Summary
Elyan plots disruption of Arthur's policies with like-minded dissenters opposed to the new magic laws.
Chapter 45 A Breath Before the Plunge
Seated at a sturdy worktable scratched and stained from glue and tools, Elyan glanced around the large single-room workshop. Gar, the master bowyer, moved between racks of finished longbows and crossbows, his expert eyes appraising his creations and selecting a few choice pieces from around the shop space. Quivers full of completed arrow bundles leaned here and there. In the back, a small forge and oven for making glue, sinew and heating tools smoldered, a foul smell permeating everything as William, Gar's apprentice, clumsily affixed arrowheads.
Near the windows, where thin cloth hung to let in light, stood a nervous young soldier. His lean frame was clad in Camelot's red-crested uniform, chain mail glinting beneath, a worn satchel strapped across his chest. Calloused hands and dirt-rimmed fingernails betrayed his commoner origins as he examined bundles of long wooden staves and staffs leaned against the wall. Despite the signs of hard work, his face retained a hint of boyish enthusiasm. Though they had never spoken, Elyan recognized the new military recruit from the training fields – Constanc, he'd been introduced as, was friend to William.
Across the cluttered workshop stood two nobles, new faces to Elyan. A lady, dressed in fine but practical clothing, examined the draw knives and planes on the walls with interest. Beside her, a man with flowing sandy hair that partially obscured the left side of his face studied the various jugs of glues and oils. These strangers had arrived with Sir James only today, their presence adding an air of mystery to the gathering. Elyan studied them for a moment, trying to discern their true motivations for being here.
Sir James hovered near a pole where strings and cords of various thicknesses hung from the ceiling to dry. His fingers absently ran over the bales of flax plants ready to be pounded and woven into bowstrings. Having fought side by side with him in battle, Elyan's mind flashed back to how their paths crossed just days ago.
James had been waiting in the shadows of Gwen's home one evening, catching Elyan off guard as he returned from a meal. With him, James had brought provisions to last several days – a gesture that spoke volumes about his understanding of Elyan's precarious situation. It was clear James knew the severity of Elyan's absence from his duties and his need to remain hidden. By being there, by offering support, James was essentially harboring a deserter, perhaps even a traitor to the crown.
They had talked at length about why James was there, quickly revealing that he shared Elyan's concerns about the kingdom's direction. It was a pivotal moment, one that cemented their alliance and led them to this secret gathering in the bowyer's workshop and surrounded by other allies.
Still, Elyan shifted with unease on his rickety wooden stool. He ground his teeth, willing himself to remain in their midst despite his misgivings. A hand pressed lightly against the letter in his coat pocket, grounding him. He had written it to his sister, and he pondered what Gwen would think of him now. Would she understand that his pain had brought him to this precipice, or had he already driven an irreparable wedge between them that any actions he took or any words he uttered would make no difference?
As his eyes swept across the room, the wave of doubt churned sour in his stomach. Was he truly considering conspiring with near-strangers rather than setting aside his pain and carrying out his sworn duties? These people – nobles and commoners – what bound them together beyond shared grievances? Could he trust their motivations, or were some here merely seeking to exploit the unrest for personal gain or political maneuvering?
As he wondered about the group's motivations, the young soldier, Constanc, caught his attention. So eager, so untested. Did this boy truly fathom the consequences of their deliberations? And William at the forge – were these youths' futures worth jeopardizing if their chosen path proved misguided?
A sudden dryness seized Elyan's throat as the enormity of his position dawned on him. No longer a knight, he now stood as a potential leader of dissent. The realization both terrified and steeled him. Whatever came next, there would be no going back. He moistened his mouth as best he could, cleared his still dry throat.
"Everyone, come," he said. "Please be seated."
Constanc looked up, startled, but then moved towards the table, sitting beside Elyan. Sir James nodded, guiding the two nobles with him. The lady settled onto a stool across from Elyan, while the other nobleman remained standing, one hand resting on the table's edge. James claimed the last available stool, while Gar paused in his bow selection, turning to listen. William looked up from his work at the forge, the heat momentarily forgotten.
"You may know me," Elyan began, his words deliberate. "I am Elyan, knighted by King Arthur, brother to the queen. You may wonder why I'm here… why I've abandoned my sacred oaths to them…"
Elyan didn't miss the subtle exchange between Gar and William – the first two he had approached days ago in a dimly lit tavern. They had been the first to believe in him, to take this risk. Their presence now reaffirmed the commitment of what they were undertaking.
