There's a confrontation in the Throne Hall when the Barons overplay their hand.
So like I said, the next couple of chapters would come pdq.
Two days later when she claims her usual seat in the Throne Hall, wine cup in hand, she immediately notices that the Poppies are fairly brimming with excitement about something. "Someone got rather high marks in the Game I take it," she comments with a smile. This being friends with people is still very new for aside from Merlin and her magic, she has been a loner her whole life, but she has learned enough with Arthur, with Blue and Silas and now Tabitha and Sabina, that if she starts a conversation, they're usually chatty enough to finish things for her, with or without her input.
Sabina nudges her with a soft giggle, "Aye, someone did—You. A little bird told us that you got the better of the Fair Lady Guinevere, which is quite the achievement. She's good, VERY good in fact, good enough that neither of us has been able to get so much as a whisper out of her, but you, my little lambkin, you got her as curdled as a jar of buttermilk, didn't you?"
"I…I didn't mean to, I…" Nicola shrugs helplessly, wide-eyed in the face of their admiration, for she truly hadn't meant to get in a verbal sparring match with the beautiful noblewoman, much less 'score any points', but at the same time she can't help but feel some small amount of satisfaction that she managed to wipe that supercilious smirk off of the woman's face.
"Oh that's the beauty of it, my dear," Tabitha maintains, patting her arm with pride. "Intentional or not, the points are well earned, and the results are, well, let's just say that today's audience should be quite lively. Quite lively indeed. And I intend to enjoy the show," the blonde-haired woman announces, settling in to get comfortable beside Nicola so she's squeezed between her and Sabina on the cushioned bench.
Adjusting her grip on the ever present wine cup so she can clap her hands together in excitement, Sabina exclaims, "I'm on tenterhooks! How long do you think we'll have to wait?"
The bewildered Mage looks between the two, "Wait for what?"
Tabitha pinches the very tips of her lips closed with her fingertips, indicating she not giving away any secrets, and not two seconds later confides, "Oh not long at all. I'll wager that it'll be the first matter brought up after the peasantry pleads their misfortunes."
Never one to back down from a wager, Sabina huffs, "Ha, no way. It'll get saved and presented as the last article of the day."
"Hrmf, oh of that I have no doubt, it'll definitely be the last article of the day one way or the other," Tabby allows. Just then, Sir Bedivere, the Steward of King Arthur's royal court, taps a heavy wooden staff on the stonework, loud enough to ring throughout the hall and signifying the start of the day's audience proceedings. She shushes them loudly, even though she's the one talking. "Oh, they're getting started! Here we go."
The three women settle in on their bench to watch the proceedings, and as usual, some conveniently placed guards and servants make for a clear view of Arthur sitting on the throne, which is a stone's throw away.
Even more confused than she had been, Nicola settles in and as the commoners begin to stream in to present their grievances to King Arthur, she can't help noticing that there is something anticipatory in the air. The nobility usually mill around like sheep during this part of the day, but today they're huddled together in groups, exchanging hushed words and sidelong looks. She is somehow unsurprised to see that Baron Corineus is at the center of it all, flanked by his daughter Guinevere. That woman happens to catch the Mage's eye and shoots her an expression of pure malevolence, but there's also something else in her expression, the barest hint of triumph, a gleam of exultation, like she is on the verge of winning some victory.
That baleful glare has the Poppies tittering with glee. "Oh that poor girl, she really has no idea does, does she?" Sabina observes.
"None at all," Tabitha smiles broadly. "This will be quite splendid. Quite splendid indeed."
Nicola may have no idea what is going on, but Arthur clearly knows something is astir. Usually during these sessions, he sits relaxed on the throne almost to the point of seeming casual or carefree, which in turn puts the peasantry at ease as they bring their concerns to him. Today however, he's sitting upright with shoulders square, his blue eyes sharp with perception and his voice brusque when he addresses the genuflecting claimants. His Knights are loosely arranged long with Merlin to either side of the dais, with Percival, Maggie and Tristam on the left, William and George on the right, and Merlin hovering within a short distance as well. Normally they would be milling among others in the crowd, gathering information and testing political connections.
