Lance and Guenny
By Makenna B.
Upon the voyage to Camelot, to wed the great King Arthur, future Queen Guenevere, or Guenny to those who truly loved her, was at a crossroads.
And not just the emotional kind.
“It’s this way!” cried the heroic Sir Lancelot, or Lance as Guenny had come to know him, his fellow knights trailing behind. Guenny lagged rearward, eyeing the right path.
“Lance, I think it’s this way.” She pointed down the dark trail, the vegetation condensing into almost complete darkness the further one looked. Lance scoffed, the other Knights tittering at Guenny’s foolishness.
“You are wrong, Guenny. Don’t worry your pretty head. Now come along.” He dashed onto the left path, which appeared to be the sunnier option.
Guenny hesitated, glancing at the wooden signs that pointed into the shadowy forest: Camelot This Way. King Arthur’s Kingdom Lies Yonder.
Sighing, she turned her horse in the direction of the Knights and trotted after them.
65 days later, the traveling band reached Camelot, exhausted, sheepish, and out of supplies. Lance apologized for his mistake, begging Guenny to forgive his foolish ways. Because she loved him more than she’d ever loved anyone, she forgave him, happily.
Her contentment did not last long, however, once she laid eyes on the renowned King Arthur. Seeing him side by side with Lancelot, he was… short. The top of his head only reached Lance’s shoulder. His eyes did not possess the same affable gleam that Lancelot’s did, nor did he smile affectionately at the incredibly witty things Guenny said.
Her years spent married to the King were dreary; the only happiness she ever reaped was when Lance came about. Many a times, peasants who did not know the Queen by face mistakenly thought she was married to Sir Lancelot, who she was often seen with. Usually, Guenny did not correct them.
One day, whilst out for a walk in the forest, Guenny heard a mysterious sound amongst the brush. To Guenny’s horror, a dwarf burst from the shrubbery, casting a spell so Guenny could not move.
“At last!” the dwarf man cried, dancing jovially around the clearing. “I’ve captured the beautiful Queen Guenevere and shall make her my wife.”
“You foul, loathsome, little cockroach,” Guenny spat. “I would never marry you.”
“Ahh, but you have to!” the man cheered, “Otherwise, I‘ll never release you from this spell.”
“Then I guess I’ll be a statute forever.”
“We’ll see about that.” The dwarf began dragging Guenny through the clearing by her shins. Guenny, seeing no other option, began to shriek at the top of her lungs.
“ LANCE! HELP!”
“Stop that!” the dwarf snapped, attempting to cover her mouth with his miniscule hands. She bit him hard, and the dwarf howled in pain, releasing her.
“LANCELOT!”
After a moment of brief silence, the dwarf laughed maniacally. “There’s no Lancelot coming to save you, Guenny.”
“Don’t call me that,” snarled Guenny. Suddenly, an arrow whizzed past her, sailing straight through the dwarf, taking with it his heart, and lodging it into the tree behind him.
“Ouch,” he said, and crumpled to the ground.
The spell released with a pop, and Guenny scrambled to her feet and hurled herself at Lance. He hugged her tightly, and asked, “Are you alright?”
“I am now,” she replied, meeting his gaze.
From the other side of the clearing, unbeknownst to Lance and Guenny, stood Sir Wayward, the scrawny, pathetic nephew of King Arthur. He smiled wickedly, knowing that this moment could be Lancelot’s downfall, whom he was quite jealous of on all accounts. He rode back to Camelot and relayed to Arthur all that he’d seen, adding a few details of his own.
“And then they kissed, the nasty kind that lasts much too long, and I had to look away because honestly, it made me a bit uncomfortable. I mean, have they no decency? When I looked back--”
“That’s enough, Wayward,” said the King. “Make the announcement that the Queen shall be burned.”
“Of course, Uncle!” Wayward beamed, knowing if Guenevere died, Lancelot would be ruined.
The next morning, Guenny was tied to a wooden stake, flames licking their way up the post. The entire Kingdom gathered around, some cheering, others sobbing blatantly into their hankies. Guenny stared ahead, using her gaudy wedding ring to subtly cut at the ropes binding her.
“On this day, we mark the dishonorable death of Queen Guenevere, wed to me, King Arthur, for adultery,” announced Arthur, as he sat upon the shoulders of his tallest Knight so he could be seen above the crowd. “Any last words, Guenny?”
“Don’t call me that,” she spat, as the crowd parted, and in rode Lancelot on horseback, the picture of heroism.
“Fear not, Guenevere, for I am here to rescue you!”
“It’s okay, I’ve got it,” Guenny hollered to him.
“What?”
“I said, I can do this myself!”
“What?”
“I can handle it!”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes I’m sure!”
“Your feet are burning!”
“I’m well aware of the condition of my feet, thanks. Just give me a moment!”
Stunned, the crowd watched as Guenny tore away at her bindings, sprang from the stake, tucked and rolled, and landed next to Lancelot’s steed. He grabbed her hand and pulled her up behind him.
“Stop them!” Arthur and Wayward screamed, as Lance and Guenny attempted to maneuver through the crowd. The spectators surged forward, angry hands grabbing at the duo. Wayward grabbed his sword, lunging towards Lance’s horse, his vehement hatred apparent on his pockmarked face.
“Can I borrow that?” asked Guenny of Lance, pointing to his sword. He looked down at the sword, then up at her, then back at the sword, then back at her, all while galloping straight towards Wayward. “Oh, give it to me.” She grabbed it from his hands, and as they rode by, plunged it through Wayward.
“He tries to kill you in chapter 13!” she yelled to the King, his eyes wide in shock. “You’re welcome!” She turned, wrapping her arms around Lance.
“Impressive, Guenevere,” Lancelot praised.
“Guenny,” she corrected, cuing the serendipitous sunset that they rode towards.