Syntra
Baba Yaga
Her name was Guinevere. A good, regal name, worthy of a queen. It was hard for Arthur to believe that a yokel from the wastelands could even string that many syllables together, but really, wasn’t that yet another sign? A sign of the gods’ favor, following his every step? Oh so conveniently, they’d marked her for him-- the one who carried the old blood in her veins, and enjoyed its various blessings. The one who, sooner rather than later, would share those boons with his sons. What better use of such talents, anyway? The woman’s potential was rotting in the wastelands, like a seed unplanted, and Arthur… oh, Arthur would see to it that that changed, alright! (In that respect, The Catastrophe had been a good teacher. It had taken everything from them, hopes and dreams and future alike, but it had also taught them how to make do with very little. In this queer way, Arthur even felt that it had been some kind of necessary. Without the setting being what it was, would his own destiny shine as brightly? Oh no, he didn’t think so! Every hero needed a challenge to overcome, for that was his narrative purpose. The larger the metaphorical dragon was, the more impressive it was to slay him, too-- the more awe-inspiring, and worthy of being celebrated. No songs had ever been composed of a king ruling over a peaceful kingdom, that was for certain! And so Arthur found himself thankful for this opportunity, to both excel and lead his people out of the darkness. To let them learn, via example, just how sinful their ways were. Lesson number one: ‘Never waste resources!’ Which, yes, the woman was little more than that, despite technically wearing human skin. She had been born to give, give, and give, and he’d make her do it, just like the gods intended. …without a skilled pair of hands to breathe life into it, soil was nothing. Everyone would do well to remember that.)
“I do hope she is at least easy to look at,” the young king sighed, casting a sideways glance at Merlin. “I mean, I was hoping for a more politically convenient match for myself. One must bring sacrifices to meet his destiny halfway, I know, but the fact remains that she will bring nothing to the table. Nothing but her blood. It is very inconvenient. Many noble families offered me their fairest daughters, and I have had to refuse them all!”
It didn’t happen very often that Merlin looked at him with eyes this critical, but apparently, this was a very special occasion. The old wizard opened his mouth and then closed it again, most likely weighing his words before daring to speak them, but in the end, speak he did. (Many wouldn’t protest like that, Arthur knew. For a good reason, too. A king whose word wasn’t taken seriously was no king at all, now was he? Except that Merlin had earned the privilege to challenge him, and so he would listen. He wasn’t… hmm, unreasonable. Merely strict, which was a trait every good ruler should strive to cultivate.) “The blood is important, my king. It’s everything. Do I have to remind you of that? Your sister, lady Morgan--”
“Remains as ineffectual as ever. I would wager that she is holed up in some dark room again, spinning lies like a spider might spin webs. What of her?”
“Well,” he gulped, “I wouldn’t put it like that. Your sister’s magical prowess does worry me, as well as her tendency to dig around where she shouldn’t. It’s like she can sense secrets. I have had to move the Excalibur to a different hiding place because she was… I’m sure she would call it ‘investigating,’ my king. In reality, it was little more than snooping around. Who knows what her plans were? I doubt they were as innocent as her just wanting to learn more about the castle that has been sheltering her.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Do you think I should be firmer with her? She is family, by some cruel joke of the gods, but boundaries should be drawn. Lately, I may I have been too lenient with her.”
“I do think that some revisions of her privileges are in order, yes,” the wizard nodded. “We can’t have your subjects thinking that… that you are supporting the dark arts, my king.”
“I agree,” Arthur nodded, “but let us talk of this later. My bride is waiting for me.”
Guinevere wasn’t aware that he was coming, of course, but she must have been waiting nonetheless! Stuck in this grey, cursed land, it was only natural that she sought for her way out-- for something greater than fighting every day solely to put food in her mouth. What woman could possibly enjoy that? She would have to be an abomination, Arthur decided. A sick, twisted thing, and his wife was surely purer than freshly fallen snow.