"And you're sure Art and the others don't know exactly what's coming?" Sabina asks in a low whisper.
Tabby reassures her, "I gave them the barest details, nothing more. Even Goosefat is in the dark, and he could squeeze information from a block of cheese. He can be quite persuasive when he puts his mind to it, but I didn't give him the opportunity—much to both of our disappointment, to be quite honest."
The first part of the day's session passes remarkably fast. The peasantry seem to sense their King's impatience and state their cases without dawdling, moving aside with haste when Arthur makes his rulings.
After the last peasant walks out, Sir Bedivere officially calls this session of the Royal Court to order. The Barons huddle together briefly and then a trio of them step forward, led by Guinevere's father Corineus, a stout man with white hair. The other two are Bertram and Ranulf. They bow before the King before Corineus speaks, "If it pleases your Majesty, I have a matter of utmost importance that requires your attention, Sire. As you know, we Barons rarely agree on anything, but in this, we are of one accord, which is why three of us stand before you now. If I may?"
"Proceed," is all Arthur says with equal formality. He's sitting on his throne as square-shouldered and formal as she's ever seen him, looking more like he is prepared to do battle than settle petty quibbling. Excalibur is sheathed at his hip but that in and of itself is nothing unusual.
Tabitha reaches across Nicola and holds her palm open in front of Sabina expectantly, then huffs with satisfaction as a silver coin is placed square in the middle of her palm with a little more force than is absolutely necessary.
"My King," begins Baron Corineus with deliberate solemnity, his strong baritone voice ringing through the Throne Hall, "it is with great hesitancy that we must, on behalf of all twelve of the Barons of England, address the matter of Mages once again." Ranulf wiggles his fingers a tiny amount and a pimple-faced young man with a hooked Roman nose steps forward and bows, presenting a parchment scroll wrapped with a velvety red ribbon.
Nicola's heart stutters with dread, her breath leaving her in a shocked puff.
"Easy girl," Sabina murmurs, sliding an arm around her narrow shoulders and giving her a supportive squeeze. "Bide a wee longer and watch it all play out." Tabitha nods her agreement, patting her knee with an encouraging smile.
She doesn't really believe it, not after more than two dozen years of persecution, but bites her lip and gives a quick bob of her head anyway.
"I have already addressed the matter of Mages," Arthur states flatly. "Or have you Barons already forgotten my proclamation? Shall I issue it again? Mages are under the protection of the Crown of England and are thus afforded the rights and privileges of any loyal subject."
"Yes, yes of course, Your Majesty," the reedy thin Baron Bertram readily agrees with a gracious bow, "and truly, your benevolence and largesse is unequaled in affording them such allowances given their past transgressions."
Art growls with exasperation, "Then why the Hells are we going on about this bloody subject yet again, Baron?"
"Your Majesty, if I may speak freely," Corineus bows with deep respect and waits.
After a lengthy pause during, the King flicks his hand in a tacit gesture of permission. "You may, but get to the point. I am a simple man as you well know, and don't have patience for flowery words."
Corineus' bowed head hides his expression, but Nicola has little doubt it mirrors the thinly veiled contemptuous sneers on the faces of some other nobility in the room. "Of course, Your Grace." He stands upright again, crosses his hands behind his back and begins to present his case. "Your Majesty, the article that we are presenting today is not meant to supplant your proclamation, but rather to clarify it. Certainly it cannot be denied that even before Vortigern murdered your father Uther Pendragon and seized the throne, the Mages waged a long and bloody war on this land, and its people paid the price for it." This gets him some murmured agreement from most of the people in the room, who nod along.
Bedivere furiously interjects, "You know full well that it was Mordred who was behind the war! Before that, we lived alongside the Mages in peace!"
"Bedivere." Arthur draws him up short, and the dark-skinned man turns to look at him with no small amount of surprise. "I said he could speak freely, let him do so."
A muscle working in his jaw, the frustrated Bedivere lowers his head, muttering, "Apologies, your Majesty. I beg your pardon."
"Given," the King grants it, and watches, stern-faced, as Bedivere moves away to stand beside Merlin in wordless support of the old Mage. "Now then, my Lord Corineus, you were saying?" he leans forward, as though eager to hear more.
