Chapter X: The Ambassador's Anxiety
Nemeth was a smaller kingdom than Camelot, less prosperous, with a more dispersed population. Its capital was roughly half the size of Camelot's, as was the castle before them. Gwen knew that. So why did the castle loom so large?
"Are you all right?" Sefa asked.
"This was a terrible idea," Gwen replied faintly. "This will be a disaster. What was I thinking?"
"…That you could help?" Gilli suggested.
"It's a bit late now," Isolde chirped. People were staring at her in mild disbelief, this woman in man's clothing, but she ignored them with the ease of long practice. Tristan, too, mostly ignored them, though he'd occasionally glare at someone who made a particularly loud comment. "We're almost there. I can see the inner walls." She pointed. Sure enough, their horses were rapidly approaching the castle gates.
Gwen was going to be sick.
"Who are you?" asked the bored guardsman functioning as the gatekeeper.
"Lady Guinevere of Camelot, along with her retinue," Sefa announced.
Gwen swallowed. Her throat was dry, her voice a bit scratchy as she stated, "We have a letter of introduction from His Majesty, King Arthur." She took it from her pouch, brandished it before the guard. Even if he wasn't literate (and he almost certainly wasn't), he would (hopefully) recognize the royal seal stamped at the bottom of the parchment. Sure enough, his eyes widened in surprise once they landed on it.
"Apologies, my lady," he said, bowing—bowing!—slightly to Gwen, correctly deducing her identity from her dress. "I did not know you were coming."
"Don't be sorry, goodman. We didn't send word ahead, so you had no way of knowing. It's a bit irregular." Well, that was one way to put it.
The guard fidgeted slightly. "Oh. In that case, my lady, I… there is a policy that unannounced, unfamiliar ambassadors must have their identities verified."
"Of course," Gwen agreed, ignoring the sinking feeling in her gut. She didn't have papers of nobility. Would they demand those papers? Quiz her about her lineage? She would admit, if she was asked, that her family had only recently come to the 'nobility,' but that might undermine her credibility. No, it would definitely undermine her credibility. It would do more than that, it would get them all kicked out in disgrace.
Whatever they were going to do, she was definitely going to fail it. She couldn't pass for some blue-blooded noblewoman who had grown up rich and powerful with servants to attend her every whim and, and lands and titles and all sorts of things. She didn't even have a last name! (Granted, there were quite a few noble families who lacked surnames, but Gwen forgot that in her moments of panic.) She would get kicked out and humiliate herself and disappoint Arthur and—
Gwen closed her eyes, focused on her breathing. She could do that. She'd often guided Morgana through breathing exercises after a particularly harrowing nightmare. The quiet repetition of in-out in-out calmed her, made her think a bit more clearly.
By then, however, the Nemethi guardsman had returned. "The seal is legitimate, my lady," he announced. "His Majesty King Rodor apologizes for the inconvenience and thanks you for your patience."
Gwen positively beamed with relief. The seal, of course they'd just wanted to verify the seal. "As I said, goodman, it's no trouble at all. We were the ones who didn't send ahead. His Majesty is wise to beware of impostors."
The next part was one that Gwen must have seen a hundred times back at Camelot, though never from this perspective. The visiting noble (in this case, her. Somehow) was led to the throne room to be formally presented to the king and, usually, a good portion of his court. In this case, Rodor had called in two young men who must be his sons, several knights standing at attention, and a smattering of lords and ladies.
They were all staring at Gwen. All of them. Staring. Directly at her.
This was terrible, and terrifying, and she couldn't think like that. She'd seen this in Camelot. She knew what to do, she just had to do it.
Gwen strode forward on legs that somehow felt like jelly and like wood all at once. Her arms were rigid in a mostly successful attempt to keep her hands from shaking. She wanted to bow her head slightly, to hunch in a little, to make herself just a little smaller and less conspicuous in the presence of her betters like she had for Uther. But a lady wouldn't do that. A lady would at least look confident, like she knew what she was doing.
