Chapter 44 #2
“I’d say it’s more important that you trust me,” I replied. “Everything went wrong when you failed to do so. Are you saying you no longer consider me traitorous? I was never at the root of the betrayal prophecy, but I have revelled in my treason since Accolon died.”
He released a heavy breath. “I don’t know what I believe about the past. All I know is I wish to change how things are between us now, and for the future.”
I looked away, across the river. The light was darker blue now, a cloud of starlings pulsing against the sky.
The tiltyard had gained in shadow, long grass leaning in the breeze as if a ghostly horse stepped upon it, pacing back from a charge at the quintain.
How many times had I stood here watching Accolon ride, lance in hand, his grace and joy alive in his every motion, doing what he loved?
I closed my eyes, memory aching through my body. “Arthur,” I said. “What if I cannot forgive you?”
In my senses, I felt him wince. “If you cannot, then it is my duty to understand.”
It made me look at him, and he met my eyes with a candid grey gaze, his powerful resemblance to our mother once again to the fore. Our road was long, but he stood before me now, open-hearted and trying, and perhaps I owed it to her to meet him halfway.
“Why were you wandering the forest?” I asked. “Alone, lost. That isn’t like you.”
“I wanted to be free, if only for a few hours,” he said. “Away from the shadow of the man I should be, and who I have become. My weaknesses, my failures.”
I had not expected him to lie, nor did I anticipate such stark truth. “Is that how you feel about your life?” I asked.
“I’m not sure.” He turned again to the balcony, hooking his hands behind his back. “I’ve held a crown since I was practically a boy, and it has been everything to me, but sometimes I wonder what it was all for. I survived, I ruled, I tried—but I no longer know if I have done any good.”
His regret didn’t strike my heart with sympathy, but he wasn’t seeking pity, because Arthur never did. He wanted honesty, and I was equal to it, even after all this time.
“This ideal nature of yours has always been as much curse as blessing,” I scolded. “Everything you’ve done, and still you push yourself too hard. Perfection isn’t possible in life, yet you forever yearn after it, as if achieving anything less is catastrophe. You are wrong.”
Arthur stiffened at the idea, then his shoulders relaxed and he gave a rueful smile. “No one has been that forthright with me for a long time,” he said. “Except Kay, perhaps.”
“Sometimes, direct opposition is what you need,” I said.
“Besides, you are not being fair. Your reign has been an enduring success. You’ve brought peace and prosperity to the kingdom, unified nations, fought wars to protect others.
You’ve sacrificed your personal feelings to do what is right.
The world you were handed is, on balance, a better place because of you.
For the most part, you have been an exemplary High King. ”
“And as a man?” he asked. “Beyond the crown upon my head?”
“King and man cannot be separated,” I replied. “As much as you wish you were High King on this hand, and Arthur—son, brother and husband—on the other, it all flows together, as the rivers meet the sea.”
He sighed with weary acceptance. “Therein, perhaps, lies where I have failed. You always told me, sister, that life is complicated, but as a king I never believed it. I thought if I cleaved to my ideals and tried hard enough, every problem would yield to a simple solution. This difference is what tore us apart.”
“I had my own part to play,” I replied. “Even in Camelot, my certainty that I knew best meant I was not honest with you.”
“Yes, but maybe I did not give you the opportunity,” he said. “In the midst of our arguments, and the rules I felt you should follow, I never understood the complex truth of you as much as I should have.”
His insistence touched me, our exchange more candid than I could have imagined, but my untold truths were more difficult than this one night could contain.
“We both have a temper, and a stubbornness that has made us foolish,” I replied. “Perhaps to truly move forwards, we must consider the flaws that brought us into conflict.”
Arthur nodded thoughtfully, then regarded me with an admiration that was youthful, almost shy. “You are wiser than me—it was ever thus,” he said. “We must keep talking, and I will listen, seek atonement. All I need to know is that you will let me try.”
“Atonement?” I echoed. “How?”
“First, you must have the exoneration you asked for,” he said. “A declaration in public that I made a mistake, with you by my side, so the world sees you how you truly are.”
Again it was too fast, too straightforward. Arthur’s willingness was heartening, but our past would not be untangled so quickly.
“I only ever wanted to be exonerated for Yvain’s sake,” I said. “Otherwise, I am who I chose to become, and I’m not ashamed. There are very few people whose opinion of me I would care to change.”
“I understand,” he said. “Then Yvain must be enlightened. What I say will change his view—I can ensure it.”
I shook my head. “My son has his own mind. Much of what he feels about me is justified because I failed as his mother. I have no right to his heart.”
Arthur nodded mutely, then considered me for a long, doubtful moment, as if he had nothing else to offer me and it frightened him.
“Please, Morgan,” my brother said. “Let me begin to earn your forgiveness.”
He held out his hands for mine. Above our heads, a slim blue cloud drifted lazily across the sky, towards the joust meadow—not my creation but an echo, a reminder.
I was still uncertain, but in my moment of impasse, I had made a storm and brought my brother to my door, seeking healing of the deepest kind. It had to mean something.
“All right,” I said, and put my palms on his. “Though it will not be now. You are tired and need to rest.”
Arthur smiled broadly. “Tomorrow, then?” he said.
“Tomorrow,” I agreed, and with it came a surge of anticipation. I did not know how the future would look, but it was there again, wide and bright, awaiting us.
When the page came, I let my brother kiss both of my cheeks good night, and watched him disappear down the stairs to be guided to his rest. By then, I had quite forgotten what I had done.