Drawing strength from his sovereign's apparent support, Corineus continues, now starting to pace a little as he makes his point, "My King, we can not, we must not, allow even the slightest chance of such treachery being visited upon this fair land again. With this most preeminent goal in mind, all of the Barons have had a hand in the creation of this addendum to your proclamation. I realize," he allows with a smile, "that it is rare indeed for us to agree upon any one thing, but in this case, we are of one mind, and one heart. England must do all that is necessary to prevent another war with the Mages."
Ranulf gestures to the young scribe, who bows even lower and holds the scroll out. "All you needs must do is make your mark, Sire, and the safety of your people will be affirmed yet again," says the rail thin man.
Goosefat Bill takes a step forward—in recent days he has been the one to convey documents from the Barons into the hands of the King—and then retreats with that crooked half-smile he is so well known for when Arthur himself rises from the throne and descends down the three steps it takes to put him on the same level as everyone else. Everyone who is standing bows reflexively, because it certainly will not do for anyone's head to be higher than that of the King when he is in full Royal Court like this during formal proceedings. The scroll bearer is slack-jawed with shock and genuflects, barely getting his arms back up before Arthur plucks the rolled parchment from his outstretched hands and heads back up to his throne, unrolling the scroll as he sits down.
The Baron Corineus seems utterly flabbergasted by this unexpected response. He glances between other two Barons and it seems to take him a moment to regain his composure. Meanwhile, Ranulf aims a swift kick at the scroll bearer's backside to urge him into quick motion. "Your Majesty, my scribe would be honored to supply you with quill and ink for you to sign posthaste." The young scribe digs a long feathered pen out his pockets and fumbles to produce a stoppered inkwell, to the tittering amusement of the nobility.
"Shut up and let me read," Arthur growls, spreading the document out and trying to get a good angle to read the scrawled words.
A heavy silence layered with dismay weighs down the room.
"Do you need some more light, Your Majesty?" Merlin asks with solicitous care.
Already caught up in reading, the King replies with a distracted, "Yes please," so the old Mage steps forward obliges him by conjuring a ball of white light in his palm, causing a babble of fear among those in the room. One noble woman falls back in a swoon, while a good many others, including Sir Lancelot, makes the sign of the cross as though to ward off something evil. Even Tabitha and Sabina gasp at the unexpected appearance of the glowing globe, but Arthur spares no more than a brief glance for the unusual light source, which floats in the air like a will-o'-the-wisp just above his shoulder. "Thanks mate, that's perfect," he states quite distinctly, and resumes his review of the scroll.
The nobility doesn't seem to know what to do. Corineus, Ranulf and Bertram still stand before the dais, their faces flushed and sweaty with consternation. The pimply scribe is still down on one knee, but has the quill and inkpot at the ready if need be.
Merlin returns to his previous spot on the right of the dais, leaving the wisp light hovering in place beside the King, and Nicola can tell that Bedivere is biting the inside of his cheek to maintain his somber expression. Goosefat has no such care, for his tiny smile has expanded into a full blown smirk.
A low buzz of whispers builds up as Art pores over the Barons' document, while Percival and Wet-Stick quietly exchange a few words. Lancelot still stands somewhat apart, his handsome face twisted with disapproval and something like revulsion.
Nicola keeps her attention focused on Arthur, who is of course, inscrutable. Finally he lowers the parchment, loosely rolling it back up to hold in one hand while he gets to his feet again. Catching sight of the wisp light, he reaches out to toward it, pausing a faction of a second (checking to see if it emits heat as well as light, she realizes) before he grasps it with his hand and pulls it in for a closer look. More signs of the cross are made—surreptitiously this time—and the swooning woman who had just been helped upright again falls out again, hitting the stonework with a distinct thud this time.