Hopefully they couldn't tell that her smile was forced.
Approach the throne. Stop within easy speaking distance but not too close. A curtsy, but not as deep as she would to her own king, spreading her red skirts in an elegant swish of fabric. Hold it for one heartbeat, two, three, then rise and announce yourself. "I am Guinevere, a lady of Camelot. His Majesty King Arthur has tasked me with visiting the allies of our kingdom in order to prepare for reworking certain treaties to be more beneficial to all of Albion." That was enough information for this preliminary introduction. Do not babble. Do. NOT. Babble. Bite your tongue if you have to—and she had to—but don't babble on like an overly anxious idiot and make a fool of yourself. Arthur's counting on you, and Merlin and Morgana and so many other people.
King Rodor was talking, giving a little speech remarkably similar to the ones that Uther had delivered to his guests. Nemeth was pleased to welcome the ambassador from Camelot, a banquet would be held in her honor that evening (Gwen couldn't stop herself from twitching, but hopefully it was slight enough that they didn't notice), and she would be shown to her chambers for rest and recuperation. Gwen's response was equally standardized. She thanked the king for his hospitality and indicated that she was looking forward to both the dinner and their discussions.
And then it was over. A maidservant, Hilde, led her and her little retinue to their rooms, then departed to fetch bathwater.
"Should we go get settled too?" Sefa wondered.
Gwen started. "Oh! Yes. Yes, you probably should."
It would be too strange to let Hilde help bathe her, so Gwen asked the girl to make certain that the rest of her party was tended to. Once she was gone, the former servant sank gratefully into the tub, her mind still reeling from the fact that the court hadn't laughed at her and tossed her out on her behind. Of course, she'd had exactly one interaction with them so far, and it had lasted for approximately five minutes. There was still time for all sorts of humiliating failures.
Sefa came back in when Gwen was mostly dressed. Her new, non-travel-stained outfit laced up in the back, so the druid girl helped tie it.
"Are you all right?" Gwen asked her softly.
"…Yes. I've just… never been in such a big building before, and I've never seen so many guards." She shuddered.
Gwen considered. "Would you feel better if you knew your way around? Not that I expect you to memorize the layout of the entire castle, but maybe knowing more escape routes would help."
The girl nodded shyly, so Gwen checked in on the rest of her party, asking if they wanted to tour the castle before supper. Tristan and Isolde declined, but Gilli accepted with an eagerness that made Gwen wince. Sefa wasn't the only spellbinder nervous at being so close to a king.
There was a proper way to do these things—or at least there was in Camelot—so Gwen asked Hilde, who had returned just a minute ago, if there were any restrictions on visitors' movements. There weren't, so Hilde went off to find someone to give them the tour.
Gwen expected a low-ranking knight, perhaps a squire. Uther had sometimes used his son to guide particularly important guests, but he'd usually passed the duty onto a minor lord. (Once, while Arthur was sick with a winter chill, he'd had Merlin do it. That had… not been as much of a disaster as it could have been, but he'd still never done so again. To this day, he blamed the fever for that brief fit of madness.) It made sense that a minor, unknown lady with a small retinue and no surname would receive similar treatment. So Gwen was only a little surprised when a woman about Morgana's age in high-quality but unadorned clothing came to show them around.
"Lady Guinevere, yes?"
"Yes," she confirmed, "and these are Gilli and Sefa."
"Thia," their guide said, something sparking in her eyes.
"Thank you for doing this."
"Of course."
They began to walk, Gwen at Thia's side, Gilli and Sefa coming up behind. "We've heard some very interesting rumors about Camelot," the Nemethi lady commented.
Gwen winced. "I'm not surprised. The last few months have been very interesting."
"It makes me wonder what the future holds for your kingdom."
"Hopefully, peace, prosperity, and justice."
"Too bad that's more easily said than done."
