated you, or our marriage. I can only say that I was young, and a fool, as the young sometimes are. My foolishness, though, hurt not only you and me, but ultimately even our son.

You accuse yourself of blindness, and of refusing to hear my case. But equal guilt must lie with me. If I had sought you out, made more effort to be the wife I should have been, perhaps things would have fallen out different.

if's and perhaps's may drown one, if one is not careful. That much, at least, I have learned over the years since I left Camelot.

I have also learned that forgiveness, though it may be one of the highest forms of love one person may show for another, is not easy. Perhaps love never is. Like you, my lord, I fear I have not earned your forgiveness. But let me assure you that you have only to ask it of me, and I will give it you, though it may take me some time.

I wish I could speak to you face to face.

I fear this letter grows overlong, and so I send you

All good wishes,

mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
To Arthur, once King of Britain, Leader in Battles, my greetings.

I had not expected an answer from you so soon, and I fear it has made me slow in replying. Your letter was no intrusion. Indeed, it was a pleasure to hear from you.

My thanks for your concern, but I am more than supplied for here. The one thing this place seems to lack is a chapel, and I find that no hindrance.

And my thanks, again, for supporting me here. Your generosity is clearly unchanged by the years.

I send you all my good wishes, lord.

Guinevere, once Queen of Britain, once Abbess of Amesbury.

*The letter is folded and sealed with a plain dollop of wax. Any seals Guinevere had have apparently not followed her to Milliways.*
mother_lost: (Default)
*Guinevere has spent the evening in the bar, but as the hour grows later, she puts aside her supper. Gathering her skirt, she rises and moves for the stairs to return to her rooms.

She has never found much to do at Milliways besides think, and there has been much -- more than usual -- on her mind of late.*
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
[Milltimed to not too long ago, after Bran and Guinevere's Once More With Feeling thread.]


I have spoken with Bran recently regarding the arrangements made to support me in my stay here. Thanks are in order, I believe, for your help in these arrangements. Until such time as I may thank you personally, let this letter serve to convey my gratitude. But there are other, related matters I would wish to discuss with you, in person. I will attempt to seek you out, but if this letter reaches you before I do, please find me. If I am not to be found in the common room, I may most likely be found in my rooms.


*There are a few spots of ink before and under the signature, as if she considered writing more and changed her mind.*
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*There are always corners of the bar where one can find quiet.

Guinevere has become fond of this table in the corner, where she can watch the bar and think.*
mother_lost: (Default)
The slight breeze that stirs the branches smells of apples. A delicate hand pushes sweat-soaked black hair off a brow, then strokes the cheek of the child, pale even through the flush of birthing.

The touch makes him open his eyes, and his mother draws in a little breath as tawny-gold eyes blink sleepily at wondering speedwell-blue ones.

"His eyes are an eagle's," says the harper softly.

"Not an eagle's," the mother whispers, and says in her heart, A raven's.

mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*Guinevere rarely explores outside her room or the main room of the bar, but tonight, she is outside under the stars, a shawl pulled around her shoulders.

It's just a shawl, this one.*
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*In this little corner of the upstairs, it's quiet. Guinevere sits in front of her fire, brushing her hair and watching the flames.

Her door stands slightly ajar, so that the room -- warmer to begin with than the stone halls she was used to -- won't overheat.*
mother_lost: (Default)
1) Owen. She and Owen need to amke peace with each other. This seems to already happening. In any cafe, if Owen can accept the fact that the past is passed, I think Gwen will too.

2) Mordred. Mordred, Mordred, Mordred. Right now, she needs to accept his choice in love. She really, really needs to talk to someone modern, like Grissom, for that. Really, I think Grissom might be ideal -- he's in love, he's reasonable, he's male, they don't have awkward history, and he just strikes me as the type who'd be able to deal with her.

If Guin can accept Mordred/Galahad, I think that can lead her to accept that people make choice, and that those choices, have been made, and she just has to deal with those choices the way everyone dealt with hers.

3) Merlion. Hoo boy. Guin blames Merlion for making her abandon Bran, and she's not wrong. I think I'm gonna defer the solution to this issue to the dealing-with-choice solution ("The Light gives strange choices").

4) Bran. Gwen is never going to be over the fact that she couldn't see Bran grow. There's a lot of guilt over abandoning him, even though she assigns blame for that to Merlion, and a lot of need for a family. That Bran calls her mother helps. Seeing him all grown-up and Destiny-y may help -- I'm not exactly sure. Now that she's gained him as a son, I think she needs to let him go. It'll hurt, but I think she'll be able to do it more easily (that's not the right word, but) than one might expect.

So, to sum up. 1) Gwen and Owen need to accept their relationship as friendship, and accept the past as passed. 2) Guin needs to talk to some modern folks. 3) Guin needs to accept the choices of others. 4) Gwen and Bran need to play together again, and she needs to find out about his destiny.

And I had loads of fun character analysis stuff typed up, but my connection is sketchy and has already eaten all this once, so that's for another time.
mother_lost: (Looking away // by Ashie)
*Guinevere moves quietly through the halls of the castle. She is alone for this errand, and though she doesn't show it, she's nervous about approaching her husband's advisor on her own.

The door to the mage's room is before her. She takes a moment to compose herself before raising her fist to rap on the door.*
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