bitchprince | Camelot, Sunday

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Camelot, Sunday

Matters were not exactly improving any.

After tossing and turning a bit last night trying to figure out how the bloody hell they were getting out of this predicament, Arthur looked a bit the worse for wear. Not that he'd admit to it, or do anything but keep his back straight.

He'd told Katchoo and Francine to use the servants' quarters closer to his chambers this time, as a precaution. Now he was up, though, and getting ready to meet with his father for the morning's briefing.

Oddly enough, he felt less than eager about it.

[[ wait for the ocd; spoilers for Merlin episodes 2x05 and 2x06, 'The Beauty and the Beast' ]]

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"There is something important that I--" Uther paused, for full effect, "...We would like you to address."

That should have been Arthur's first warning. His second one should have been the way Uther reached over, and took Catrina's hand. (But it's the first time he's been happy in a long while, he kept telling himself. I should not spit on it.)

"For too long, our people have had it easy. They have grown fat off our indulgence of them."

Arthur fought off the uneasy feeling in his stomach. "How so?"

"We provide peace, protection, and they give us little in return," Uther replied, with that eerie smile still in place.

Arthur blinked, then. He had to. "Most of our people are poor," he said, cautiously, "They survive off what little they can grow."

"That is what they would have us believe," Queen Catrina cut him off. Her glare in Arthur's direction could have cut through walls.

Was she really that naive? Arthur tilted his head towards her, and answered, earnestly, "That is what I see every day."

"We are introducing a new tax," said Uther, as if he hadn't heard a bloody word that Arthur had said. Beside him, Catrina nodded.

"The people must pay for the sanctuary Camelot provides," she added, smoothly.

The sense of horror Arthur felt actually managed to spill over into his expression. "You can't," he said. "The majority are barely able to get by as it is!"

"Those who refuse to pay will be arrested and publicly flogged." There was finality in Uther's voice. Once again, Arthur's point was being thoroughly ignored.

And at that one, Arthur actually lapsed into a stunned silence.

The guards stalked through the town, poking and prodding at every citizen to deliver their end of the tax. Arthur had a hard time keeping his upper lip stiff and his shoulders straight; his eyes darted from one person to another as they begged to be let off the tax.

Direct orders from the king. He had to remember that--

His eyes settled on one forlorn-looking, hungry woman, and pursed his lips.

...only to be distracted by the sounds of a struggle. He tore his eyes away from her, and paced further down-- a man, being held down by two guards.

"What's going on here?" he demanded. The man was elderly, he could see that - there was no way he could withstand such force.

"He refused to pay the tax, sire!"

"You've asked for too much," the man choked out, pulling futilly at the arms gripping him. "I've given all I can!" Arthur's jaw set tighter as he struggled with himself. He glanced up, and met the eyes of the gathered townspeople.

Something broke.

"Let me see that," he said, and reached for the tiny bag of collected tax.

He stared at the little pouch in his hand for another long moment. Not that much; the man certainly had to be very poor. So Arthur reached forward, offering the bag back to him.

"Release him," he said, stepping back. The befuddled man didn't know how quickly to scramble upright.

"But, sire--" one of the guards attempted, "The king's orders--"

Arthur slanted a look at him that offered him no avenue for further protest. "Give them all back their money," he ordered, and did his best to ignore the suddenly hopeful looks the villagers leveled at him.

"I gave you a direct order," Uther snapped. At least that had wiped that look of distant admiration off his face, at last, Arthur thought darkly.

"The people cannot afford to pay the tax," he said. His back was more ramrod straight than usual, and his arms were behind his back: perfect military posture, ready for a fight.

Edited 2010-09-12 10:09 (UTC)

"I don't believe you were naive enough to take them at their word," Catrina flared up, combing her hair almost violently.

"We have their loyalty, their good will," Arthur said, picking his words very, very carefully. "Do not forsake that by making unreasonable demands."

"Is it so unreasonable for a king to expect his subjects to obey him?" she said, all righteous indignation.

He'd tried. He really had. He'd tried to be patient, tried to be good, but Arthur was quickly running out of any patience at all. "They'll starve."

"Nonsense," Uther said, and got upright just to give his words more power. "They've grown too soft. Remember these are your subjects, not your friends."

He thought of Merlin, then, and set his jaw. "Why can't we be both?"

"Because we rule the people, not the other way around."

Arthur shook his head slowly, his eyes slipping to the ground as he gathered up the courage to say something he'd never thought of saying to his father quite like this, before. "I think you're wrong."

Uther's foot almost missed the next step as he put it down. "...I beg your pardon?!"

"I said you're wrong," Arthur said, the sound of his own heartbeat, so loud in his ears, overriding the fear in his stomach. He dragged his eyes up, and looked Uther directly in his. "Without the people, there is no Camelot. We're as much their servants as they are ours."

"Are you just going to let him talk to you like that?" Catrina screeched. Arthur was quickly beginning to resent the sound even worse.

"No, of course not," Uther growled, walking towards Arthur. "You are going to take these guards, and go into town, and go to every house, collecting the payments I demand!"

Here it was, then.

He could stand here, and bow, and give in, and throw his own morals out the window, or he could stand against his father.

