Gwen had forgotten how much she loved to dance. Since her mother's death she had stayed away from the solstice celebrations, partly from grief but also because of the precariousness of her status as royal ward; since the rise of Camelot, enemies of the Old Religion had become bolder than ever in their hatred of anyone different, and she knew there were many courtly eyes watching her for the slightest transgression, poised to use her mother's heritage to defame her.

But this night, with the Midsummer air full of the heartbeat of joy, she didn't care who saw her. Her happiness at being reunited at last with her childhood friend had filled her with reckless hope for the future, and she let the drumbeat carry her spirit high above the clouds of despair, imagining herself a sea-bird with moonlit wings who could leave behind the troubles of the earth whenever she saw fit. All around her swirled the torch-lit faces of people bringing forth music with their hands and feet, and she laughed for pure joy, spinning, poised perfectly on the drum-beat.

Many years after, she would look back and remember that night, how her destiny was poised as a spinning coin.

***

Arthur couldn't tear his eyes from her. The streaming dark curls of her hair wrapped around her sinuous waist and shoulders as she danced, and her bare feet kept time effortlessly with the earthy drums. Her gown had slipped over a bare shoulder, her deep-honey skin glowing golden in the torchlight, and he couldn't stop his eyes from drinking the lithe, shapely lines of her hips and legs as she twisted and spun, lifting her skirts and tossing back her heavy tresses. The flames cast enticing shadows along her throat and the swell of her breasts, an effortless image of desire.
He had never seen a woman so beautiful, so sensual, and he wondered once again if the moon was playing tricks on his brain.
Who was she?

***

The pulse of the drums, the warm torch-lit air and the laughter of friends wrapped around Guinevere in a delicious haze, and her world for the moment was miraculously contained within the rhythm of her dancing and the smiling faces of people she loved, people she had forgotten how much she missed. She felt reverently grateful for the night, the music, the beauty of the full moon.
But now as she spun her eyes fell on a stranger, standing at the edge of the crowd, watching her. His gaze bore into her, dark as sapphires, and the flames caught the easily beautiful angles of his face in careless light. She had never seen him before, yet she found herself drawn to his gaze, and each time she turned his eyes remained on her, intense and unwavering. Why is he staring at me?

But suddenly the drums floundered and the music grew discordant. Guinevere barely had time to gather herself before screams filled the air, and firelight blazed on the swords of the soldiers as they fell upon the startled crowd. Chaos erupted as the soldiers hacked mercilessly with their swords, unmindful whether it was women or children they struck.  The drums were overturned and trampled underfoot, and Guinevere watched in horror as a soldier brandished his torch at two women, setting their hair and clothes on fire as they ran, screaming. Something slammed against her knees, throwing her off balance: a child, a young boy, groping and lost in the madness. Her mind snapped to the present as she caught sight of a soldier charge at her, sword raised, the gold dragon on his chest flashing. She grasped the little boy by the arms and thrust him behind her.

Then the world faded dark.

**

Arthur was as caught off guard as the villagers when the soldiers descended. He had been too enraptured in watching the dark-haired dancer, and now the courtyard, which only moments before had pulsed with joy and laughter, overran with screams and dying as people frantically tried to gather themselves and their families. He recognized the Pendragon crest on some of the soldiers, but the others were unfamiliar.
He caught sight of the woman as she crumpled to the ground, and it seemed his limbs sprang into action of their volition because the next thing he knew he was between her and the soldier, and his sword clanged against the blade that would have dealt her a deathblow.
Before the startled man could make sense of who he was, Arthur's fist smashed into his stomach, and then the back of his head as he doubled over.  He glanced around: most of the crowd was fleeing, pursued by soldiers. All around him were the injured and dying. Who had ordered this attack? The woman at his feet stirred, half-conscious, and he knelt to ease an arm under her back and raise her from the ground. She was still dazed, struggling to remain conscious, and he lifted her up, her head falling helplessly against his shoulder. He carried her away from the courtyard, his mind still reeling from having defended a complete stranger, a potential witch, against one of his own men.

Idiot! The King will be furious. What were you thinking?

When he was sure they were a safe distance away, he set her down gently, keeping an arm beneath her head as she slowly came to. He couldn't stop himself from brushing away a stray curl of hair from her face.

Her eyes were black pearl in the light of the moon as they stared at him, confused.

"Are you alright?" he asked gently.

Suddenly her filled with worry, "Oh gods, the soldiers..." and she struggled to stand, pushing his arm away.

"You should-"

"My friends are back there! I have to go."

"Please. Let me escort you to your-"

"No!" the fierceness of her response startled them both.  "I...I'm sorry, but I have to go. Please don't follow me."

Before Arthur could respond she had brushed past him. "Wait! I can help you-"

But she was running now, and she turned one more time, "I thank you. But please...for both our sakes, forget this. Leave."

"But- "

"Please!" Her eyes implored him and Arthur could find no words.  He could only watch as her fleeing figure melted into the shadows, and the distant sounds of weeping and keening rose in the air.