"It will be better, though, under Arthur's rule. Uther was… not well, towards the end."
"He was mad." Thia, it seemed, was not one to mince words.
"He was mad," Gwen confirmed, "and the people suffered for it." Part of her wondered if she should speak so frankly, but it wasn't as though Uther's condition had been a secret. She'd helped spread word of his breakdown herself, both as a warning to those he would harm and as a way to undermine his credibility.
"But King Arthur is different, you say."
"Very different," Gwen agreed proudly. "He truly cares about the people, about making them safe, secure, and happy. He did as much as he could to alleviate the harm that Uther was causing." She sighed. "I just wish he hadn't needed to. Still, he is a good man and has the makings of a truly great king."
"I see." Thia glanced behind her at Sefa and Gilli. "And what do you two think?"
Gwen decided then and there that she liked this noblewoman.
"I agree with G—Lady Guinevere," Gilli stated. "King Arthur wants what's best for his people, not his own pride, and he's brave enough to do what's right in the face of a lot of opposition." Sefa, being shyer, nodded and murmured her agreement.
"Yes, doing what's right in the face of opposition. There are rumors about that, as well, but most of the court has dismissed them as utterly ridiculous. It will be good to hear from someone who actually knows Arthur's plans firsthand." She went silent then, an invitation.
Well, it wasn't like Gwen's purpose here was supposed to be a secret. "He wants what's best for all his people, including those with magic. If the rumors you've heard have to do with him befriending a warlock, discovering that his foster sister is a witch, and deciding to end the Purge, then they're true at their core. I can't confirm the details, though, since I suspect that they've grown a bit more outlandish since leaving the citadel."
"Yes, I did think that the one about him secretly marrying the princess of the druids was somewhat unlikely."
"What?" squeaked Sefa.
"…The druids don't even have a princess," Gwen felt obligated to point out.
Thia laughed. "I know that, but the gossips don't. You wouldn't believe some of the rumors that have been going around."
"I probably would," Gwen admitted ruefully. "There were quite a few in Camelot, too."
They spent the next several minutes laughing over the sillier stories that the four of them had heard, interspersed with brief snippets of Thia's tour. When they'd made a complete loop of the castle and wandered a bit through the grounds, the quartet returned to the Camelot delegation's quarters. Gwen invited Thia inside to continue their discussion, but the noblewoman declined, citing her need to get ready for the banquet. When Gwen told her that she looked forward to seeing her again, it was with complete sincerity.
"I suspect we'll speak some more at supper," Thia assured her, then strode off to make preparations.
Talking to Thia had done a great deal to alleviate Gwen's nerves. Although her anxiety was returning now that she was without distraction, it wasn't as bad as it had been as she approached the city. Of course, that would likely change when she went to dinner (gods, a banquet in her honor), but the former maid decided to enjoy her relative calm while it lasted.
Time passed slowly, but when the supper was about to begin, it felt like the last two or so hours had vanished in the blink of an eye. Gwen's stomach was doing unpleasant flips. She likely wouldn't be able to eat much. What if that offended them? What if they thought that she wasn't eating because she was turning her nose up at their hospitality and that set the tone for the rest of her stay? What if—
No, no, you've been over this before, Guinevere. Just breathe.
Gwen could barely make out the herald's words as he announced her. Only his silence told her when to make her way to the king's table. His sons sat on either side of him, the elder at his right hand and the younger at his left. Gwen was to sit beside the younger prince, because the seat next to the kingdom's heir was already occupied.
Thia smiled brightly at her. She'd changed into finer clothing embroidered with white and thread-of-gold, and a simple coronet rested on her dark hair. She wasn't the Crown Prince's wife, who was bedridden from a difficult first pregnancy. In fact, she looked quite a bit like the Crown Prince.
Not a low-ranking lady after all, Gwen thought with only a twinge of hysteria. Oh, she hoped she hadn't made a complete fool of herself in front of the Princess of Nemeth.
