Arturia ap Pendragon (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
the_once_and_future) wrote in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png)
imperial_stage2012-08-05 01:10 am
the_once_and_future) wrote in imperial_stage2012-08-05 01:10 am
Return of the King of Knights
Who: Arturia, any Briton, or anyone with a reason to be in Camelot
What: The Queen returns
When: 5 August, early morning
Where: Camelot, either in the courtyard outside the great hall or inside
It was the early hours of dawn, when the city began to wake from its slumber for a new day of work. The medallion of the sun hung low on the horizon, a brilliant magenta as it filtered through the rolling fog along fields of wheat, barley, and rye. Farm hands had just begun to lead their sheep and cattle out to pasture, and squires started their task of tending to the mounts of their knights. Apprentices to various trades were already performing the morning chores their masters tasked them with, occasionally dodging shopkeepers rolling up the curtains over their stalls. It was a day like any other.
It was into this idyll that the small company of knights rode, weary to the bone but none the worse for wear in spite of their previous battles. They had left behind their their families and friends to join the campaign; each knight's spirits were light if for no other reason that they would see their loved ones again. They were exhausted, but at long last, they were home. The Black Company had returned to Camelot.
The knight at their head dismounted with ease and grace, giving Llamrei a fond pat before a somewhat bewildered stable-hand led her away. The company followed suit, awaiting the dismissal of their leader. A final "huzzah!" heralded their departure, eager even in their weariness for their anticipated reunions. Yet, even in this otherwise joyous homecoming, Arturia ap Pendragon frowned slightly as her sea-green eyes scanned the courtyard, as if expecting to find something there that was conspicuously absent. But whatever she expected to see was not to be found.
Though every bit as weary as the knights she commanded, Arturia carefully suppressed any sign of it, deliberately presenting a vision of strength and poise for the sake of the subjects who needed to believe in her. The sovereign must be the rock upon which the kingdom rested; she must not show frailty and must exude all the virtues of chivalry at all times. Their victory must be nothing short of the expected outcome, as natural as the waves against the white shores of Gwaych, the province the Black Company had successfully defended from corruption.
With measured, graceful steps, the Queen of Britain made her way to the great hall.
[OOC: Prose or action tags are fine, whichever is your preference.]
What: The Queen returns
When: 5 August, early morning
Where: Camelot, either in the courtyard outside the great hall or inside
It was the early hours of dawn, when the city began to wake from its slumber for a new day of work. The medallion of the sun hung low on the horizon, a brilliant magenta as it filtered through the rolling fog along fields of wheat, barley, and rye. Farm hands had just begun to lead their sheep and cattle out to pasture, and squires started their task of tending to the mounts of their knights. Apprentices to various trades were already performing the morning chores their masters tasked them with, occasionally dodging shopkeepers rolling up the curtains over their stalls. It was a day like any other.
It was into this idyll that the small company of knights rode, weary to the bone but none the worse for wear in spite of their previous battles. They had left behind their their families and friends to join the campaign; each knight's spirits were light if for no other reason that they would see their loved ones again. They were exhausted, but at long last, they were home. The Black Company had returned to Camelot.
The knight at their head dismounted with ease and grace, giving Llamrei a fond pat before a somewhat bewildered stable-hand led her away. The company followed suit, awaiting the dismissal of their leader. A final "huzzah!" heralded their departure, eager even in their weariness for their anticipated reunions. Yet, even in this otherwise joyous homecoming, Arturia ap Pendragon frowned slightly as her sea-green eyes scanned the courtyard, as if expecting to find something there that was conspicuously absent. But whatever she expected to see was not to be found.
Though every bit as weary as the knights she commanded, Arturia carefully suppressed any sign of it, deliberately presenting a vision of strength and poise for the sake of the subjects who needed to believe in her. The sovereign must be the rock upon which the kingdom rested; she must not show frailty and must exude all the virtues of chivalry at all times. Their victory must be nothing short of the expected outcome, as natural as the waves against the white shores of Gwaych, the province the Black Company had successfully defended from corruption.
With measured, graceful steps, the Queen of Britain made her way to the great hall.
[OOC: Prose or action tags are fine, whichever is your preference.]
no subject
His oath only further cemented her favourable opinion, as did his assessment, and Arturia found no fault with it. With a slight shake of her head, she made to reassure his concerns of speaking out of turn. "I value any advice, regardless of the source. However, you are now my equal. It is no breach of protocol to offer suggestions."
She paused for a brief moment, casting a quick glance around. There were no others in the immediate area, though the petite knight was ever-cautious. "Walk with me."
She ventured further into the great hall, towards the back beside the hearth. There, she could project an image of merely conversing while being away from prying eyes. Though chivalry was the law of her land, the queen could not afford to be naive when it came to treachery. And it was only when she was certain she would not be overheard that she revealed what she feared.
"In truth, I am the second child of my mother. My older half-sister is a sorceress without equal, but one who despises me thoroughly and seeks to undermine my rule at every opportunity. Her name is Morgan le Fay, and she is nothing if not dangerous."
no subject
He walks with her, and while reassured by her words of equality, it would seem he is used to standing as an advisor in court, and a battle-captain in the field.
His face and form is cast into shadow as he looks away from the hearth for a moment. Arturia has taken him into her confidence in a significant way with such an admission, so he shares one with her, "I have known such strife with my kinsmen as well. My own mournival brothers slew each other at Istvaan, before the end. That is where my story ends, historically, though it was not the end of my life. Do you know where we could seek her out, to establish whether or not this was her doing, and to bring her to trial if it was?"
Sorry for the late, got sick
As to his question regarding the whereabouts of her half sister, Arturia shook her head slightly. "I am certain she maintains a stronghold in some location within Britain, or just beyond its borders. Yet...I can only guess that it is guarded by strong spells that prevent it from being found.
"Moreover, she appears to move about the kingdom; I have received reports throughout my reign of strange magic, the sort that only she would know."
Her lips pressed into a thin line. "I am certain she plots within her walls. Of this, however, I have no proof."
No worries.
He nods, and seems inclined to say more, to sympathize from his own history, but thinks better of it, instead, standing silent and stoic. He simply looks at Arturia, trying to puzzle out what he can from her stance, her armor, her blade. Trying to see if there are differences in body language between the seeming impostor that he knew, and the real King of Knights.
no subject
Perhaps there was; though she was true royalty by blood, Morgan had not had the years of training to lead a kingdom. By contrast, it had been drilled into the young queen since birth that even the simple stance of a monarch must exude proper regal bearing, project an image of strength for the people to look up to.
It was the way that only a queen could carry herself, the bearing of a person who understood that she was always on display.
no subject
He frowns, then decides to bow, clearly unsure of how to excuse himself from the presence of an equal. Most of the time he just says what he has to, then strides out, not thinking highly of Sawa or Amestris' ruler, seeing the regent of the Nameless states as a boy to be watched over, and seeing Char as a brother in arms, with all the easy comradeship and lack of formality that such a thing entailed. After the bow, he and his retinue begin to slowly withdraw, unsure if turning their backs on the King of Knights would be considered an insult, the armored sons of Ultramar walk a bit awkwardly back after their own bows.