The whirl of feelings in his stomach got worse, and he swayed from one end to the other, torn.

"I will not," Arthur said, at last.

That silence stretched out on Uther's part, now, his eyes searching Arthur's for something else, something less infuriating.

"Get out of my sight," he hissed, soft, low, but none the less damaging for it.

Arthur-- flinched, didn't really flinch, the slightest increment of something that could be a flinch.

"Yes, sire," he said, formally, grasping desperately for protocol to fill up the gap where his entrails used to be. Then he spun on his heel, and stalked formally out of the room.

Oblivious to the words Catrina was whispering to Uther the moment his back was turned.

He nearly slumped back against the doors once they were closed. Instead, he stopped just there, in the middle of the hallway, staring at the wall, studiously blank.

"Arthur?"

Francine had seen him coming into the castle, but hadn't caught up in time to speak to him before the audience chamber doors shut with him on the inside. So she'd been loitering not at all suspiciously in the corridor, yes, trying very hard to look as if she'd been sent for and it was her turn.

"What happened?"

"I told my father I refused to collect the tax," Arthur said, dully. That wall was so fascinating.

"Good!" It hadn't taken long for the servants to start whispering and worrying about it when he'd been sent out to get it in the first place. "I mean, isn't it?"

"He refuses to let it lie," Arthur said, tone as flat as could be. "So I have been excused from the room. For the moment."

"I'm not sure I'd count that as a bad thing," Francine said, though he obviously was. "I'm sorry he's not listening to you, though."

"It's his right not to listen to me. He is the King."

It was an unnecessarily snappish comment, he knew that, but he couldn't really find it in him to care, at the moment.

Within the audience chambers, there was movement, as Uther came to a decision.

"He's your father." And those were always interested in what their kids had to say, right? Right. "And besides, you're the heir to the throne. If anybody's got the right to tell him he's being dumb, it's you."

"I do not," he said, stiffly.

And he may have said more, or he may have not; either way, it made no difference, because the doors behind Arthur opened, and a message boy stepped out. "The king asks that all assemble in his audience chambers immediately," he said, "especially Prince Arthur."

Arthur shut his mouth, and turned.

Francine might have had something to say on the topic as well, but not in front of a page boy and everyone who was currently rushing down the halls toward them. As it was, she just frowned at Arthur, not in disapproval, but frustration.

Arthur shook his head, and simply strode into the audience chambers anew. His father looked... unavailable, for the moment, but his demeanour slowly changed as more and more people filed into the room.

Finally, when all seemed to stand at rest, Arthur began, "Father--"

"I am relaxing your duties and revoking your title," Uther said, without giving the statement even a moment's pause. "We live in dangerous times. I cannot allow you to undermine my authority."

Arthur looked like he was about to choke; a wave of nausea passed over him, but he valiantly ignored it. "You've always welcomed my counsel in the past," he said, struggling to grasp it. Surely, they'd fought like this before, but--

"You stood against me for all the people to see," Uther snapped.

"...I'm... sorry," Arthur said, slowly. "Any future grievances I have will be spoken of in private."

"It's too late for that," Uther said, dismissively, and paced back towards his throne.

Behind him, Arthur started forward. "Father--"

"You are to be disinherited," Uther restated, viciously. "With immediate affect. You are no longer Crown Prince of Camelot."

Arthur stared; it was the only thing he had in him to respond, even as Gaius started forward and began to plead with Uther for reason.

Disinherited.

Not fit for the throne.

Not good enough.

Too many mistakes.

But he'd--- But.

You know Francine had kind of longed to smack Arthur's father before she even met him? If she wasn't busy watching somebody she cared about crack, she'd be risking her fool neck to live the dream, right now.

"Arthur..." Not that she was close enough for that to do any good. Not that it would have done any good if she was standing right next to him.

As soon as Gaius heard the door closing behind him, he turned. "Merlin!" he said. "What have you found?"

It was surprisingly easy to spy on someone when they thought you fled for parts unknown, you know.

Which would be why Merlin was able to notice that Lady Catrina took a potion in order to keep from turning back into a troll. And, through some random flash of intelligence not to be seen by anyone in Camelot ever again because it would ruin so many story lines...

Stole one of the potions.

"Can you make something that tastes and looks like this?" Merlin asked, holding out the small vial.

"I don't know," Gaius said, frowning. He took the potion, and held it up to the light. "I suppose so. Without the troll's magic, it wouldn't have the same effect..."

Because apparently these things needed to be spelled out, like Merlin was a particularly slow child.

HE WAS, OKAY? GOD, GAIUS. GOD.

"Exactly!"

He knew Merlin well.

"So... Catrina will keep taking it," Gaius said, his entire face lighting up, "But it will no longer work!"

THEY WERE BRILLIANT.

"And then she'll turn into a troll in front of everyone!" You know. In case the audience was that dumb as well.

Gaius nodded, and set the potion down. "Well, we'll have to get started quickly, then," he said. "There's no time to waste."

And thus... a potion brewing montage was started. And random fangirl enabling clips of Merlin tasting the potion. With tongue.

God help you all.

Edited 2010-09-12 15:45 (UTC)

Wheeee.

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OOC