"I've served the kingdom faithfully during my time here," Elyan continued, his voice steady. "But recent changes in Camelot have me concerned. King Arthur has welcomed magic back into the kingdom. I do not understand his reasons for doing so –" he lied, for he would not betray the inner circle's secrets – "and I fear for the safety of our people. Many of us have suffered at the hands of magic users in the past."
He touched the faded mark on his neck briefly. "This scar is a reminder of those times. Imagine now magic unchecked. I worry that in our rush to embrace change, we're forgetting the lessons of history. I'm not here to incite rebellion, but to discuss these concerns openly. I want to know if any of you share my fears, and if so, what you think we should do about it."
The sandy-haired nobleman leaned in. "I am Lord Brycen, brother to the late Sir Athelred," he said. He gestured to the woman beside him. "And this is Lady Estrid of House Merrick."
Lady Estrid inclined her head gracefully. "Sir Elyan," she said, her voice soft but clear. "Your words resonate with all of us here. It is an honor to be here."
Sir Brycen nodded in agreement. "Indeed. I share your concerns about Camelot's future as well. My family has suffered losses due to magic in the past." He paused, his expression growing somber as he pulled back his curtain of hair and brushed long fingertips over his own pale facial scar.
"Dragon attack a few years ago when the city burned. Ancient fire and old hatred had opened many graves that day – including my brother's. This mark signifies an oath not just sealed to words, but to action and vengeance. You have my blade's fealty, Sir Elyan, whatever we decide."
"I am Constanc," the soldier spoke up, his voice timorous. "There's something I must share, Sir Elyan. I wasn't certain if anyone else had seen it, but since I was last to arrive…" His hand moved to his satchel, withdrawing a folded piece of parchment. The paper crinkled as his calloused fingers unfolded it with care. "A proclamation from the king himself – they're being posted in the towns as we speak. Should be here not long now."
The others in the room shifted, their attention drawn by the unexpected development. Sir Brycen shoulders stiffened, his curiosity piqued, while Lady Estrid's eyes widened slightly, a hand to her midsection. Even Gar and William drifted closer to them around the worktable.
Elyan extended his hand, his movements controlled despite the tension in his shoulders. "May I?" he asked, taking the parchment from Constanc. His gaze moved over the first paragraphs, his brow furrowing slightly. He spoke after a moment, his voice derisive.
"Arthur speaks of abundance and celebration. He talks of magic as a 'benevolent gift' flowing through the earth." He scoffed, a bitter smile twisting his lips. "Flowery words, indeed. As if pretty phrases could erase years of suffering."
"What else does it say?" Sir James asked, his voice taut with apprehension and intrigue, coming beside him.
Elyan nodded, his eyes flicking around the room before returning to the paper. His voice was strong as he read aloud, "'Too long have we turned our gaze from those scarred by the horrors of the Great Purge and the bloody conflict surrounding sorcery's prohibition. In pursuit of forging a new era of unity and acceptance, we ignored the fact that old agonies have yet to fully heal.'" He paused, swallowing hard from the prick to his conscience, his gaze briefly meeting Sir Brycen's.
Shifting uncomfortably in his seat, Elyan continued, uncertainty creeping into his voice. "'While our pursuit of acceptance was well-intended, we cannot stand idly by while citizens remain crippled by the past.'"
He glanced at Gar, noting the older man's tightened jaw and distant gaze. Elyan knew the story – how Gar's first wife had been caught in the crossfire of a magical duel decades ago, their dreams of a family together shattered in an instant. Though Gar had remarried years later, the loss still haunted him, a constant reminder of magic's destructive potential. The bowyer's massive arms, reminiscent of Percival's girth, were now crossed tightly over his chest. His calloused hands, usually so steady in crafting bows, gripped his biceps, knuckles white with suppressed emotion.
Elyan read on, his voice faltering slightly. "'We see you, people of Camelot who still bear the burns of magic's perversion.'" He pulled a deep breath. "'Your fears, your rage, your grief – they have not gone unnoticed by the Crown, merely overlooked in our eagerness to move forward. But no more.'"
Elyan slowly lowered the parchment and scanned the faces around him, searching for reactions. He handed the paper to Sir James as the silence stretched, his earlier derision now replaced with indecision.
"What does this mean?" William asked.
"There's more here," Sir James said, drifting closer to Sir Brycen and Lady Estrid, who gather around him to read over his shoulder. William came closer too.
