Notes: I'm a dumb American, so if I get some of the English dialogue wrong, I'm sorry! This has not been Beta-read so please excuse any typos. Multiple chapters are finished and in the queue, and this story has been on my mind since I first saw the movie about a year ago. I'm hoping that starting to post the finished chapters will jump start my writing ju-ju.
He finishes wiping the oil cloth across the surface of the massive round table and looks up at where she perches in the rafters, watching him through eagle eyes as she's done off and on for weeks since his coronation. "Our first gathering is at noon in three days. You should come."
She flutters her wings, disconcerted. It's the first time he has spoken to her in this wildform—the first time anyone has, for that matter. He's still looking at her as though waiting for an answer, so she warbles in acknowledgement.
"See you soon," he says, slinging the rag over his shoulder and strolling out of the room.
She arrives on her palfrey about an hour before the gathering is set to begin. The royal guards don't question her identity, just let her pass. A boy dressed as a page is loitering on the steps in the courtyard and when he sees her, dashes down the stairs. "They didn't think you'd make it, but Art said you'd come." Blue's enthusiasm is infectious enough that she gives him a quick smile in return.
A stablehand holds the reins long enough for her dismount while Blue chatters away, "Things have been crazy since the coronation. You heard the Vikings came, right? Wow, that was tense! Then all the Barons came by to swear fealty. I don't like them, they all look at Arthur like he's something they scrape off their boot. I think half the bloody kingdom's been by in the past week. Here, I'll help you with your stuff, we've got you a room—you are staying here for a while, right?"
"For the night, at least." She really has no idea why she'd need to stay longer.
The boy is visibly disappointed, but recovers quickly, and helps her gather her meager belongings. By the time he shows her to her ostentatious chambers and back downstairs to the conference room, everyone is taking a seat at the round table. She pauses in the doorway, waiting to see which spot will be left for her, but Blue takes her hand and leads her forward. "You're right over here," he informs her, pulling out the heavy chair and waiting for her to sit before taking a step back.
'Over here' turns out to be to the immediate right of Arthur, who is just pulling out his own chair. "Glad you could make it," he murmurs, his bright blue eyes skimming over her. "We'll have to catch up later." Then he straightens up and his commanding voice calls the room to order, "All right, that's quite enough out of you lot. Shut your traps so we can get this started."
"Right-o, cause the sooner we get started, the sooner we can get to the eating and drinking," jibes Wet Stick—or Sir Tristan, as he's now known, eliciting chuckles from the other men at the table. There's only one other woman besides her, the noblewoman Maggie, who had risked her life spying for the resistance while under Vortigern's rule.
"Nice job on the table, Your Majesty," Goosefat Bill comments, smoothing one hand over the polished surface. "Not sure why we needed another table though, God knows there's plenty of other tables in this bloody palace."
Arthur sits down in his chair and states, "No, we need this table, and I'll show you why. Look around you, all of you." He glances at Sir Percival, who is seated to his left, and then at her, before looking forward again. The others do the same, before turning their attention back to Art, when he continues, "At this table, no one is greater than anyone else, no one is lesser either. We are all equals here, we all have a voice, we all have something important to contribute. Vortigern spent more than twenty years screwing over this damn country and draining the coffers dry building his damn tower, and it's up to us to get this shite cleaned up and setting things straight again."
No one says a word, because he's right.
"So then, now that we understand what we're here for, let's get started."
Three hours have passed before Arthur finally adjourns them, during which they've eaten, drank, and argued over everything from taxation to sanitation. They'd likely have gone on for longer had it not been for Bedivere bringing up the fact that some of the barons were already wondering when and whom Arthur would marry to secure his lineage and hold on the British throne.
"For fuck's sake, I've been King for all of a month and you're already trying to marry me off?" Art exclaims incredulously.
Bedivere shrugs and raises his hands as though warding off an attack, "Do not kill the messenger. I am just letting you know that there's been some talk."
"And suggestions, while we're on that subject," Bill relays, wagging his brows.
Maggie opens her mouth only to be interrupted by Arthur, who rises to his feet. "And thus ends the first meeting of the Knights—and Dames—of the Round Table. We'll meet again in a fortnight, and work on getting some of these plans we've made in motion." He stalks out of the meeting chamber and a pair of royal guards hurry after him. The others at the table look at each other and start to rise as well, albeit much slower.
The Mage remains where she is, watching in wistful silence as they start to disperse in groups of two and three, chatting and bantering with each other as they go. She envies their easy camaraderie. She hasn't said a word since she sat down more than three hours ago, not that anyone's noticed or cared, other than Arthur. He glanced at her on a number of occasions with an air of expectation when people made suggestions or complaints. Running a kingdom is outside her meager range of experience however, so she said nothing and ignored his thinly veiled disappointment at her reticence.
Only when the others have left does she finally get to her feet, and start to make her way back to her room.
"Mage? I mean, ma'am? Art—I mean, King Arthur would like a word before you shove off to your room." Blue's brow furrows as he regards her, "I just realized, no one ever told me your name, I'm sorry."
It's been so long since she's been called anything other than 'Mage' that it takes her a moment to reply. "Nicola."
"Nicola," Arthur echoes from the archway, slowly, as though testing the name out. Walking closer, he gives a brief nod of approval. "I like it. It suits you."
Does it? She's not sure about that anymore. Nowadays she identifies more with what she can do as a Mage, than who she is as Nicola.
Art tousles the boy's dark hair with affection, "Thanks, Blue. You can take a break until supper tonight."
"Thanks, Boss." The newly minted page gives them a proper little bow before scampering out of room.
The two adults watch him go before Arthur—King Arthur, she reminds herself, rests his hands on the back of the chair she had been sitting in and states without preamble, "Tomorrow, I will issue a royal decree that puts all Mages under the protection of the Crown. It will give them the same rights and protections granted to all loyal subjects under My rule."
