Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

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LAID out on the field before them were mounds of the dead. Stacked high with kindling and doused with oil. There was a line of archers standing on the hill behind them with burning braziers. Frida could feel their heat on her back, fighting the cold North Wind.

"Nock!" The commander called. Frida reached down and grabbed Art's hand. "Light!" He slipped his fingers between hers and squeezed her hand, but his focus never strayed from the dead.

"Ready!" Creaking wood and stretching silk signaled that the archers had drawn back their bows, taking aim. "Loose!" Flaming arrows sailed overhead. Some of the mounds caught fire, the arrows that had gone astray were extinguished in the damp ground. More rounds of arrows were fired until at last, all the pyres had been lit.

Frida heard some people crying, most though, looked on in silence. She and Art were among the latter. As the corpses burned, Arthur draped his arm around Ida's shoulders and pulled her into him.

That evening there was a feast. It was held within the castle but overflowed into the streets below. Both Frida and Arthur had taken their plates to eat amongst the commons. It was far more comfortable sitting on an overturned bucket in a small tavern than at a high table in the palace.

Those that had shared in the battle gave their own renditions of the night that the Born King returned. The embellishments were enough to make children laugh and Arthur shake his head.

"Frida." It was an old, weathered voice that called her name. Despite the loud atmosphere of the small room, she heard it crystal clear. The Arcanist turned and saw the old baker rising from his seat.

"Edwyn!" Frida called, rushing over to him. He had a splint on his left leg and now supported himself with a walking stick. She knew the blacklegs had done this to him and anger bubbled in her chest. That all faded when he dropped the cane and took the once small orphaned girl into his arms.

"I was worried." He spoke quietly, his withering hand came up to stroke the loose brown curls falling down her back. Frida pressed her cheek against his chest and began to cry. It was not her intent to be the cause of his pain and grief. She clutched onto his rough tunic. "I'm sorry," she murmured over and over. She was sorry Vortigern's men had destroyed his life's hard work. That he had suffered because of her. She was sorry for that night she decided to take shelter from a storm beneath the awning of the bakery.

There was a light on her fingertips, a dull yellowish color and faded as quickly as it had come. Frida hadn't known what she was doing, couldn't control it. Edwyn fell backward, bracing himself on the edge of the wooden counter. That drew the attention of more than a few. "My leg," he whispered, reaching down to touch where the break had once been.

Ida stepped back, bottom lip trembling. She was afraid she had hurt him. "My leg," he said again, struggling to catch his breath. Edwyn looked up at Frida, uncertain. Frightened by the silence, the Arcanist turned and ran. She hadn't heard him tell the people of the tavern that his broken leg had been mended as if by magic.

♛ ♛ ♛

Arthur knocked on the door to the rooms that she had found to her liking. Oddly enough, it was one of the smallest rooms in the castle not meant to be a servants'. Just a smidgen bigger than her apartments above the bakery had been. It reminded him of her modesty and humility. Frida had always earned her own.

"Are you decent?" Art asked.

She had been up for some time. Sleep hadn't come to her easily as of late. Even with the downfall of Vortigern, the words he had spoken still were a heavy weight upon her shoulders. "Depends," Frida called, tying her robe closed as she moved toward the door, "I'm decent at sleeping."

On the other side, she could hear him sniggering. Ida drew back the door and looked up at him. After taking in the sight of her dark hair against dewy and fair skin, his expression faltered and fell. "Your sister is preparing to leave," he eventually told her, voice weighed down by his newfound responsibilities.

Her shoulders fell as she let out a soft "oh." She stepped back into the room. Rushing to pick up her dingy frock up off the floor and the blue wool overdress that hung from the back of a chair. Arthur stood in the doorway, but alas, when she began undoing the ties of her robe he turned back and let the door shut.

Frida gripped onto the reigns of the horse her sister had saddled in the morning hours. "Won't you stay?" the Arcanist asked of her. They had only just found each other again, but they had not been given the chance to repair the rift caused by years of separation. They were sisters, yet strangers seemed to be a more apt word to describe them.

The Mage shook her head. "There should not be two wielders of magic within his court." To Frida, that seemed like a lame excuse to justify why she was leaving. "Arthur needs an arcanist, not a mage," she looked ahead past the stone bridge and into the rolling hills.

Eydís took a deep breath and looked back down at her little sister. "He needs you." She was to be his Queen. The Mage had foreseen it in a dream. She had also seen Frida's rise to greatness and she was not to play a role in that. Eydís straightened her back and lifted her head. "I'm sorry I could not protect you all those years ago and that I cannot guide you now," her tone was somber.

The horse began moving forward, but Frida chased after the beast. "Eydís!" She called, voice cracking, but the Mage did not look back.

"This is goodbye, sister." Eydís eased the mare into a swift canter and soon disappeared over the horizon. A large brown eagle still lingered though, circling high above the castle.

♛ ♛ ♛

After hearing that Eydís had left Arthur went in search of Frida. No one had seen her since the early morning hours. His first instinct was to go to the kitchens. She was notorious for baking whenever she was stressed, or even melancholy. To his dismay, Frida was not in the kitchens. So he began his search anew.

He found her in the gardens, sitting beneath a flowering apple tree with her knees pulled to her chest in the pouring rain. She had been crying, he could tell by her red and puffy eyes and the damp streaks ran down her face. Not saying anything, he sat next to her, draping his arm over her shoulders. Frida turned into his chest almost immediately.

"Frida." He knew the tears she had shed weren't just because of her sister. Ida glanced up at him. "About Edwyn." The baker had come to him after she had fled the feast. He told the Born King that she'd mended his lame leg. His surprise only came from not witnessing her power in many years. Arthur pushed the lock of dark hair that had fallen in front of her eyes back. "He's alright. More than alright, actually. You healed his leg. He doesn't even need a cane."

That made her feel better. She had been too scared to seek out the baker after the incident. Even though it was late summer the rain was cold. It was the type of rain that would make you sick. Frida caught a chill, Art could feel her shiver against him. "We'll catch our death's if we stay out here," he murmured and she nodded.

Arthur led her from the gardens and back toward the hall of the castle that housed the royal chambers. He stopped at the room with the largest and most ornate doors and pushed one of them open to reveal the lavish interior. Frida shook her head, not stepping over the threshold.

"These are the king's chambers," she rebutted. It would not be right for her to take the accommodations meant for him, the Born King.

"And now they're yours," he countered. Ida shook her head, obstinate. "If you're insistent," he started, exasperated with her defiance and stubbornness. "Then I suppose we could share." Something told her that had been his plan all along.