Chapter 6 — Destiny

Guinevere sat at her vanity and stared at the girl in the mirror whose hair was being carefully brushed. It had been three days since she returned to the past and she had spent most of that time get used to the environment and her new body.

There seemed to be alien thrumming energy within her. She could feel it with her every breath and with every heartbeat. It was not uncomfortable but it felt alien. New.

It did not take her long to realize what she was feeling. The power of the Grail. The power that brought her here. And so with every second that passed, Guinevere was constantly reminded why she was here.

For revenge.

And for that, she needed to make Arthur Pendragon hers. She had decided to become his tutor but the path to becoming the fifth prince's tutor was not a straight one. She would have to navigate the castle's politics, the various alliances and the power struggles to get to Arthur.

It would be difficult but Guinevere had no other choice. There was no other way.

Her eyes fluttered closed for a few seconds as she considered the different obstacles in her path. There was the issue of her qualification. Although she doubted the castle was truly searching for the best teacher as Arthur was very low on the succession rank, the level of qualification needed to teach any member of the royal family would still be higher than anywhere else.

And if she wanted Arthur to herself, Guinevere would have to prove that she could handle both the swordsmanship and the literary portion of the prince’s education.

Guinevere turned to the maid who just finished brushing her hair. “Prepare some writing utensils for me.”

The maid looked surprised but nodded. “Yes, lady. I will do that now,” she said and disappeared.

Guinevere rose from the vanity and settled behind the table in her room. She waited and after a few minutes, the maid returned and placed several pieces of parchments, an ink well and a quill with which to write.

She thanked the maid, dipped the quill into the well and began crafting the letters that would form the foundation of her revenge.

In the future, when historians gathered the pieces of the Legend of King Arthur, they would find these letters and realize that the history that they lived, heard and saw was nothing more than a well-crafted plot by the power behind the throne, the eminence grise, Guinevere Carmelide.

An hour passed and Guinevere straightened.

The first letter was a request to become an honorary knight. She would use the position to control Arthur’s sword-fighting lessons and also to advance her standing politically.

The second was an application to the Royal Instruction Council for the position of a tutor. She would be required to take various tests before she was certified as a tutor. Guinevere, however, had no doubt she would pass the tests and received her certification.

It would take some time for all the cards to fall into her hands but Guinevere was patient. Good things come to those who wait, they say.

Rising from the table, Guinevere walked to the window and folded her arms on the sill, gazing absentmindedly at the scene below. It was good and well to make plans but any good plan would fail if there was no room for contingencies. As she tried to envision possible problems with her plot for revenge, a loud bang rang out from somewhere below her, followed immediately by a string of hushed curses.

Guinevere cocked her head. Was that… Bedivere?

Curious, she pushed off the window and made her way downstairs. She exited the main door and walked around the mansion to the area where she assumed the noise came from. Turning the corner, Guinevere halted, mouth slightly open in astonishment and stared at her brother who was seated on the bare grass. It was not the fact that his clothes were burnt at the edges or the fact that his eyebrows looked singed that shocked Guinevere.

It was what her brother was doing that made Guinevere blood run cold.

Bedivere held his hand in front of him, palm up. And in the centre of his palm, a tongue of flame sat, burning away merrily.

Guinevere took a step towards him, intent on confirming what she was seeing. The sound of her boot hitting the grass startled him and immediately, the flame disappeared. Bedivere hid his hand behind his back and turned to look at her with fear written all over his face.

They stared at each other in astonished silence for a few minutes before Guinevere spoke.

“W-what did you just do?” Guinevere asked.

“What did you s-see?” Bedivere said, voice shaking.

Guinevere took one step and then another until she was standing over her frightened brother, casting a shadow on the ground beside him. “You are a wizard. You have the gift of fire.” Her voice was full of awe.

Bedivere’s face paled, and he leaned backwards like he was about to flee. “What gift? What are you talking about?”

Dropping to her knees in front of him, Guinevere grasped his hand and tried to pull it from his back. "Show me. Show me your magic.”

Bedivere hesitated, fear still very evident on his face. Guinevere understood the reason for his fear and tried to reassure him.

“I promise not to tell anyone. I will not tell Father. I swear it.”

Bedivere stared at her for a few seconds before slightly nodding and releasing the tension in his hand, allowing her to pull it forward.

“I will show you. But you need to take some steps back.”

Guinevere was about to ask why when she took in his appearance again and recalled the sound that brought her here. She stepped back and gestured to him to conjure the flame.

