Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

twσ

FRIDA lunged toward the small knife she kept hidden in the drawer of her night-table when the window to her one-room apartments slid up. She dropped the dagger upon seeing who the would-be intruder was. Arthur clambered through the small window and instantly flopped down to the floor, holding his side and groaning.

He looked up at her with a cheeky grin, but was met with a deep frown on her behalf. His cheek was bruised and along his forearm was a long, thin cut that still bled. Ida turned, digging around in the few cabinets that lined the wall furthest from the door. "Why are you always bloody when you come bursting into my rooms this late?" She grumbled.

Arthur didn't respond, only sat up on the creaking floorboards above the bakery. "You know Lucy would take care of you." She sat a clean bandage and a jar of ointment on the night-table and returned to fetch a clean cloth from the wash basin.

"Aye," he shrugged, "but I don't want her to worry." Ida turned back to him with a deep scowl. "And you don't worry me?" His smile had a puerile quality that made her roll her eyes and point toward the crumpled sheets on her bed. He grunted and pulled himself over to the featherbed pallet.

Frida rolled up the sleeve of his burgundy tunic. It was a fine shade to try to hide the color of blood. She wrung water from a scrap piece of fabric and lay it over the cut. A moment later, she wiped it clean, not missing the slight wince he gave. Arthur remained quiet, watching her orderly actions only to realize that he really did only come barging into her room when he was bruised and bloodied. That was something he would have to change.

The salve she used was sticky and smelled of mint, sage, honey, with the subtleties of lavender. "What'd you do this time?" She asked, dappling the salve over the slash.

Ida cut her eyes up at him, waiting for a response. "Caught someone sniffing where they weren't supposed to." That didn't tell her how his arm had managed to be slashed, or why there was a bruise beginning to form around his left eye. She rolled her eyes. "Fine, don't tell me."

♛ ♛ ♛

Ida curled into her small bed in the apartments above the bakery. It was a cold night. A restless night, filled with distant memories of the past, or maybe they were just dreams. She could hardly tell them apart any longer.

The village was on fire, men were raiding the houses in search of mages and practitioners of the dark arts. Slaughtering those who raised arms against them and caging those who they thought were marked by the darkness.

She was only five and crying as her mother ushered both her and her sister into the woods. "You must keep quiet, child." Her mother had meant that in two ways, keep quiet to avoid drawing attention and to always go unnoticed, "the world cannot know." Their kind was being hunted after what had occurred with Mordred in Camelot and the rise of Vortigern.

The two girls' mother bade them stay hidden in the woods. She would return after seeing that her own sister was safe in the chaos. But the youngest girl did not listen. "Mama!" The girl cried, running after her with tear stained cheeks, hands alight with a bright pure energy.

"Hush, Frida," she told the girl in a manner that was both stern and loving, a tone only a mother could use. The mother closed both of her daughter's hands, staying the light. "Eydís will take care of you." Her sister laid her hand on her shoulder and squeezed, "she will help you control it," her mother reassured. With that, she was gone and the two girls were running into the woods, deeper and deeper, away from the fire, away from their home, away from the screams.

Arcanist had been the word the Kingsmen had used before setting their village and homes to the torch. Their mother had been called that word before they strung her up by the neck and set a fire beneath her feet. And Arcanists were what the two young girls were.

She and sister were running in the woods by the light a full moon, only when she tripped on a root and stumbled Ida jolted upright in the dark of the night. She was still in her bed, not in the woods. But a cold sweat was on her brow. Her sleeping mind was trying to tell her something, remind her of who she was, what she was. Yet all it gave her were terrible dreams of a family that no longer existed, of a girl that had died years ago.

She brought her hand up to wipe away the sweat but paused in shock and fear. Emanating from her fingertips was a pure, bright white light. She didn't want this power, this ability. It had brought nothing but death and despair into her life. Frightened, she buried her hands beneath the sheets and blankets, closed her eyes, and willed herself to wake up from the nightmare.

But she couldn't. It wasn't a dream. It was her reality. One that she needed to embrace.

♛ ♛ ♛

She walked down the streets at a brisk pace, moving through the crowd with a woven basket and hooded cloak. Back Lack and Wet Stick appeared, flanking her sides. Ida cut her eyes over at Wet Stick, knowing that Arthur couldn't have been far. The three of them were rarely separated while out in the city. With a slight frown, she pushed back the hood of the cloak. Her plans of secrecy had been spoiled. "Now what're you three up to?" She asked, looking at her sides.

Back Lack shrugged, it was business as usual for them, though they had run into a bit of trouble earlier. "Nothin'," he answered.

Frida shook her head. "Liars," is what she called them, and neither of them tried to tell her otherwise. The Boss didn't want her to get tangled up in their affairs in case something went sour one day. It wouldn't be right for her to be caught up in their mess, so they never told her exactly what occurred and that frustrated her to no end. Even Lucy and the girls were in on it.

"What're you up to?" Wet Stick asked in return, reaching down to look at the contents of the basket. Ida jerked it away from him with a scolding glare and Wet Stick raised his hands in surrender. "I'm taking the day old bread to the orphanage if you must know," she told them in a curt tone. There had always been a soft spot in her heart for orphans, bastards, and cripples, and Londinium had no shortages of them.

The figure that approached the group from one of the alleyways wore a fresh white doublet with gold and leather stitching. It was a wonder that it hadn't been covered in filth yet. "Why so secretive then?" Arthur asked.

"Because if the blacklegs find out then we will be punished that there was no tax to go to the King," she started, wagging a finger in front of his face, "and then Edwyn's reputation would be ruined on my account." The King's tax laws had tightened in the last years, every bit of it went to building a bloody tower aside the castle.

"I could take it," Arthur offered, shrugging as she passed him. Frida looked over her shoulder with slitted eyes. "You get into enough trouble as it is," she accused.

He couldn't argue with that statement, but he'd always managed his way out of trouble more often than naught. "Yeah," Art agreed, a boyish smirk playing on his lips as he caught up with her, "but I have some connections, you see."

"I know," she sighed with a quick roll of the eyes, "you have Jack's Eye and the lot of them in your coffer." Frida had seen the stores of coin and treasure he had hidden in backrooms and behind loose planks in the brothel. He distributed the wealth around to the girls and those that needed it most, but at the end of the day, he always had a few coins left in his purse. Arthur crossed his arms. "What're you talkin' about?"

"Don't be coy Art," Ida laughed, "if you really want to do something useful, tell them not to come barreling into my bakery every week." She smiled up at Arthur and patted his cheek as she continued on her way.