Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

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ARTHUR sat at the reading table within their chambers, brows knitted together in the candlelight as he read over the letter for a second time. Few things could make him appear so terse since coming into his father's throne. Frida paused her attempt to fashion a bowl of sand into jewels. "Is it the Vikings?" She asked.

He nodded and pinched the bridge of his nose, leaning back in the chair with arms crossed. Dealings with the Vikings was always a tricky matter. They were seafaring people with a love of raiding. Always eager to draw swords. "They've gotten word of the Table and wish to add two members to represent the Danes and Nords."

There had been minor disputes between the Northmen shortly after his coronation. Concern about treaties and deals that had been made under Vortigern's rule. They had all been settled without violence thus far. Despite Arthur's dislike for their ways, he was able to appease them and appeal to their humanity.

Frida sat on the edge of the table and took the letter from his hands, reading it over for herself. It was scrawled in a mixture of the common tongue and runic letters. After a moment, she set the letter aside and reached for one of his hands. "Let them swear fealty," Frida started, "we've had no quarrel with them since Greybeard surrendered his claim on the seas and slaves."

A cool summer wind blew through the open lanai, rustling the small fire in the hearth. "If we accept their envoys then it will leave one seat at the Table." Arthur had intended for twelve to fit comfortably around the Round Table, more could be added if it was necessary. Twelve had always seemed to be a lucky number for him, though.

He rose from the chair and stood in front of her, fingertips brushing over a delicate and fair cheek. "You're the best counselor I have," Art commented, leaning forward to press his face into the crook of her neck.

Ida pushed her fingers through his hair, giving a soft tug, so he was forced to meet her soft gaze. "But now you must listen to my counsel," she reminded him. 

♛ ♛ ♛ 

Frida looked down at the piece of parchment and felt her heart rise into her throat as she read the words again. Arthur took another bite from a golden apple and watched as her expression twisted and fell. She looked up from the scroll, tears gathering in her eyes. "Edwyn is sick," Ida announced. 

The baker that'd taken her in was stubborn. She'd visited countless times, hoping she could convince him to come to stay in Camelot. He could bake in the castle kitchens or have a shop in the city beneath the castle. Edwyn insisted on remaining in Londinium. It was the city where he was born, raised, and worked. Soon it could be the city he died in too. 

"You should go," Art told her.

She threw the piece of parchment into the hearth and stepped back, hugging herself. "I wish he would come to stay here," Ida confessed, wiping the tears from her eyes. He was becoming frail and sickly.

Arthur came to stand behind her, arms wrapping around her waist. "You should rest, Frida," he said, quietly. She craned her neck and he leaned forward, pressing a short kiss to her lips. "I'll get everything ready for you to leave with Wet Stick." He couldn't go with her this time. They were expecting the Viking envoys any day now. 

She and Tristan had left at first light. Arthur had seen them off on the docks. It was a two-day journey by river barge, shorter than riding through the countryside. Frida passed the time making shapes with the dark water at the rear of the barge. Wet Stick was giddy as a child when she formed a fish with the water and made it jump out of the water.

The barge was moored to the dock and a wooden plank set out. Wet Stick helped her from the barge and onto the dock.

Londinium had changed for the better. It was livelier, with more merchants and children running in the streets. The hand that'd choked the people's purse and coffers had been lifted. The City's Watch replaced the feared Blacklegs, and petty crime was minimal.

Frida rather enjoyed being back in the city. This was the place that shaped her into who she was. The streets that had led her to Arthur. As soon as the duo stepped onto the street the scent of fresh bread and pies filled the air.

Wet Stick pushed open the door into the storefront. Edwyn rose from his stool by the stone oven, his weight braced on a cane. There was a batch of orange sweet rolls baking. "Tristan, my lad!" The baker exclaimed.

"Ed," Wet Stick greeted but he quickly stepped aside to reveal Frida. She pushed the hood of her cloak back.

"Ida," the baker breathed. Frida embraced the baker, holding him as tightly as she dared to do. When they parted, Edwyn looked over her fair face and frowned. "You've got a thinking look about you," he noted.

Frida looked down at her hands before meeting the baker's gaze again. "I want you to come back with us," she told him.

"The bakery-" he started. Ida shook her head. "You've had it in your mind that you'd work yourself into a grave." That tended to be the way things were in Londinium. People worked themselves to death and then the burden passed on to their child. "You can come stay with Art and I. Please," Ida pleaded with a shaking voice, holding onto his withering hand. "Even you must find time to rest."

There were plenty of other bakeries in the city to make-up for Edwyn's share. He looked around at the bakery. It'd been rebuilt to look identical to the one that had been torched. His entire life had been spent in the bakery. His father had raised him to be a baker, and he had raised Frida to take his place, having no wife nor children of his own. 

"I always thought I'd leave this place in your hands one day." A wistful expression crossed his face. His little assistant was the Queen of Camelot in every way but name. He suspected that'd soon change too. "I never would've guessed this is how things would turn out-" his sentence was broken by a bout of coughing "-but I can't say it's not for the better."

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Caradoc met them at the gates of the castle. His expression was grim, and Frida already knew the reason why. She'd seen the quintet Viking boats docked in the lagoon. "They are here," he uttered, not hiding his disdain.

"When did they arrive?" Ida asked. She hated to think that Art may have been stuck in their company for days she was absent.

"In the morning hours," he answered. It was well past midday now.

Ida stepped toward the gates but turned to Wet Stick and Caradoc. Her gaze drifted over to Edwyn. The baker was tired, such a journey had left him weary. He needed rest. "Will you see him to his chambers?"

Both Wet Stick and Caradoc nodded. "Of course," they said at the same time.