"This... changes things," said Elyan quietly. The words in Arthur's proclamation nearly echoed his own grievance against the crown, acknowledging error, promising hope, sending his thoughts reeling.
Sir James continued to read aloud, his brow furrowed. "It seems the king is more aware of our struggles than we thought," he said when he finished.
"But is this just words," retorted Lord Brycen, "or will there be action?"
Lady Estrid, her hand still at her midsection, took a deep breath. "It's a start," she said cautiously. "At least our pain is being acknowledged."
Elyan's gaze lingered on her, noticing the way her fingers splayed protectively over her stomach. What tragedy lay behind that gesture? What loss had she endured at the hands of magic? How little he knew about the people gathered here, but each one must carry their own burdens and scars.
Despite Arthur's proclamation, a newfound resolve settled in his chest. Over time, he would learn their stories – all of them. From Sir Brycen's facial scar to William's youthful determination, from Gar's haunted eyes to Constanc's nervous energy. Each tale would fuel his desire for action, remind him of why they had gathered in this workshop. Their collective pain would become his driving force, pushing him to seek the justice and healing they all desperately needed.
Lord Brycen ran a hand through his sandy hair, conflicted. "I want to believe this, but after all we've suffered... it's not easy to trust."
"What if this is genuine, my lord?" Constanc asked. "What if the king truly wants to help?"
Elyan nodded. "We came here today seeking answers, looking for a way to address our grievances. I know some of you – perhaps all of you – have considered sparking revolution in some fashion. I'd be lying if I said the thought hadn't crossed my mind as well." He paused, his voice softening. "Believe me, war with your enemy is terrifying; civil war... it's a nightmare that turns neighbor against neighbor, brother against brother. But this letter... it offers us a path. A chance for healing without bloodshed."
He paused, his mind racing as he considered Arthur's words. If there was one thing he knew about his king and brother-in-law, it was that Arthur wasn't a liar. Perhaps Gwen had recognized the pain beneath his fury after all, and had whispered words of counsel into her husband's ear. The possibility of avoiding a violent uprising both relieved and unsettled him – would they have chosen such a drastic action? Could there be the chance of it still occurring?
"I propose we wait," Elyan continued, confident in this decision. "Arthur has acknowledged our suffering. That's more than we expected when we gathered here today." He stood and took a few paces away from the table, hands on his hips, gathering his thoughts. The floorboards creaked under his feet, reminding him of the precarious ground they all stood on. Should he reach out to Gwen?
Turning back to face the group, his gaze settled on two faces. "Sir James, Constanc, you're our eyes and ears in the castle. We'll need you to be vigilant, to watch for any signs of change – or lack thereof." He paused, letting the call of responsibility settle on their shoulders. "Let's see if the king follows through on these promises. If he does, we have an opportunity to work with him, to address our grievances openly and honestly."
He hardened his stare. "If not..." The unfinished sentence was clear to everyone present, the air seeming to crackle with unspoken possibilities and the potential for drastic action.
Gar had moved to the back of the shop to tend the forge William had abandoned. Without looking up from his task, he spoke. "As Sir Elyan said, revolution is a heavy thing, not to be undertaken lightly."
Elyan took a deep breath, nodding at Gar's words. "Our last resort, Master Gar. We're not there yet – far from it. But we don't abandon our concerns either. Let us speak on this matter in a month's time to reassess the situation. This gives Arthur a chance to prove his sincerity – to make good on his word, and us time to gauge the true intent behind them."
He looked around the room once more, noting hope, skepticism, and wariness on the faces before him. "What say you all? Are we agreed on this course of action?"
William asked, his hands thrust under his armpits, a scowl on his face, "How can we trust that this isn't just a ploy to placate us, Sir Elyan?"
"Only time can tell us that," Elyan replied with a noncommittal shrug.
Sir James frowned, clearly torn. "I want to believe this, Elyan. A month seems a short time to judge such a significant change. What if we're being too hasty in our decision?"
"I believe we should give the king a chance," Lady Estrid countered. "This acknowledgment is more than we've had in decades from royalty. It's a start."
"Aye," said Gar stepping forward, brushing his large hands on his apron. "I've seen how quickly words can turn to swords, how easily promises of change can lead to bloodshed. I vote for patience."
"Then it is agreed," Elyan replied. "But make no mistake, my friends. This isn't blind trust. We'll be watching closely, ready to act if these promises prove empty. For now, we wait, we watch, and we prepare."