Arthur returns the light globe to Merlin, "Thanks mate, quite handy that," who takes it and snuffs it out by closing his fist around it and bobbing his head. Then the King strolls down off the platform, loose-limbed and relaxed, eliciting more startled bows in his wake when he walks over to the drink table. After tucking the scroll under his arm, he takes the wine jar away from the servant there, pours himself a cup before handing it back, and takes a long sip, almost contemplative. Then he saunters back up to his throne, cup in one hand and takes another pull of the wine. "So, if I'm reading this right," he begins, raising the half-rolled parchment, "and I do believe I am, it would require all Mages in England to register with the local magistrate?"
That knot of dread in Nicola's belly twists, and she clenches her hands into fists with enough force that her blunt fingernails dig onto her palms. Requiring the few remaining Mages that live to publicly register would reveal those who had been hiding for years to others, which would in turn make them even more vulnerable and at risk of persecution, regardless of what Arthur's proclamation from weeks ago had decreed.
"Easy girl," Sabina whispers into her ear, "just see it through to the end."
She darts the other woman a quick look, swallows down bile, and ducks her chin in assent.
"Y..yes, Your Majesty," Baron Bertram nods, lowering his balding head enough that light glistens on his sweaty dome. "Sire, it is of utmost importance to the security of all England that we know who and where all of the Mages are, especially given that we are aware of the potential danger they may be to the general populace."
"But you would also require that they petition their local Lords—meaning you Barons—if they want to get married, have children, move to another part of England, learn a trade, own land, or…" and here, Arthur pauses to unroll the parchment for a quick scan of the contents before continuing, "oh… well I guess they'll still be able to wipe their asses without asking for your permission first, at least."
A tittering murmur spreads through the Hall, and even though she is not good at reading people at all, that slight tilt to his jaw and the glint in his eyes is enough that she can tell Arthur isn't just irritated by this proposal, he is furious. The clenched fist that's had her heart in its palm ever since the Barons first mentioned the 'matter of Mages' loosens and disappears all together. There is no way he would ever sign, much less even consider such stringent restrictions on her or anyone else, be they Mage or not. Tension drains out of her shoulders and Sabina, who still has one hand on her shoulder, gives a quick squeeze. "There's a girl," she murmurs with quiet approval that is seconded by Tabby's cheeky grin.
"My King," Ranulf is saying, "we don't advise this degree of oversight as punishment, but as protection. We can't trust the Mages to their own devices, as history has more than demonstrated. With the exception of Merlin, who has of course proven his allegiance to the Crown and to England, provisions have made to reward his loyalty, as has been recorded in the article you hold in your hand."
Arthur takes another look at the parchment before beckoning Merlin to join him on the dais. The two exchange a few whispered words before the old Mage grimaces and nods, drawing away from the King and returning to Bedivere's side. The young king rubs his finger over his upper lip and beard in contemplation. "And what of the others, the ones like Vortigern," he finally asks with deceptive casualness, lifting his wine cup up once more to take a sip.
"The… the others, Sire?" Corineus echoes with no small amount of confusion.
Lowering his cup in surprise, Arthur nods and leans forward on the throne. "Yes, the others. Vortigern was a true born son of King Constantine II and Queen Livia, brother of Uther, so he was not born from a Mage, but he still was born with something inside him, a spark, if you will. This spark is how he could be trained to use magic and learned to bend those powers to his will."
Corineus draws himself up to his full height and announces, "Then these people must be identified, publicly named, and registered along with the Mages, for the safety of England may depend it. As potential magic users," and this he says with some distaste, "just like Vortigern he could be a danger to those around him."
Arthur seems taken aback by the older man's vehemence. "You really think so?"
"Absolutely," Corineus immediately returns, and states, "We all do." Ranulf and Bertram nod along.
The King drains the rest of his wine in a couple of quick gulps and holds the cup out to the side. Blue darts up the dais to take away. "Were you aware that this spark can be found in anyone? They would be born with it and could have not even the slightest notion of its presence, it doesn't matter if they are born of a king as Vortigern had been, or a merchant, or the lowest gong farmer. All would have an equal chance of having this spark within."
"The blood of birth matters not, My King," Bertram proclaims in his reedy voice. "The spark would lay within them their whole lives, coiled like a viper waiting for an opportunity to strike and kill." There's a soft murmur of agreement coming people from all over the Hall. "The future of all England could be at stake!"
