Chapter IV: First Draft

Arthur didn't like this table.

It was a stupid thing to be thinking about, all things considered. This meeting was the most momentous occasion of his kingship so far, the beginning of the negotiations that would free thousands of people and vastly improve the quality of life for everyone in Albion. If he managed this, it would reunite families, allow healers to flourish, cut down on banditry, save hundreds or thousands of lives each year, protect his people against dangerous magical creatures, increase productivity in the fields, and a bunch of other things that would help all of society. He shouldn't be internally grousing about how the long rectangular table made it difficult for people at the ends—himself included, as the host got to sit at the table's head—to hear people on the other side.

A round table would be better, acoustically speaking, he decided. Probably. Maybe something egg-shaped or, say, octagonal would be most efficient. Horseshoes? Except then you'd have people sitting inside the arch whose backs would be to other participants no matter how they turned, which he imagined would be socially uncomfortable. It might be a good shape for feasts, though, if you only allowed people to sit on the outside. Servants would be able to refill glasses so much more quickly if they could stand in the center of an arch rather than scurry along the outside.

Why was he suddenly so obsessed with bloody table shapes? It must be annoyance, he concluded. Certainly not nerves. Still, the last king was getting seated, so he ought to start.

(…Maybe a circle with spikes sticking out, like a sunburst or a mace or a rolled-up hedgehog? No, no, focus.)

Arthur stood. His chair scraped against the stone floor far more loudly than it had any right to. That had the simultaneously fortunate and unfortunate effect of causing every head at the table, even the ones on the other end, to turn to him. Claudin, who as the most junior king was seated at the table's foot, gave him an encouraging smile.

The most senior kings were Loth to his right and Odin to his left. It wasn't the most comfortable arrangement.

"Your Majesties," Arthur began, pitching his voice the way he'd been trained, "I welcome you once more to Camelot and to this Great Conference of the Kingdoms. I have every reason to believe that the matters we discuss today will benefit us all, as well as every citizen of our respective nations.

"Twenty years ago, when my father banned magic, he believed that he was making the most beneficial decision."

"No he didn't," groused Loth. Arthur froze, unbalanced. "Uther pitched it as a way to consolidate our power against a force that none of us could control, but it was very obvious that his main goal was vengeance against that witch who might have killed his wife, the one he picked up in Armorica."

Arthur attempted to reclaim control. "However, the last decades have—"

"What was that witch's name again?" Loth wondered. "Niamh?"

"Nimueh," Arthur ground out. "The last decades have made clear—"

"Yes, her." The old bastard was clearly enjoying himself. "Did anyone ever find out—"

"Stuff it, Loth," interrupted Evaine of Benwick. The old man puffed up like an indignant bullfrog, but she continued, "If Odin and Bayard can behave themselves, then so can you."

"Thank you, Queen Evaine. The last—"

"Why are you even here?" the Essetiri king sneered. "Is it true what they say, that Ban has no—"

"King Loth," Arthur snapped, "if you can't behave, then you may leave until you feel like acting like a king."

Loth glared. Arthur glared back. Finally, with a grumbling noise and dismissive gesture, the senior king looked away.

Good riddance.

"Regardless of my father's motivations for banning magic, the last two decades have thoroughly demonstrated that all Albion is better and stronger when we accept sorcery. The Purge hasn't just killed spellbinders, it has caused harm to all of us. We have fewer healers. Food production has gone down. Bandits are more common. In the last few years, they've grown bold enough to destroy entire villages. My Court Historian, Sir Geoffrey of Monmouth, has compiled more specific numbers. If you look at the first piece of parchment in front of you, you can see these statistics yourself."

A few of the assorted monarchs took a look.

"Legalizing magic will benefit every last one of our kingdoms. That much is plain to see. However, despite rumors that I am a mind-controlled pawn, I am fully aware that we cannot grant spellbinders leave to do whatever they want. Therefore, I am proposing a legal code to govern magic. Essentially, beneficial or harmless spells will be legalized, while harmful acts such as mind control will be outlawed. Crimes committed with magic will be dealt with in the same way as crimes committed without; a man who murders with a spell will be treated like a man who kills with a knife. Restraining these spells is not only sensible, it will demonstrate to those of our peoples who fear magic that they too will be protected under the new law.

"I will now read my draft. Please take notes on your own copies so we can have a more productive discussion."

