The Fall of Camelot

Mordred shoved open the door to the throne room with his shoulder, and the first thing Guinevere saw was his long dark hair matted with blood. The green eyes that reminded everyone of his father were narrowed to slits, and his black armor was caked in gore. If she had conjured up an image of death in her mind, this might well have been it.

"Kneel," he growled. "Kneel to your King."

Though she knew it might well mean her death, Guinevere held her head high.

"My King is Arthur, and when he returns-"

"When he returns from chasing a fairy tale goblet dreamed up by a madman," Mordred broke in, "he will find his kingdom in ashes and the rightful heir upon the throne." Stepping forward, he seized Guinevere's chin in his hands, turning her head so she was forced to look him in the eye. "But then, you were never the faithful Queen to him, were you?"

"How dare you!" she said. "How dare you spread lies even now!"

Mordred struck her with an armored fist and she stumbled to the floor. Her cheek was bleeding, but even so, she knew she had won a small victory. She had said something he did not expect.

"Are you trying to claim purity?" he demanded. "At this hour? Everyone knows about you and Lancelot, everyone but your foolish husband. Say it!" He seized her by the back of her copper hair. "Say you were unfaithful, no more loyal than me!"

"It- it is not true," she said through the pain. He twisted her hair, but she managed (just barely) not to cry. "It is true, I looked at him as a married woman should not. It is true, we spoke to one another in private, and there were times I had thoughts about- about what might have been. But I never touched him. Kill me if you wish, but it is the truth."

The pain subsided for a moment as Mordred's hands went to her chin again, and he gazed into her eyes. "By the devil", he whispered. "I think you might be telling the truth! How appropriate, then, that this will be your first time committing adultery."

Guinevere's stomach tied in a knot. It was what she'd feared, but some part of her had hoped he would not go through with it. His own father's wife! A part of her wished that he had simply slit her throat and had done with it all, while another part gasped in relief that her life would be prolonged, even for an hour.

But more than fear or relief, what she felt was a numb dread. Even when she had been in danger in the past, no one had ever dared ravish her- it would have meant war against one of the most powerful armies in the world. But that army was far away now, chasing Galahad's vision of the grail. There was no one save a few remaining sentries to protect her, and Mordred had clearly made short work of them. She hoped her fellow ladies had managed to flee when the coup started, but it was now far too late for her to do so.

"Everyone thinks they can take what is mine," Mordred snarled amid the clanking of armor being tossed aside. "My brothers, my aunt, my father. They all think themselves better than me. Well, you shall know the truth tonight."

And with that, he fell upon her. She could still smell the metal from the armor on his bare hands as he held her down on the floor, still taste the blood in his mouth as he kissed her. She pushed up against his grasp, less out of a genuine expectation that she could outfight him than out of panicked desperation. This was happening, this was really happening. The worst thing, as she'd been told since her girlhood, was to have her honor taken, and there was no way she could stop it now.

She had little awareness in the moment of her own body, or when the fear had made her slick enough for him to push into her with ease. Still she shrieked, and her shriek was enough to bring another of Mordred's conspirators to the door.

"My lord-" Sir Agravain stopped at the door as he took in the sight before him. He'd always followed his brother Mordred's lead, but to Guinevere's surprise, he looked horrified now.

"Leave us, brother!" Mordred shouted. "I'll kill you if you interrupt again!" He pushed Guinevere back down and she could no longer see anything save his face, grunting in pleasure and anger. The knot in her stomach grew tighter, and she prayed that if she was forced to climax her attacker wouldn't sense it. He had humiliated her enough for one night.

There was indeed a slight tremor in her body, and indeed, Mordred seemed not to notice it. So fixated on his own pleasure and vengeance, he could hardly notice an arched back, especially when she'd already been rising in an attempt to dislodge him.

"My Queen," he growled as he increased in speed. "My helpless Queen." With one final thrust he spent himself inside her, and Guinevere gasped for breath.

In the moment after his sin, Mordred almost looked like an innocent youth again. There was a softness to his face, a vulnerability, and she could almost have pitied this poor knight who had so lost his way. But the look only lasted a moment, and so did Guinevere's sympathy.

"Agravain!" Mordred called. "Escort my new wife to her tower, and see that she is guarded there." He let Guinevere crawl to her feel, and again the doors were pushed open. Sobbing silently, she did her best not to look Mordred in the eye, nor the knight who now seized her by the arm. She offered little resistance as he raised her to her feet and guided her from the throne room.

It was only when they were far from Mordred that Agravain whispered in her ear. "You will not stay here long," he told her. "I'll find a way to get you out. I promise."

The promise of a man she barely trusted was all Guinevere had to cling to, but cling to it she must.