Arthur tilts his head in acknowledgement before glancing to his right at Merlin. "How many people currently in this audience chamber did you say had the spark? Twenty-three, was it?"
"Twenty-five, actually, Your Majesty." The old Mage's eyes skim over the large, open chamber, which currently has more than 200 people in it. "In point of fact, I've identified at least one individual in every noble's household—two in some, actually," he adds, making a face.
It is so quiet in the Hall that Nicola thinks she could hear a pin drop.
"See?" Art turns his attention back to the three Barons standing before him. "As I said, the spark can turn up in anyone, regardless of birth. It could even be in one of you three, as it turns out, and you'd never have known," he gestures at them with the scroll.
Corineus' face is ashen gray, and Bertram and Ranulf are wild-eyed with fear. "My King," the stout man stammers, "I can assure you that I would never do anything to oppose you or your rule."
"Hm." Arthur stands up again and tosses the scroll on the throne seat before inquiring, "Tell me, Corineus, do you know how my father came by this sword?" He draws Excalibur from its sheath on his sword belt to hold aloft, the rune-etched metal shimmering in the light.
The three Barons to a man, recoil from its presence, and Ranulf actually takes a step back—as if it would help.
"Bedivere told me the tale—that before he declared war on England, Mordred killed the Mage King and claimed his staff. But Merlin over there," he points with the sword's tip, "stole it from Mordred and forged the staff into Excalibur. You're quite the smith, aren't you? I've never seen metal like this before, and I know my way around weapons. How bout you, George? Ever seen anything like this?"
The thin Asian man immediately shakes his head, his dark eyes bright with good humor. "Never, Your Majesty. It is truly a sight to behold."
"It's star metal, actually," Merlin states with some modesty, "according to our legends at least. It was quite tricky to work, Sire, but worth the time and labor, I dare say."
"You do good work, old man," Arthur compliments him, swinging the sword in a figure eight as though testing its balance. "Oh wait, where was I? Ah yes—so then Merlin gave the sword to the Lady in the Lake, who in turn gave it to my father Uther, binding the sword to the Pendragon bloodline and…. Well, we all know the rest of the tale, don't we? But, let me ask you Barons something." He lowers the sword tip to the ground and rests on it like it's a walking cane, "Did you ever wonder why Vortigern was so determined to kill off all of the Mages? I mean, he grew up in their care due the arrangement between King Constantine and the Mage King, but really, he was at the forefront of the Mage purges along with you three and the other Barons after my father killed Mordred and ended the war."
He circles around the sword, using it as a pivot point, while his head hangs low in deep thought, "I've wondered about it for a while now, but I think I've got it figured out. Vortigern knew that if he managed to kill Uther and I, and end the Pendragon bloodline, if there weren't any Mages left to oppose him, he could do—actually, he did—whatever the fuck he wanted, and you lot were helpless against him."
"Your Majesty," Ranulf babbles, "if we had but known the depths of his depravity and treachery, we would have…"
"Well you learned that pretty damn quick, didn't you," Art interrupts, "and yet you never once raised a weapon against him, even when the Resistance was at its strongest. No, instead, I had to rely on this lil' rabble right here," he gestures to his left and right, indicating those who had been with him from the beginning. "I'm not gonna lie, there was a day when it seemed easier to this sword and throw it as far away from me as I could, to just give in. But that's when the Lady of the Lake came to me, and she showed me that as bad as things were, if I didn't take up Excalibur and confront my uncle, they would get much much worse. She also told me to do one more thing. 'Trust the Mage'."
Nicola draws in a shocked breath, first because she's never heard this part of the tale but also she's got a rising suspicion of where this is all going, even without the dreamvision.
Bertram and Corineus talk over each other, "Oh but Sire, we do trust the Mage! Why, Merlin is one of wisest people ever to walk these halls—aside from you, of course, Your Majesty!"
The King makes a sharp sound of disappointment and shakes his head, "You daft bastards, the Lady wasn't talking about Merlin," he declares, and turns to look at Nicola.
Every eye in the room follows his, and as much as she wishes she could make the ground swallow her whole, she sits perfectly still, perched on the edge of her seat and waits, because she knows Arthur well enough by now to know that he isn't done yet.
