Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

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FRIDA'S idea to open the castle up to the orphans of Londinium and England went over well with the growing council. Arthur, Tristan, and she had all been orphaned. It had been by luck that someone had taken them in before the streets devoured them.

Once the arrangements and dates had been set, Wet Stick had seen to riding to the cities near to make the announcements first hand. Goosefat Bill began taking inventory of the empty rooms. They would easily be able to house one-hundred children. They would be fed, clothed, trained in essential crafts, and learn the ways of the court.

Twenty children with rags for clothes and dirty faces were huddled into the foyer of the castle. The youngest looked to be no more three, the oldest bordering on ten. They all had a look of apprehension about them after glancing around at the fine tapestries and polished arms that adorned the walls. It made them look and feel out of place. A sentiment that Ida would have shared if she were placed in their position.

Frida stepped forward. "Please! Don't be frightened." On her arm was a basket of freshly made pastries. She began passing them out, smiling. "This can be your home now-" she motioned behind her toward the main hall "-if you wish it to be."

One of the older boys among the group stepped forward, he hadn't taken a single bite from the berry pastry. There was a growing look of suspicion on his ruddy face that matched the color of his close-clipped hair. "Ain't no catches are there?"

Ida shook her head. "No." There was a gleam in her eye that all of the children seemed to understand. She had been just like them. An orphan. They all took her word and knew that things were about to change. "Follow me," she announced, waving them along, "you can all start by picking rooms." Tristan fell into step at her side, and the two could not help but exchange a wide grin. They had turned out alright and now other ragamuffins would that opportunity as well.

Ida fluffed her pillow and drew back the covers on her half of the bed. Arthur was doing the same. "You didn't come to greet our new guests," she noted with a tinge of disappointment in her tone. She knew he had been meeting with the high council, but the meeting would have ended before the boys and girls arrived.

"No," Art replied, "but I watched from the shadows." He had stood behind one of the stone pillars and watched, thinking it best that hers was the first face they were seeing.

"Why?" Frida asked, returning to the vanity to brush her hair. She watched his reaction in the mirror's reflection.

"Because-" he shrugged "-you're better with kids."

A braid of dark brown hair was draped over her shoulder, falling to her waist. It was the longest Arthur had ever seen it and his fingers always itched to run through the soft locks when it was unbound. Frida sat on the edge of the mattress and brushed the bits of dirt from her bare feet before joining Arthur beneath the sheet and sewn pelts of fur.

Art took one of her hands and began to draw letters and shapes into her palm. She closed her eyes and relaxed, letting out a breathy sigh. "You told me you used to mess up some of the pastries on purpose-" Art turned his head toward her "-that way when the children came running into the bakery pennies short you could still give them a sweet."

A lazy smile crossed over her tired features. "I told you that years ago," Ida remarked.

Arthur moved closer and took both her hands and held them close to his chest. "I know," he breathed before placing a soft kiss to her brow. She sighed, shifting onto her side and he pulled her to him, tucking her head beneath his chin, arms encasing her waist. This was how he wished every day to end.

♛ ♛ ♛

Arthur had begun disappearing before dawn and returning in the late evening for nearly an entire month. When questioned of his whereabouts, his responses were always vague and dodgy. But his hands were becoming rougher and more often than not he was picking splinters from his fingers. It was clear he was working on something besides the Round Table.

Eventually, he was prepared to show and explain what he had been working on. The large hall that held the throne of England now had a second, almost identical chair sitting next to it. Frida ran her hand over the ornately carved armrests and high back. It was a wonderful piece of craftsmanship upholstered with red and gold damask fabric. "What's this for?" She asked.

"For the day I have a Queen," he answered. Arthur stepped up onto the raised platform and took Ida's hands. His were trembling with a hundred small scabs. She had never seen him act nervous. The cocky boy that rose up the ranks of Londinium's street hustlers had vanished. Ida rubbed her thumb over his knuckles, breaking him from his trance and subduing the way his stomach churned. "I know it's not a ring or even a crown, but-"

He didn't have time to oust the entire question before Frida leaped up and wrapped her arms around his neck. "Yes," she breathed before kissing him soundly.

Art felt a fool for having ever listened to the small part of his mind that thought she'd reject him. He pressed his forehead against hers and reached to push a loose strand of dark hair behind her ear. "You don't even know what I was askin'." The laugh that escaped his lips was breathy.

Frida wore a large grin and had to stop herself from laughing too. "A lucky guess," she mused.

♛ ♛ ♛

The Arcanist walked the high stone bridge that spanned over the river below and connected Camelot to the forest road. There were still repairs to be made, and she had only just learned to mold stone. A process that had taken her longer than anticipated to become adept in. Unlike water or air, stone and earth was stubborn and not easily convinced to take another form.

Frida stopped at a section of broken railing. Some pieces remained swept to the edges of the bridge, others had been lost to the river. She picked up a hunk of grey stone and began to work it with her mind and will as a potter would form wet clay. Other pieces began to move and fall in place like a puzzle.

A solitary rider appeared in the distance, but as the rider drew closer Frida could easily name the man from rumors alone. He had pale silver hair with eyes of bright amber that resembled fire. A fitting appearance to match the red and black dragon emblazoned on his soft grey surcoat.

"Caradoc," Frida said with a smile, "the Prince of Dragons." She had heard the tales of his valor on the field of battle, but as a second son, he had no claims to his father's title, nor any other luxury that his elder brother had.

"No longer a prince," he stated, but the finely sewn clothes and his manners said otherwise. "I have renounced my title in favor of building a life elsewhere." The line of his father was well secured in the hands of his brother and nephews. Caradoc dismounted the black destrier and held the beast firmly by the reigns. "All the dragons are dead anyway," he noted.

Ida had believed dragons to be a myth. A story told to frighten young children and fool them into behaving. But in the depths of the castle, she had discovered a hoard of dragon skulls and a pile of shining silver scales in the process of being wrought into armor. "Maybe-" her eyes flashed up to meet his "-but their descendants live amongst us."

The Arcanist stepped back and reworked the final section of the bridge that could be repaired for the day. Caradoc watched in awe as the stone once fallen from the guardrail was melded together with what remained upright. Amazed by the display, he ran his hand along the repaired stone, marveling at how smooth the seam and transition was. "You have come to seek a place at the Table," Ida announced, taking a guess at the purpose behind his arrival.

He looked up at Frida with a wry smile. "Is it so obvious?"

She returned his smile and nodded toward the city of Camelot. "I'll take you to see Art."