Taking a deep breath, Bedivere closed his eyes and slowly, from the centre of his outstretched hand, an orange flame began to burn. The magic of fire. The magic that the wizard Merlin had shown her on that snowy hill.

Her brother, Bedivere, is a wizard. Timid, shy, reserved Bedivere was a wizard; one of the few to possess the gift of fire. How had she missed this in her past life?

As Bedivere extinguished the fire and gazed at her with apprehensive eyes, Guinevere realized that she was asking the wrong question. The question she should be asking herself is how she could have noticed in the first place.

She often blamed Bedivere for staying under her father’s thumb and not trying to look for her but she had never paid him attention. She had been so fixated on her desire to become a knight that she neglected to do even the basic things a sister should do.

“I’m sorry, Bedivere.”

Hand still outstretched, Bedivere looked at Guinevere in confusion. “Sorry about what?”

Smiling, she shook her head and said, “Forget that. Tell me, when did you discover this magic?”

“It was the day we went to the blacksmith shop,” he said sheepishly.

“Tell me more,” she urged him.

“I saw the fire, the way it burned and softened the metal. Later that evening, when I was in bed, I reached for my bedside lamp but there was no match to light it. I glanced at it in frustration when all of a sudden, it lit up.” He ran his hand through his hair and averted his gaze. “Since then, I’ve been trying to light and extinguish flames. It can get a little explosive, as you’ve seen.”

Rocking back to sit on the grass, Guinevere considered what Bedivere just told her and discovered that she had a chance to change, not only her future, but that of her little brother’s as well.

“Have you told anyone about this? Anyone apart from me?”

Bedivere shook his head. “No.”

“That’s good.” She took both his hands in hers. “We will keep this a secret between us. No one else will know. Whenever you want to visit the blacksmiths, let me know and I will cover for you.”

“Why?” he said, looking at their joined hands. “Is this not weird? This power, is it not strange to you?”

“No, it is not. It, however, has to remain a secret. We can use this power to make a better life for ourselves.” She tightened her hands around his and thought to the letters she had just written and would soon send. “We will make a better life.”

***

The day that the letter of the appointment arrived from the castle was a bright, cloudless day with no chance of precipitation. Yet, it seemed like a heavy storm was brewing in the Carmelide Barony.

The atmosphere was tense and the servants carried out their duties with their heads bowed lower than usual.

“Useless child. You’re a useless child. You and your brother are useless. You both take after that useless mother of yours. I will never forgive you for this. Never return here.”

Her father’s bellowing filled the entire manor, followed by the sound of doors slamming shut, making the people in the building shiver in terror. Guinevere glanced over her shoulder to her closed, and now slightly crooked, doors. The entire ruse was up. Her father knew about her application and subsequent approval to become the fifth prince’s tutor.

At first, he fumed that she would want to give up lucrative marriage offers to viscounts and earls about twenty years older than she was. Later, he cursed when she heard that she applied to teach the “useless” fifth prince of the kingdom.

After all, if you were going to do something that made you unmarriageable, then it better be something worthwhile. Not tutoring a prince that was not going to inherit the throne or any reasonable amount of influence.

Guinevere cared little about what her father said or thought. She had played house for three years because although their family was not as well off as other members of the same peerage rank, she needed stable housing, clothing, feeding, and the power of nobility while she set her plans into motion.

Now that she had accomplished all her goals, she had no issue with the moronic man anymore.

Pointing a gloved finger towards her ajar wardrobe, Guinevere said, “Do not pack that. I will not be needing it.”

The maid, whose hand was on the hanger about to pull out a green dress, paused and took a step back. Guinevere pointed to the dresses she felt were fine to take along with her. once she settled down in the fifth prince’s castle, she would be given an allowance that would cater adequately for anything she needed.

It would not do to bring along old dresses.

The packing finished, Guinevere headed out of her father’s house for the last time. The carriage sent by the castle was parked just outside the manor. It looked fit for a royal, and the two horses that would pull it looked to be of better quality than any her father had ever owned or ridden.

As the maids loaded her luggage into the carriage, Guinevere turned her head slightly to glance at the place she had called home in both of her lifetimes. Despite the Carmelides' dwindling influence and power, the manor was still reminiscent of the honour and splendour that distinguished the nobles from the commoners.

Sometimes, Guinevere liked to ponder how her life would have turned out if her father had responded to her cries for help. Would she have been rescued, saved from the terrible disease that infected her lungs? Would she have received proper treatment, allowing her leg to her properly, preventing a limp?