As a result, she is not surprised at all when he descends from the dais and walks toward her, his blue eyes holding hers the entire way. Excalibur is still loosely gripped in his left hand and when he stands in front of her, he holds out his right hand. What else can she do? She takes it, feels his warm fingers wrap around hers and give a quick squeeze before he draws her to her feet. He glances behind her just long enough to give the Poppies a cheeky grin, then he releases the hold just long enough to hook his hand in the crook of her elbow before escorting her back to the platform, gently urging her to climb the steps with him until she stands beside him in front of the throne.
She knows her face must be beet red, but somehow, she manages to keep her school her expression to appear as calm and composed as possible.
Arthur turns and addresses the room at large, "This Mage, Nicola, is the one who the Lady of the Lake told me to trust. And I did." He faces her again, looking her in the eyes when he says, "I still do. If it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be here. None of us would. I owe you my life, and I just realized I never thanked you for it." He takes her hand again and bows over it, causing a ripple of shocked gasps to spread through the room, because he's the King, and he should not be bowing to anyone, much less a Mage of all people. But because he is bowing to her, they all have to, because this is the Royal Court and their rules and traditions that must be followed. His firm and steady grip is the only thing that keeps her from shaking like a leaf, or worse, running for the hills.
When he straightens, his gaze falls on the rolled up scroll that started this whole spectacle laying on the throne. "Tch, nearly slipped my mind," he murmurs with a wry shake of his head, but she can see quite clearly in his eyes that he hasn't forgotten a damn thing, and there's still a bit more of this drama that has yet to play out.
King Arthur picks up the parchment and turns to face the nobles. "Say what you will about the Mages being a threat to the Crown and to England, but you know what? The Mages haven't tried to get me to divide every coin down to the last bloody penny in the Royal Treasury among themselves," he growls, stalking down the platform steps to confront the three Barons, still holding Excalibur in his left hand. "The Mages haven't encouraged me to sign away every acre of land belonging to the Crown. The Mages haven't tried to get me to give up the Throne. So keeping that in mind, I'll take the Mages over you lot any day of the week!" His voice has grown louder with each accusation until it thunders through the Throne Hall in his fury.
Bertram, Ranulf and Corineus seem to know better than to respond to that, and they've all got their heads lowered, shoulders hunched in apparent contrition. In fact, Ranulf's thin shoulders are shaking, and Nicola is close enough to hear the sniveling quiet sob that escapes him over the discomfitted and shamed shuffling of feet coming from the others in the room.
In a more normal tone, Arthur continues, "So with that in mind, I will file this exactly where I've put the other documents you Barons have submitted for my attention. Blue, if you please."
"Yes, Your Majesty." The boy doesn't even attempt to hide his glee when he trots up the platform, takes the offered scroll and then carries it straight over to the closest fireplace and tosses it in, making quite a little show out of dusting his hands off after.
"Good lad, that. Now, as to the matter of Mages—including those in this room who unknowingly happen to have the Magespark—you have nothing to worry about as long as I am King. Any person who raises their hand against a Mage, I will deem it as though they have raised their hand against My Royal Person." Arthur tightens his grip on Excalibur and crystalline frost spreads out from him in a rippling wave that sends Ranulf, Corineus, and Betram scrambling back with terror, while Nicola watches it coat the floor beneath her feet and extend to the throne behind her with silent bemusement. His eyes are still rime blue as he continues, "As such, I will deal with them accordingly. I trust I've made myself clear."
The room promptly resounds with babbling cries of, "Yes, Your Majesty!" as people drop to their knees to show their fealty, and the Mage joins them. He is, after all, her King too.
The hoarfrost retreats and Arthur sheathes Excalibur. "Thank you. And I think that concludes today's audience." He turns to look at her before giving a playful wink and then ambling down the stairs and through the antechamber door in the back of the room with his typical casual grace.
Nicola follows because she is certainly not standing up there by herself, Blue easing in step beside her as they join in the procession from the Hall, leaving the rising sound of outfoxed and outmaneuvered nobles squabbling among themselves behind.