Chivalry ♛ King Arthur

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ARTHUR was slumped in the carved throne of Camelot. The crown didn't sit straight on his head and his hand propped up his chin with mild disinterest. Being king wasn't something he enjoyed, but Bedivere had told him that made him even more suited to wear the crown. Earlier, he'd laid out perspective conditions for a treaty and trade. Now the two envoys gathered among the rest of their people to the side of the rotunda, speaking in a tongue Art could not understand.

Percival entered unannounced and quickly stepped aside, revealing Frida. The signs of travel weariness were evident in her dark eyes and hair. Even with her slatternly appearance, there was something regal about the way she held herself. The Viking guests turned from the conversation they'd been having amongst themselves when Arthur rose from the throne.

He kissed her cheek for the sake of decorum and then turned to introduce her to the Northmen. "Leif, son of Harbard." The man that stepped forward was plainly clothed with dark hair pulled back into braids but closely cropped at the sides. "And Katla, daughter of Torstein." She had a round face, hardened by scars and a grim expression with kohl rimmed cold eyes.

Frida stepped forward and offered Katla a small smile, noting the sword on her back and the axe hanging from her hip. "You are a shield-maiden," she surmised, though the Viking currently lacked a shield. Arthur had tried teaching her the art of swordplay but that is not where Ida's skills laid. She admired women that could fight equally among men.

Katla sized Frida up. After hearing tales of Arcanists and Mages, she was disappointed with the woman in front of her. "And you are not," the shield-maiden bit back.

Frida shook her head with a soft smile. "No, I don't fight." Ida was not a fighter. She was a baker's assistant from Londinium. Her hands were crafted to knead dough and shape the surroundings, not for wielding swords, bows, and axes.

"Why not?" Katla asked.

Memories flashed across Ida's memory. A man falling to the ground, his eyes burning black holes, another clawing at his throat as molten copper burned him from the inside. She hadn't even been trying. A soft smile crossed over her delicate, travel-worn features. "Because I could kill everyone," Frida answered. It was not an easy admission. Merlin had shown her the true extent of her powers.

"Doubtful," the Viking woman replied, condescension lacing the word. Appearances were often deceiving, though. If she willed it, Frida could draw the breath from an entire army's lungs without breaking a sweat. The shield-maiden drew her axe and swung. She'd heard rumors of a Mage and Arcanist. Now was her opportunity to see if they were as dangerous as everyone said.

Frida stepped back and lifted her hands. The stone of the floor flowed into a transparent wall. Katla's arm was twisted and immobilized in the glass, leaving her little choice but to drop the axe. Ida kicked the weapon away and lowered the wall with a wave of her hand. The stone floor left unmarred by the sudden transformation.

Percival and Caradoc stepped forward with swords drawn. "Katla!" Leif darted forward and gripped onto her shoulders, pulling her back. The shield-maiden held to her arm as if it had been burned and looked up at Frida in horror.

"That is why I do not fight," Ida reiterated, a certain degree of ruthlessness lacing the words. Arthur was at her side, hand resting on Excalibur. Ida stayed his hand and assured him with a soft look that she was fine.

Art looked between the members of his court as they sheathed their swords and finally to the Northmen. "Supper will be delivered to your rooms. We will speak more on the morrow." He wrapped his arm around Ida's shoulders and led her from the room. 

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Ida looked into the flames. In them she saw dancers, flickering back and forth and jumping in the breeze. "Why have enemies when we can have friends?" She asked, echoing the same question he'd once spoken.