The journey of the queen continues with the hunt…

There was a time, perhaps a very long time as we like to measure it, when Guinevere was both the huntress and the hunted. As a mortal woman, she desired to be loved and to love, and she fought these wild yearnings of her body until she gave way to the truth of her heart. Until the Fae within could be recognized as a part of herself, the fair queen gave herself over to the hunt. Men, of which there were many, bared swords in battle to win her heart. The lucky ones, those who were most valiant and pleasing to her eyes, she welcomed into her chamber, not knowing that she would end up becoming imprisoned.

For many years, when she was young and fair, Guinevere let herself be consumed by the hunt, thinking that this was love. Love became, to her, a passion of the body, its fire burning only so long as there was tinder feed it. Hungry knights and their pleasing gifts were consumed by her desire until they were thrown away, charred and humbled by a fickle heart that was never satiated. The beautiful queen cast aside her king, and many a brave and nobel knight, allowing herself, as she did, to become pray to more dubious pursuers. The fate of many who get caught up in the hunt.

Time, as it will, took over the hunt, and Guinevere found herself its prisoner. She grew bored with change and its endless cycles. Age marred the pleasing visages of those who pursued her, and now, when she looked in the mirror, she saw a pattern of lines and found she didn’t like the history they traced. The births of her womb only served to repeat the maddening cycle.

Is this all there is? she asked.

When Guinevere looked around her chamber, she saw walls and a locked door. The men who had hunted her barred the doors, those who still pursued her, hacked away at an unforgiving bolt.

This is not life, Guinevere decided, and she walked woefully towards the gated window and looked at the fertile land beyond. Spring lambs dotted the green expanse, and a soft rain fell from the veil of clouds above. Guinevere found herself taking deep breaths as wind blew into her chamber, and something inside of her began to open.

The Fae within, dormant for many years, awakened, and Guinevere’s dulled eyes began to shine with new life. The heart, so long contained within her chest, began to beat a wild rhythm. As her head turned to greet the rising sun breaking through the clouds, Guinevere’s eyes caught upon her reflection in the mirror hanging on the wall of her sleeping chamber. For a moment, she let herself notice the creases around her eyes and upon her forehead, and the sigh that escaped her lips was not so much the sound of sadness as it was of relief.

I have lost nothing but time, the queen whispered, and a smiled began to turn the corners of her mouth. Her hands clasped the iron that bars of the window of her chamber, and she shook them with a vigor that both startled and delighted her. How easily they give way, she exclaimed before she pushed her body through the narrow opening and flew towards the fertile land beyond.