Gwen & Art Are Not in Love

by Lex Croucher

She had often wondered if her parents had considered committing wholly to the bit and calling her Guinevere to match him, but had chickened out just in time and chosen Gwendoline instead, the uncomfortable legacy of the former’s extramarital affairs with roguish knights staying their hands.

Arthur Pendragon, purportedly Arthur’s relative many times removed, was such a fixture of his father’s lectures that if he’d fallen through time and encountered the man, Arthur’s primary inclination would have been to kick him right in his damned round table.

“She’s awful, Sid. I’ve never seen somebody so caught up in their own majesty. She was five years old and already stomping about giving me orders, and running off to my father to tell tales on me. When we got older she started writing all these nasty little things in her diary about me, and hiding it under a tree like some sort of deranged squirrel when she thought I wasn’t looking.”

But that wasn’t his inheritance. Royal sons meant promise—they carried the hope and glory of their lineage, however reluctantly; royal daughters were born to be promised to somebody else.

“I am good, though,” Arthur said, winking at Gabriel, who looked thunderstruck and quickly turned back to face the arena. “Don’t wink at him,” Gwen said. “The point is to make it seem like we’re getting together, not that this is some kind of … mildly incestuous free-for-all.”

“He’s not bad-looking,” Sidney observed as they walked together by unspoken agreement back in the direction of their chambers. “And I mean, you love a terrible idea. This one could be your worst yet.”

“Where do you go? When you go … out?” “Oh, you know. Dens of ill repute. Gambling houses. Unregulated cockfights.” Gwen just looked at him over the rim of her glass. “I don’t know, usually … inns, taverns. The gutters outside inns and taverns. So far, Sidney is very disappointed by what your fine city has to offer—

“No, I didn’t,” said Gwen. “I don’t really go into the city. It doesn’t surprise me though. I have four cousins named Lancelot. Two Percivals. Court is rife with noble ladies called Morgan, or Morgana.”

“What are you doing?” Gwen demanded. “Crimes,” said Arthur, at the exact same time that both Agnes and Sidney said, “Nothing.”

“She’s protecting you. Because you’re … you don’t like women?” He said it slowly, as if the pieces were only coming together in his mind as he did. “I like them just fine,” Arthur said. “For strictly hands-free activities. Going to concerts. Book clubs. Turns about the hall.”

“Uh-oh,” said Sidney, pulling up a chair and sitting down heavily next to him. “What did you do?” “Kissed him,” Arthur said matter-of-factly. “In the bird shed.” “Shit,” said Sidney. “Is that some sort of slang for something I don’t want to know about?” “No, it was a literal—it was a shed full of birds.”

I like my men emotionally repressed and unavailable.”

“It doesn’t matter what you actually said,” Arthur said, raising his voice more than he had intended. “Jesus, Gabriel—why are you punishing her for who she is because you’re scared of who you might be?”

“There are ways to do both, you know. To be king and also have what you want. And besides, has it never occurred to you that being king means you’ll have the power to change things?”

“Come on. You must have some idea about how you’d like to live your life. Very deep down, somewhere under about sixty layers of ink and parchment, you must have a beating heart.”

“And?” “It’s stupid.” “I’ll be the judge of that. I’m very familiar with stupidity.”

and Arthur was amazed that kissing could feel like that, like both a blessing and a comfort, instead of like the inevitable meeting of two people who were reaching desperately for something they couldn’t quite grasp.

“Do you have any plan for what comes next?” Bridget asked, looking down at Gwen’s hands, which were still pressed against her collarbone. “Or did the forethought start and end at pushing?” “Shut up,” Gwen said, surprising both of them. “I’m going to kiss you.” “All right,” Bridget said. “Carry on, then.”

“It’s not a dream,” Gwen said. “Trust me. In the dream, you’re always on a unicorn.”

“Oh,” Arthur said, crumpling back into his seat and sighing. “Right. Well. I mean. What do you know, exactly? Because to be frank, Gwen, I feel like I hardly know. And I’m somewhat involved.”

Behold, kissing hath recently taken place betwixt this lusty knight and this passing good woman.

And you should act, at all times, as if your crotch is a burden.” “Now hang on,” said Arthur. “I’m a man, and my crotch isn’t a burden.” “Maybe not to you,” said Gwen. “But it’s a burden on the rest of humanity.”

“Oh. Didn’t he want to use a Tai name?” “They don’t have family names in Sukhothai. I think he chose Leclair from a book.” “Which one?” “The Big Book of Vaguely French-Sounding Names,” Bridget said seriously, making Gwen snort with laughter.

“Christ,” said Sidney. “Is that all it takes to knock some sense into a person? I need a head injury.” “You are a head injury.”

I said no to giving up my whole life to wait around for moments with you, whenever you could spare them. That’s not who I am, and it’s not what I want, and I think that, given some time, you’ll realize that it isn’t what you want either.”

“You wielded Excalibur.” Bridget looked guiltily down at the sword in her hand. “Not on purpose. Just had to—borrow it.” “You know, that’s the number-one reason people pull swords out of stones,” Gwen said, laughing through her tears.

“To be truly brave, first you must be afraid—and to be afraid, you must have something you cannot bear to lose.”