That was a trick he'd learned from Uther. Act like the main thing you wanted was a foregone conclusion, like the only uncertainty was in how it would be done. It usually wouldn't work as effectively on other sovereigns, who likely used the technique themselves on a regular basis, but Arthur had a plan for that. His brilliant Guinevere had visited a good percentage one of these monarchs, and she'd successfully finagled treaty revisions out of them all. If anybody tried to cause trouble by protesting that they hadn't actually agreed to legalize magic, he could point out that the steps they'd taken were clearly a precursor to ending the Purge.

Sure enough, King Alined of Deorham spoke up. Nasty, slimy man. He probably wanted to squeeze extra concessions out of Camelot. "Your suggestion assumes that we've already agreed to restoring magic, which we have not."

Arthur grinned at him. "Did you not agree to rewriting your treaty with Camelot in a necessary precursor to restoring magic?"

"There is a difference between not wishing to start a useless war without a single ally and inviting the chaos that repealing the Purge would create."

Arthur nodded solemnly. "If you don't wish to legalize magic, King Alined, then Camelot will gladly welcome your kingdom's spellbinders once we have ratified the relevant laws."

Most of the monarchs fought back their amusement, but Caerleon loudly snorted a chuckle. To the best of Arthur's knowledge, nobody liked or trusted the King of Deorham, which made him the ideal target for this putdown.

Alined's smile went rigid. He knew, as they all did, that the one kingdom in Albion which neglected to return magic would be at a profound disadvantage. Hell, that kingdom probably wouldn't last long before its neighbors gobbled it up. In the same way, the one nation that allowed magic while its neighbors clung to the Purge held a massive advantage (unless all those neighbors united in war against it, of course, but Guinevere had taken care of that). On an island-wide scale, the Purge was an all-or-nothing affair. Realistically, if every kingdom didn't have magic, then none of them did. The nature of power wouldn't allow otherwise.

The King of Deorham wasn't going to risk that sort of handicap, and everyone at the table knew it. Their arrival was an implicit acknowledgement that the Purge was almost over.

It really hit him, then, with all the force of a charging dragon. The Purge was almost over.

A grin flitted across his face, and he began to read.

Reciting the codex took longer than his speech. There was a lot of boring legal language and clauses and subclauses and what-ifs, but the gist of it was that people would no longer be punished for using magic. They'd be punished for doing bad things with magic.

It was an entirely reasonable, humane code. It gave spellbinders complete equality under the law, judging them by their actions rather than their abilities. In a reasonable world, Arthur wholeheartedly believed, the assorted kings and queen would have listened to the new laws, smiled, nodded, and agreed to every word.

They didn't.

These laws were too lenient, too liberal. Kingdoms should compel spellbinders to register themselves, including their levels of power and their special skills. There were no provisions for helping witchfinders (who often grew rich off their blood money and didn't actually need help) find new trades. There weren't enough protections for non-magical folk who became nervous in the presence of a spellbinder and hurt them. After all, how were ordinary people supposed to know what a sorcerer was doing when his eyes flashed gold? They could be lifting a heavy jug, they could be reading someone's mind ("…But they can't actually do that."), they could be preparing an attack. Clearly, any action taken against them was an act of self-defense.

Then there was the matter of spellbinders defending themselves. As Loth pointed out, it was possible to defend against a man with a sword and less possible to fight a man who could snap your neck from afar. (Arthur was still trying to figure out what this had to do with spellbinders defending themselves. Loth did realize that spellbinders could defend themselves nonlethally, right?) He suggested that spellbinders should be held to higher standards with regards to offensive and defensive magic, and far too many monarchs seemed to find this reasonable.

By the time the meeting adjourned, Arthur was genuinely worried that he'd be forced to scale back the legal code. Perhaps he could convince them that these extra restrictions should only be applied on a probationary basis? Give them a time limit. Spellbinders are held to higher standards for five years to… to make the public feel safer, that was reasonable damage control, and then they'd get equal protection. It wasn't fair, it wasn't just, but what if it was necessary to acquiesce, lest the other monarchs create something even more restrictive? What if it was necessary to prevent a full-fledged revolt? Arthur was confident in his ability to put down any rebellions, but he didn't want to have to force compliance through violence. Damn it all, but those revisions might be a necessary evil.

The mere thought left a bad taste in his mouth.

Dinner was a bit of a reprieve, but not as much as he'd hoped. Conversation at his part of the table mainly centered around the sword in the stone, which several royal (and not-so-royal) ladies had attempted to draw. There was a rumor spreading that only the princess of the druids would be able to draw it, or perhaps Lady Morgana. (Blegh.) No peasant women had made the attempt so far, but there were a few daughters of lower-ranked retinue members. The castle was stuffed to bursting with foreign nobility; they'd heard about the Great Conference and decided that such a well-attended event was an excellent venue for spouse-seeking.

