Guinevere moves, turning towards where Jack had been staring. While she doesn’t notice the tension between Artoria and Jack, she does notice how awkward the king seems. It makes sense, to her at least, for the king to act in such a manner. In that future past of hers, she would never be graced with the idea of children, something she had come to terms from the beginning of their arrangement, but it does not mean she would not come to adopt one, no matter how unruly they may seem. Or treat one akin to such bonds.
She might not have any regrets at never having a child of her own, and she wonders how carefree one would be — even here. Or, maybe, it’s the fact Artoria was still following them even now, despite how she lets on that she isn’t doing so.
It’s kind of cute, Guinevere thinks but doesn’t say.
The former queen lets Jack back down on her feet. Now that Artoria had looked away, the other assassin seems more engaged with Guinevere, wanting to take her dagger to see it for herself. Guinevere had to remind the child that there’s one more they’re looking for, to which Jack pouts.
It seems she’s trying to hide Nursery Rhyme from the two of them. How strange.
“How about, if we find her, I’ll see if I can procure some biscuits from the kitchen?” She says loud enough for even Artoria to hear.
That was enough to have Jack lead the way, apparently.
So, Guinevere follows her new guide, who still has their hand wrapped around hers for once, like a mother being led around by a child.
Like this, it is so easy to step away and ignore this feeling. Throw it all away; A day in, day out with no care of anything. As a servant, she is required to act only on their Master’s desires without regard to her own. But he who desires but acts not breeds pestilence, the pain in this chest will not wane. If she had not met this girl, if only she had not met Guinevere. If only Camelot did not fall.
The rage inside is getting a hold of her. If not for her turned back, it would look as if she is ready to attack and kill this woman. Not as an act of revenge, nor is it because she blames her. It is more simple than that. The Alter’s own destructive nature is what demands her action, yet her logic screams inaction.
The pain in her heart grows with her frustration. She does not know how much longer she can keep it in, but for the sake of it all, she must.
All of that anger and hatred, it breaks when the familiar yet gentle voice spoke. Though she is part to blame of her kingdom’s downfall, she acts as a hand that reaches out of the darkness. Not as a woman, not even as her own wife. But rather, it is because she is still part of Artoria’s beloved Camelot. She loves her just as she loves her people, despite how cruel the King seems to be.
She grunts to herself. These thoughts are cruel, way too cruel. It is like a sick joke she cannot handle anymore. The situation did not help either. No matter how one tries to look at it, this looks like a family bonding. Dysfunctional it may be, but if one takes into account who these two were, it is undeniable.
A tired (yet distressed) sigh escapes her pale lips. She does not know how long she has to follow Guinevere to get her answer, but she knows she will not get it by simply asking. Because it is not Guinevere she needs answer from, but she needs it from herself. The girl is but the means to achieve what she seeks.
And like before, she will follow the girl until she gets it. Even if it means playing along with this childish game. But perhaps, this kind of thing is not so bad.
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