King Rodor was introducing them. "Lady Guinevere, these are my sons, Crown Prince Caradoc and Prince Meliodas, and my daughter, Princess Mithian." His lips twitched. "Though I believe you've already met her."
"You'll have to forgive me," said Mithian, not looking repentant at all. "I've found that it's easier to take peoples' measure if they think I'm only minor nobility at first."
"…I suppose it would be," Guinevere admitted. She didn't dare ask how she'd measured up.
The first course came in, providing a welcome distraction. Gwen still wasn't hungry, so she gave herself small portions, still worrying about whether or not it would make her look snobbish. Maybe this would be one of those times when she didn't realize how hungry she actually was until the first few bites hit her stomach.
It wasn't. Her belly remained full of berserking butterflies even after she began to eat.
There were certain formulaic pleasantries to be exchanged. Gwen and Rodor had gone through most of them when she'd arrived, but now they reiterated that they were pleased about this visit, that Camelot and Nemeth were bosom friends, that they would endeavor to benefit both their kingdoms. The former maid (who was being hosted by a king at a banquet held in her honor) thought that Rodor meant it, that he did want something which would make life easier for both their peoples. The realization (or perhaps hope) calmed her, opened a little more room for the second course.
Prince Caradoc had been watching the proceedings with badly veiled impatience. Gwen was unsurprised when, halfway through the second course, he said, "Arthur Pendragon intends to end the Purge and give power back to the sorcerers."
Thankfully, Gwen's mouth was full when he said that. Chewing and swallowing bought her a few moments to formulate a reply more eloquent than anxious ramblings. "You are partly correct, Your Highness. King Arthur does intend to end the Purge, but he has no intention of giving too much power to spellbinders. When I last spoke with him, he intended to reinstate the position of Court Mage, a leader for magic who would still be subject to the throne." As much as Merlin was 'subject' to anything, that is, but he didn't need to know that.
Caradoc was shaking his head. "We banned magic for a reason," he snapped.
"I know," Gwen admitted. "We did."
The prince hadn't expected that. "Then why the hell would Uther Pendragon's son want to bring it back?"
Gwen set her fork down. A distant part of her mind reflected that this was as good of an excuse for not eating much as any. "There are several reasons," she began slowly, trying to gather her thoughts. "The story that he grew up with—that we all grew up with, back in Camelot—is that King Uther realized that magic was inherently evil and corruptive after the last Court Mage, a witch named Nimueh, murdered Queen Ygraine. Learning magic was a choice made by greedy, selfish people who quickly lost themselves to vindictive, hateful madness."
Caradoc was nodding impatiently, making a gesture that ordered Gwen to get straight to the point.
She obliged. "But over the last year or so, King Arthur discovered all sorts of evidence that the public narrative wasn't true. He heard all those stories about spellbinders saving people from bandits and blessing fields and such. He learned from… from Gaius, our old Court Physician, that some people just… became magical, and there's nothing they can do about it."
"What do you mean, 'became magical'?" Mithian cut in.
Gwen pulled up short. She hadn't expected this detour, but it was probably inevitable. She opened her mouth to respond, but King Rodor beat her to it. "There are two ways to gain magic," he recalled, his gaze distant. "Some are born with the ability to channel it and only need to learn control. Others have to learn how to access magic before they can start on spells." His brow furrowed. "I'd almost forgotten that. Tell me, Lady Guinevere, what are the terms for it all?"
"Magic users in general are called spellbinders. Sorcerers and sorceresses aren't born with magic, and witches and warlocks are." She hesitated a moment, then, daring, added, "Like I said, the Court Physician was a sorcerer. He gave up magic when the Purge began, so Uther allowed him to live. Merlin, Arthur's former manservant, is a warlock, and Lady Morgana, Arthur's foster sister, is a witch."
"Have you met them?" Meliodas inquired. The younger prince was about fourteen or fifteen, Gwen thought, or sixteen at the most. He spoke as though Gwen's friends were fascinating mythical creatures—which, she realized with bemusement, they sort of were.