So far, no one had suggested that Arthur's known sorcerous accomplices could have cooked up the entire ridiculous scheme in an attempt to matchmake him with the woman they approved of. It was utterly baffling until Olaf asked him if he thought the ghosts had arisen because of Sigan's relatively recent rampage or thanks to the even-more-recent return of the many artifacts in Camelot's treasure vault, some of which must have had necromantic properties. Arthur blinked at the other king, then posited that perhaps it was a combination of the two. Olaf nodded like this was entirely reasonable and went on with his story about Princess Vivian's attempt at drawing the sword, during which she'd met Princess Orgeluse of Amata.

Those two would become the best of friends, no doubt, provided they didn't kill each other first.

"But she wasn't surprised when she couldn't free it," Olaf concluded. "Rumor has it that you're already engaged."

"Are you?" asked Bayard.

"Yes," Arthur admitted. "We intend to officially announce it within the next few weeks."

"You'd best hope she can draw the sword," Olaf cautioned. "It wouldn't do to snub the gods by rejecting the queen they've chosen for you."

…Had the spellbinders planned on the Sigan and relic justifications, or was that just a happy coincidence? "I have no doubt that she can," Arthur assured the other king. "She can try to draw it right before we tell the world, see if that can act as the official announcement."

"And if she fails?"

She wouldn't. "…Then we could… pray to the gods… and try again?"

That nonsense satisfied them. People must really like the thought of a divinely ordained romance. How did they not suspect?

Arthur changed the subject to the other men's queens, which kept them busy for the rest of the meal. Then it was time to bid his guests goodnight, take care of a little pre-bedtime paperwork, and close his eyes.

He opened them again in Morgana's dream-world. His sister and Guinevere were waiting for him there. Merlin was nowhere to be found. "He probably got distracted by Ganieda and Aithusa again," Morgana explained in response to Arthur's questioning look. "How did it go?"

Arthur groaned.

Morgana's little smile faded, her entire face tightening. "What went wrong?"

"Not an emergency," her brother assured her. "No one's pretending that they won't legalize magic. There's just a few minor complications on how we ought to do it."

The tightness faded a little, but it didn't dissipate completely. "How so?"

"I'd rather explain it just the one time. Can you try bringing in Merlin again?"

She nodded. Her eyes flashed gold. Merlin appeared between one blink and the next, grinning sheepishly. "Sorry. I'd just gotten to sleep when Ganieda started crying because Aithusa snuck out of the house. We think she was headed for the forge. She's absolutely fascinated by metalworking but hasn't figured out yet that Tom only works certain hours of the day." The grin disappeared when he took in the general atmosphere. "What's wrong?"

"They are all intent on bringing magic back, don't worry about that," Arthur assured him. "There's just some debate about the legal code, and it looks like I might need to be stricter with it than I'd like. If I can't talk them out of it entirely, then I'll try to convince them to make their proposed revisions temporary, five years or so, so that nonmagical people can get used to you first."

The witch and warlock glanced at each other, stiff-jawed and wary. "What might these statutes be?" Guinevere inquired.

Arthur told them. Morgana started pacing halfway through, which was never a good sign. Silence fell when he was stopped.

Merlin's golden eyes were hard, and Arthur found himself remembering that this warlock was kin to dragons. Morgana was scowling, her nostrils flared. Guinevere was more worried and upset than actively angry.

"So they want to penalize us for defending ourselves," Merlin stated. Dragon's blood or not, his voice was winter-cold. "Am I understanding this correctly? Because it sounds an awful lot like this is an excuse to punish any spellbinder who fights back against harassment or threats with magic."

"They've got to keep us in our place somehow, don't they?" sneered Morgana. "Remind us of what we have to lose."

"I know," Arthur sighed. "I don't like it either."

"You shouldn't like it," Merlin declared. "It's the kind of provision that begs to be abused."

"I know," Arthur repeated.

"I can just picture it," Morgana growled. "Someone punches one of our kin, the spellbinder fights back, the attacker gets away with it while the victim is punished because the law specifically protects people who assault us. And then there's the other laws. Help for witchfinders?"

"They're fairly well-off," Merlin pointed out. "Probably bribed someone to suggest it."

"I wouldn't be surprised," Morgana muttered darkly. She whirled on her brother. "This is not what our people agreed to."

"It's a disaster in the making," Merlin seconded. "It'll just cause unrest and resentment among our people, and that will clash with the unrest and resentment among everyone else. Arthur, you can't let them pass this."

"And if they pass it anyway, you can't sign that treaty and pass those laws in Camelot."

"If they pass it," the king sighed, "then I'll have to pass those laws in Camelot."