The unexpected proclamation has her blinking back sudden tears. While she had hoped he would do something, anything, to help their plight, this is so much more than she would ever have hoped for.
He turns his head to give her a sidelong glance, "Do you think it'll do any good? Or is it too little, too late?"
It takes her a moment to find her voice. "Not at first. But yes, in time." She swallows hard, wiping at her damp cheeks before whispering, "Thank you."
Art's blue eyes are warm and kind when he straightens up, "You thirsty?" Without waiting for a response, he walks over to a side table and pours two cups of wine from the clay pitcher there. Offering her one, he takes a swig of his own before admitting, "I don't really know much about Mages, other than from rumor. Since you still don't have a beard, I'll take them with a grain of salt. Are there a lot of you in hiding?"
"No. Not many at all." In truth, she has no idea how many Mages are left. Twenty-five years of persecution under Vortigern's rule have taken their toll. She knows she's not the last one, but at times, she very much feels all alone.
"Where do you Mages come from, anyway?"
She can't help quirking a mischievous eyebrow at him and he barks a quick laugh. "Walked right into that one, didn't I?"
Hiding a smile behind the edge of her cup, she takes a sip. The wine is very good, fit for royalty, in fact, but she had no appetite during the meeting earlier and she knows a few sips of this will be enough to make her drowsy, so she puts the cup down. "Mage gifts are passed through blood, usually. A handful, like your uncle Vortigern, have enough of a spark in them that they can be trained in the arts."
That gets his interest. "Could you teach me?"
She takes a moment to consider what kind of man he would be, wielding the might of Excalibur while infused with wild magic. He's already a formidable man in intellect and physique. As a Mage, he would rival the gods. But. "No."
"Damn." He is visibly disappointed, but shrugs it off. "Is there anyone here you could teach?"
Nicola hesitates before replying, "There is one, yes. The boy."
"The boy? You mean Blue? Are you putting one over on me now?" he demands, eyeing her with suspicion.
"The spark is in him. I knew it the moment I met him. Just as I knew it was not in you."
"Damn," Art says again, rubbing the back of his neck as he digests that information. "You could start training him though? Here at the castle?" When she nods, he wonders, "What kind of things would he be able to do? For that matter, what exactly can you do, besides take over animals and summon giant snakes. Just so you know, I still don't like snakes. No offense."
A tiny smile curves her lips. "None taken. Different Mages may have different gifts," she explains slowly, unused to talking so much and about matters so personal. "I am very good with animals…"
"You know, I almost put a bird perch at the table instead of a chair, just to see your reaction," he teases.
She snorts in response and continues, "I can divine things. Sometimes I can see a clearer path to the past, the present… even the future. It is how I could tell how and why you struggled to control Excalibur." Her gaze drops to the sword where it's strapped at his hip. He keeps it at arms reach at all times now, as he should. "Mordred was a powerful conjurer. Merlin could shapeshift into the most wondrous things. There's healing magic and protective magic as well, of course. Dreamwalking. Who can say where Blue's gifts will lay? It could be any one of those, or something else entirely."
Arthur, however, has latched on one thing in particular. "You can see the future?"
Suddenly regretting her uncharacteristic chatter, Nicola worries her lip. "Sometimes I can. It is… quite difficult. The future is….fluid. Uncertain."
"Did you know I would end up here? As King? That I'd fight Vortigern?"
Nicola picks up the wine cup again, needing to do something with her hands as she considers her response. "It was one possible outcome," she finally admits, "but it was not the only possibility. If Vortigern had won…." The mug in her hands trembles and sloshes wine around the edges when she recalls the vision of Camelot in ruins and a dark tower shadowing everything in fire and smoke and blood.
Warm hands encircle hers, gently extracting the cup before she drops it all together. "I saw. The Lady in the Lake showed me," Arthur gives her hands a reassuring squeeze. "No need to worry about that anymore, is there? He's dead, I'm right here, and I'm not planning on going anywhere, all right?"
She exhales a shaky breath and nods, peering up at him. He's a whole head taller than she is but his bulk is comforting, not intimidating as she might have expected.
A discrete cough comes from the archway.
Nicola starts, quickly pulling her hands away. Arthur seems unsurprised by the interruption, but his voice is tinged with a hint of impatience when he speaks. "Yes, Bedivere?"
"Baron Umber is here to meet with you as requested, Your Majesty."
"Tell him I'll be along in a moment."
The dark man's face is carefully blank at the dismissal and he gives a formal bow before withdrawing.
"Worst bloody thing about being King is all the damn interruptions," Arthur growls with a wry grin, but it is quick to fade. "Have you seen anything else in my future I should know about?"
"I haven't looked," she confesses, rubbing her hands along her arms as though warding off a chill, even though it's quite temperate in the castle. "It… takes a lot out of me, so I must be careful when and where I do it."
"Well," Arthur returns and gestures around them, "I am pretty sure this is quite possibly the safest place in the entire Kingdom, so…"
He's right, of course. Nicola nods with reluctance and says, "I will need time to prepare. It is best to do it at either sunrise, or sunset, as the day starts or ends."
"At Matins, then, the day after tomorrow, if that's enough time for you." At her agreement, he goes on, "The castle won't be nearly as busy that early. I'll come to your antechamber. If you need anything, have Blue fetch it for you, he's got quite a knack for that sort of thing." He gives her a blinding smile as he makes his way toward the door where his honor guard patiently waits. "I'm glad you came. We could use some sanity around here."
She watches him go, stomach churning a mixture of excitement, dread, and no small amount of hunger. If she doesn't eat before the ritual, she'll be out of it for days, so she heads off to find the kitchen. There's much preparation to be done, and not much time to do it.