Would she have been able to regain her smile, her vitality and let go of her hatred and need for revenge?

Guinevere did not know. That life was over. She had been given another life and she would dedicate this one to the ruining of Camelot.

“My lady, the carriage is ready.”

Guinevere turned to the maid and acknowledged her words with a slight nod. It was time to go. Squaring her shoulders, she strode to the carriage and climbed up the steps. She settled on the soft cushion and straightened out her skirts.

“Are you comfortable, my lady?”

“I am,” she replied to the coachman. “You can start moving now.”

He bowed and made to shut the door but a person called from the mansion entrance and the coachman paused, hand on the door.

“It is the young master, my lady.”

Guinevere stretched to see Bedivere running towards the carriage. As he reached the door, Guinevere told the coachman to give them some privacy while she watched in amusement as her brother panted from the short run.

"You need to build up some stamina."

“Yes, I will find some time to do that,” Bedivere replied, leaning on the carriage as he caught his breath. Straightening, he reached within his jacket and brought out an item bundled in a white sheet. “I came to give you this,” he said and began unwrapping the white sheet.

Guinevere watched with interest as the last layer fell away and revealed what looked like a dagger. Puzzled, she glanced at him quizzically before reaching forward and taking the blade from his hand. In a swift motion, she pulled the blade from the sheath and her breath caught as she regarded the dagger.

It was the most beautiful piece of metalwork she had ever seen. The blade gleamed in the sunlight, the light bouncing off its edges.

She held the dagger in a forward grip, thrusting sharply, then quickly shifting it to a reverse grip and drawing an arc through the air in a movement too fast for the other eyes to completely follow. It had perfect balance.

It was a flawless dagger.

Sheathing the blade, she looked up at her brother’s face and smiled genuinely. "Thank you, Bedivere. I appreciate it."

Bedivere shook his head, looking a little solemn. “You will need it. I know that you will need the dagger and so, I decided to make it for you.”

“You know? How do you know?”

She expected him to laugh the question off, stating a silly and obvious answer. Instead, his eyes became blank and his voice lowered as he said, “You are going to wage war. To demand justice from the ones who robbed you of it.”

Guinevere’s chest seized and for a second, she stared at her brother and saw an image from years ago. A picture of the old wizard, Merlin. Will her brother become someone like that? Changing fates and creating new realities?

Swallowing her apprehension, Guinevere wrapped her arms around her brother, hugging him close. They had said their goodbyes yesterday but the gift made her departure even more special.

“Thank you, Bedivere.”

“You are welcome, Guinevere.”

Bedivere stepped back and smiled at his sister as he closed the carriage door. Speaking to the coachman, he said, “You can leave now. Drive carefully.”

The carriage jolted forward and carried Guinevere towards her new destination. The capital.

It was half a day’s ride from the barony and since the carriage had departed in the early morning, Guinevere arrived at the castle in the afternoon.

As the carriage made its way down to the fifth prince’s palace, it rattled past Uther’s palace. Guinevere stared at the massive building, with its gleaming spires and its white stones reflected in her eyes. the memories of her former life flashed in her mind, making her shiver despite the sun being high in the sky.

She was powerless then. That’s why he took everything from her. but now, she was going to get power and take everything from him.

His son, his throne, his kingdom, his sanity and his life. She would take it all.

The palace passed out of view and after a few minutes of riding, she reached the fifth prince’s castle. This would be her home until she made Arthur Pendragon the king. The palace was smaller than Uther's—all the other palaces were—but it was more luxurious and grand than any other home in the kingdom.

The carriage came to a stop at the entrance of the building and Guinevere stepped out of the carriage and unto the terrazzo. On cue, a servant opened the door and two others followed suit. They bowed to her and escorted her into the building.

“The prince has been waiting for you,” the servant said courteously.

Guinevere doubted that but said nothing. Finally, they came to a stop in a hallway, in front of a brown double door. The servant placed his hand on the handle and swung downwards. It seemed like a simple movement but to Guinevere, it signified the start of a new life.

A life dedicated to avenging her past.

Taking a deep breath, she stepped into the room. It looked like a normal study room with a large table in the corner of the room. Seated at the table and reading a book was the young boy she assumed was the fifth prince.

As she walked up to the table, the book was slowly lowered and Arthur Pendragon raised his eyes to meet hers with a perfect smile on his face.

“Welcome, lady.”