The camp where Guinevere lived, though? It was the opposite of pure, and for a moment, Arthur regretted even coming in person. I should have sent a messenger, he thought. My royal seal would have been more than enough. Then again, first impressions were important, and the king knew how he looked-- dressed in his best armor, he shone like a lighthouse in the darkness, like the sole hope of humankind that he was. Could Guinevere not fall in love with him at first sight? The chances of that were abysmally low, indeed!
“I come in peace,” he announced, trying his hardest not to stare at the tattered women too much. Did people seriously live like that? Disgusting. (His knights were a little less successful than he was, which meant they gawked quite openly. Ah, well! Not everyone could be as well-mannered as the royal son.) “In fact, I am peace itself. With me, prosperity will come, and all of you will be able to reach heights greater than you have ever imagined. My name is Arthur. Arthur, the king of Camelot. To you, I offer an alliance and Camelot’s resources-- in exchange, I only wish to claim Guinevere’s hand in marriage.”
“I do hope she is at least easy to look at,” the young king sighed, casting a sideways glance at Merlin. “I mean, I was hoping for a more politically convenient match for myself. One must bring sacrifices to meet his destiny halfway, I know, but the fact remains that she will bring nothing to the table. Nothing but her blood. It is very inconvenient. Many noble families offered me their fairest daughters, and I have had to refuse them all!”
It didn’t happen very often that Merlin looked at him with eyes this critical, but apparently, this was a very special occasion. The old wizard opened his mouth and then closed it again, most likely weighing his words before daring to speak them, but in the end, speak he did. (Many wouldn’t protest like that, Arthur knew. For a good reason, too. A king whose word wasn’t taken seriously was no king at all, now was he? Except that Merlin had earned the privilege to challenge him, and so he would listen. He wasn’t… hmm, unreasonable. Merely strict, which was a trait every good ruler should strive to cultivate.) “The blood is important, my king. It’s everything. Do I have to remind you of that? Your sister, lady Morgan--”
“Remains as ineffectual as ever. I would wager that she is holed up in some dark room again, spinning lies like a spider might spin webs. What of her?”
“Well,” he gulped, “I wouldn’t put it like that. Your sister’s magical prowess does worry me, as well as her tendency to dig around where she shouldn’t. It’s like she can sense secrets. I have had to move the Excalibur to a different hiding place because she was… I’m sure she would call it ‘investigating,’ my king. In reality, it was little more than snooping around. Who knows what her plans were? I doubt they were as innocent as her just wanting to learn more about the castle that has been sheltering her.”
Arthur’s brow furrowed. “Do you think I should be firmer with her? She is family, by some cruel joke of the gods, but boundaries should be drawn. Lately, I may I have been too lenient with her.”
“I do think that some revisions of her privileges are in order, yes,” the wizard nodded. “We can’t have your subjects thinking that… that you are supporting the dark arts, my king.”
“I agree,” Arthur nodded, “but let us talk of this later. My bride is waiting for me.”
Guinevere wasn’t aware that he was coming, of course, but she must have been waiting nonetheless! Stuck in this grey, cursed land, it was only natural that she sought for her way out-- for something greater than fighting every day solely to put food in her mouth. What woman could possibly enjoy that? She would have to be an abomination, Arthur decided. A sick, twisted thing, and his wife was surely purer than freshly fallen snow.
The camp where Guinevere lived, though? It was the opposite of pure, and for a moment, Arthur regretted even coming in person. I should have sent a messenger, he thought. My royal seal would have been more than enough. Then again, first impressions were important, and the king knew how he looked-- dressed in his best armor, he shone like a lighthouse in the darkness, like the sole hope of humankind that he was. Could Guinevere not fall in love with him at first sight? The chances of that were abysmally low, indeed!
“I come in peace,” he announced, trying his hardest not to stare at the tattered women too much. Did people seriously live like that? Disgusting. (His knights were a little less successful than he was, which meant they gawked quite openly. Ah, well! Not everyone could be as well-mannered as the royal son.) “In fact, I am peace itself. With me, prosperity will come, and all of you will be able to reach heights greater than you have ever imagined. My name is Arthur. Arthur, the king of Camelot. To you, I offer an alliance and Camelot’s resources-- in exchange, I only wish to claim Guinevere’s hand in marriage.”
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