Unjustifiable AUs: Take 3001
Most days it feels as though there are no reasons to be happy any more. Arthur is in France at war with Lancelot, and Guenever has no tasks; a fair number of the servants don't heed her requests any more, as though she were a prisoner in the castle for whom no accommodations should be made.
All her work from before, the few charitable enterprises it was her duty as Queen to oversee, the groups of noble ladies to be entertained in embroidery circles in her rooms--all that is gone. It's either sit in her room alone or go to the rose garden Arthur gave her for a wedding gift. The groundsmen no longer maintain it for her, so she's taken to tending it herself, stooping and kneeling to pull the weeds, cutting off the dead rosebuds with a little knife, bringing jugs of water from the kitchenyard to water the rose-trees. It's more work than she's ever done before in her life, and it hurts her hands and her knees, but at least it keeps her busy.
It's something to do besides think--about Arthur, about whether he's safe, about Lancelot, about Gawain's family (sometimes she thinks she might as well have murdered them herself), about her sister--about how this war is her fault, and everyone who dies is on her head--
She cuts herself with the knife, carelessly, and startles, straightening up to suck at the finger, her mouth full of the iron taste of blood.
All her work from before, the few charitable enterprises it was her duty as Queen to oversee, the groups of noble ladies to be entertained in embroidery circles in her rooms--all that is gone. It's either sit in her room alone or go to the rose garden Arthur gave her for a wedding gift. The groundsmen no longer maintain it for her, so she's taken to tending it herself, stooping and kneeling to pull the weeds, cutting off the dead rosebuds with a little knife, bringing jugs of water from the kitchenyard to water the rose-trees. It's more work than she's ever done before in her life, and it hurts her hands and her knees, but at least it keeps her busy.
It's something to do besides think--about Arthur, about whether he's safe, about Lancelot, about Gawain's family (sometimes she thinks she might as well have murdered them herself), about her sister--about how this war is her fault, and everyone who dies is on her head--
She cuts herself with the knife, carelessly, and startles, straightening up to suck at the finger, her mouth full of the iron taste of blood.