Morgana looked ready to explode, or possibly blow up his head. Merlin's face was a stone mask. He was breathing heavily, his golden warlock's eyes unblinking.

"Why?" Guinevere asked softly, taking his hand. "Why would them doing something inhumane mean that you have to follow suit?"

"Because this is supposed to be an international standard."

"So?" Morgana burst out.

"So, the laws are intended to be universal to encourage spellbinders to settle more evenly and prevent any one kingdom from having an advantage over the others. I can't give spellbinders greater freedom without betraying every other country in Britain and destabilizing my own."

"And you can't not grant our kin freedom without betraying us," Merlin observed.

"Which is why I'll do everything in my power to make them agree on the original laws. You have my word."

Merlin closed his eyes. A muscle jumped in his jaw. "I know you will, Arthur." A bit of the steel had left his voice. "But you don't think you can do it."

"I might have to accept some of the changes, yes, but I will fight every last one of them."

"That's all you can do," Guinevere assured him, squeezing his hand.

"Tell them about Listeneise," Merlin ordered. Everyone stared at him with varying degrees of startlement. "Not by name, of course. Don't tell them where we are. But tell them that we've found a place of our own where we can stay indefinitely. We don't have to live in any of their kingdoms if they're not willing to treat us right."

"For once, Merlin, you've come up with a semi-decent plan." Because (many of) the other monarchs weren't freeing magic out of morality, they were allowing its return because it would benefit them with healers and crops and whatnot. Threaten to take away those benefits, and the sovereigns of Albion would listen.

He hoped.

Gwen slept badly after the unfortunate meeting in Morgana's dream-world. She awoke groggy and disoriented and full of trepidation.

Since she liked to stay busy, Gwen had spent the days since her arrival socializing with the royal retinues. She'd met most of them before over the autumn and winter, and quite a few of them had decided that she was a good person to approach for introductions. That day, however, Gwen decided to go for a walk to clear her head before beginning her self-appointed tasks.

Princess Vivian of Dyffed found her on the castle walls, looking up at the old abandoned tower that, rumor had it, had once housed the Court Mage's apartments. The former maid startled when the highborn woman cleared her throat. She turned. "My apologies, Highness. I didn't sleep very well last night." She covered a yawn.

"Yes, I suppose you're feeling a great deal of anxiety." Vivian gave her a sharp, sideways look but said nothing more.

"I understand that you met Princess Orgeluse yesterday."

A bright smile, somehow softer than her usual expressions. "I did. She's so much more tolerable now that her father is dead."

"I never met her before, but I've heard the same thing."

"I'm sure you have. Now, speaking of things that you might or might not have heard, are you aware that there are… whisperings?"

Gwen frowned. "Do you mean of unrest? Because we knew all along that there would be unrest, resentment, and resistance to magic returning."

"Of outright rebellion, not just in Camelot, but across all of Britain."

"Unfortunately, that doesn't surprise me. Have you ever heard of scrying?"

The princess's brow furrowed. "That's… the magic of looking in on someone from afar, isn't it?"

"It is. Scrying will be one of our major advantages in putting down any organized rebellion. People opposed to magic won't have any spellbinders on their side to cast scrying-prevention spells. We'd just need a full name, whether it's a surname or patronym, and ideally a face. Then a spellbinder could scry the rebel leader's location and we can organize a sting operation to capture them without bloodshed."

"Oh." Vivian relaxed. "That's quite reassuring, though I'll have to make sure Father knows to find a Court Mage as quickly as possible."

"That shouldn't be difficult. Dyffed's never been as hard on magic as Camelot." Amata, though… Amata might have to occasionally borrow Merlin, as it had during the civil war. She was sure that Claudin would win the spellbinders over eventually, but without the title of the Once and Future King, Sarrum's shadow stretched longer and darker than even Uther's.

"We won't get one as strong as Camelot's though. No one will."

"Perhaps go for experience instead," Gwen suggested. "Merlin has only two years of formal training, and over half of that was in secret. He's a fast learner, but there are some advantages you can only get through long practice." At least for normal people. She wasn't entirely certain that this applied to a prodigy like her friend.

"A good idea. I'll bring it up with Father. Now, tell me about the strangest thing you saw this winter."

Gwen's lips quirked. "When we were on our way to Benwick, we ran into a cousin of Tristan's…."

Alternate chapter title: "In Which Arthur Contemplates the Finer Points of Interior Decorating"

Next chapter: July 8. More politicking and negotiating and stuff.

Writer's block might be acting up again, but I intend to start the first draft of chapter 10 next week. I've still got buffer.