"I have, yes." Then, because it was going to come out anyways, and most of the royals present seemed receptive, she added, "I met Merlin shortly after he arrived in Camelot—he's Essetiri by birth—and Morgana has been one of my dearest friends for many years now."
"What?" demanded Caradoc.
Oh, gods, this was a mistake. She'd ruined everything, they were going to kick her out, she—
"Whoa," said Meliodas, starry-eyed. "Did you ever see them do magic? Did they ever turn someone into a toad?"
"Yes, were you privy to their crimes?" sneered his brother.
Tread carefully. "I… never heard about them turning people into toads. I'm fairly certain that neither actually knows how. At least, they didn't when I saw them last. They might have learned by now." Gwen realized that she was blathering and reeled in her instinct to keep going in that vein. "As for whether I saw them use magic, have… you heard the story of how Lady Morgana was exposed as a witch?" They had. "I was there that night."
Caradoc narrowed his eyes. "Did you know before?"
Gwen took a sip of wine in a pathetically transparent attempt to buy time. "Morgana had dreams," she finally confessed once she could delay no more. "Horrible nightmares. Sometimes, she would wake screaming. Eventually, she and I… began to notice that her dreams came true." Gwen stared at her wine, at her reflection. "It wasn't anything she had asked for, wasn't anything she could control. They just… came to her, and she was so, so frightened of what meant to have prophetic dreams in Camelot. She knew that if Uther found out, it wouldn't matter that she was his ward. He would have her burnt at the stake for magic that she didn't want."
"She could have learned it from that servant," Caradoc speculated.
That was, in fact, exactly what had happened, but only after Morgana's other powers began to manifest.
"Why would anyone want to become a sorceress in Camelot?" Mithian demanded. "Especially after King Uther's nose."
"She was his ward, though. She must have felt that she could get away with it."
"A ward is not an heir, and they say that he'd even put Arthur in the dungeons when they fought." Mithian glanced at Gwen, who nodded. It wasn't very often, but it had happened. "If he could do that to the Crown Prince, he could have done much worse to a lady who wasn't his daughter."
Gwen did not mention that Morgana was, in fact, Uther's daughter by blood. They hadn't known that until relatively late, so it hadn't affected their decision-making process. Also, they didn't want this little fact to become public knowledge, more for Morgana's sake than to protect what was left of Uther's reputation.
The siblings were staring at her now, presumably waiting for more information, so Gwen obligingly started telling them about the last time Arthur had been imprisoned, right up until Morgana's almost-wedding.
Caradoc stared at her doubtfully, then looked back at his father. "We're certain that her copy of the royal seal is genuine? That she is a credible witness to the things she said occurred?"
Oh, no. Oh, no. Any second now, they'd ask for her papers of nobility, further proof of her identity, which she didn't have and had never had because she'd been born a peasant, and if they found that out now, she'd lose all credibility.
"We have no reason to disbelieve it," Rodor answered. "And remember, Caradoc, I've met Uther. This sort of behavior is… not completely out of character for him."
That was when the third course came, shifting conversation back to food and hospitality. But Caradoc kept glancing at Gwen as though wondering who she really was, what her real goals were. Gwen tried to ignore him, to converse with Princess Mithian and Prince Meliodas and their royal father, but she couldn't. Not completely.
She'd been expecting people like him. If anything, Rodor's open-mindedness was much more of a surprise.
That didn't bring her appetite back.
Alternate chapter title: "In Which Mithian Goes on a Secret Undercover Mission Before the Dramatic Reveal of her True Identity"
Next chapter: January 29. Arthur and Gwaine develop their acting skills.
...This next bit has nothing to do with fic and everything to do with American current events. Does anyone know of any resources for civilians who want to help prevent a repeat of Wednesday? Letter-writing, sabotage, even just somewhere to donate to. I have to do something, even if it's just a little.