Chapter Text
If Art thought the sword was heavy, it was nothing compared to the damn crown.
The sword, at least, was useful on occasion.
“King Leodegrance of Cameliard has a daughter of suitable age,” Bill said. “She’s rumored to be quite beautiful, but, then again, most princesses are.”
Art winced. “Not this again. We have more important things to discuss.”
The fall of the tower had consequences. Greybeard was only the beginning. Destroying the fear of Vortigern also destroyed the root of his control over England. The barons were scrambling. Some wished to curry favor with him, some wished to overthrow him, all wished to see if the change in leadership would allow them to wrangle more power for themselves.
Outside his borders, foreign kings looked upon Camelot with hungry eyes, believing a man raised in a whorehouse no match for their might, sword or no sword. Bill’s spies already reported that five in particular were forming a tentative alliance against him. The Roman Empire had had their eye on his island for a long time. Though both Uther and Vortigern had kept them at bay, Bedivere thought they may come after Arthur. Arthur believed him. It would be in keeping with the general theme of his life.
Inside his kingdom, he had a whole system of corrupt and power-hungry Blacklegs to dismantle, and create something more just, fair, and trustworthy in its place. From scratch. Largely, he had been taking both his and Bedivere’s surviving men, hastily knighting them, and sending them out to be overwhelmed by the task of working openly and together. It was a terrible system and they really needed to organize… something. Anything.
Closer to home, there was the matter of the sirens in the basement Maggie and Wetstick discovered one day while investigating the disappearance of Princess Catia. Art hadn’t even had a moment to mourn the cousin he didn’t remember. They’d released the birds she kept as pets, but they kept returning to one of the towers. He suspected Blue of leaving food for them.
Yet the topic of discussion amongst his knights today was his god damned love life.
“You need an heir,” Sir Bedivere said.
No, not even his love life. His sex life. Specifically, the lack of fragile, squalling evidence he even had a sex life.
“King Leodegrance was one of the first kings to accept your rule. It would be wise to reward his behavior and hope many follow him," Bedivere said.
“By marrying his daughter to an orphan raised a whore house?” Arthur asked. “I’m sure everyone would consider that a great incentive.”
Sir Dinadan winced. He was the only one to do so, but he’d only been sitting at the table for about a week. He was unused to the bluntness Art tended to use when seated here. Outside this room, the Court was much subtler when degrading his upbringing.
“A proposal of marriage, at least,” Bill needled. “Royal marriages are as much currency as gold, Art. You needn’t actually follow through. We can fabricate some fault for the girl if we find something more advantageous down the line.”
“We’re not doing that,” Art growled. “Whoever she is, whatever she’s like, she doesn’t deserve to have her future damaged and made uncertain by a bunch of strangers.”
Bill grinned his most punch-able grin, and Art regretted that he couldn’t just follow through on the expression’s promises anymore. “See? You haven’t met her and you’re already defending her.”
“Arthur defends all women from ill treatment,” Maggie said, sitting in her chair like a queen. She was the only woman at the table so far, but Art kept hoping that would change, somehow. “It is one of his more kingly attributes.”
Art tried to take that as the compliment it was meant to be. He tried not to bristle that being a decent bloke was a kingly attribute and not something to be expected from everyone at all times.
That was another thing to add to his ever growing list of things he needed to change in his country.
“We have more important things to discuss than marriage,” Art said. Again.
“You require an heir,” Bedivere said. “An established chain of inheritance will make everyone feel more secure under your leadership.”
“Foreign powers will be less likely to invade if they know there’s another born king waiting in the wings for them,” Percy said.
“Having a queen will allow you to delegate several of the more ceremonial and diplomatic duties of ruling to her supervision,” Bedivere said, and the corner of his mouth quirked up. “Especially those which you find most tedious.”
Art scowled at each of his knights in turn and looked pleadingly at Sir Tristan for help. Wet Stick always had his back.
Except when he didn’t. Sir Tristan merely shrugged.
"His Majesty is correct. Surely we have more pressing matters than marriage," Sir Dinadan said.
"Thank you," Art said.
The young knight winked at him.
Then, unfortunately, Maggie opened her mouth to say the worst thing it was possible for any of them to say. “Is there someone you love?”
They all looked at him.
Art took a very deep breath and exhaled through his nose. He shook his head.
“Do you want to be?” Maggie asked gently. “Before you marry?”
Dozens of faces flashed through his mind, all women, all weeping, bruised, bleeding, or dead. All claimed to love some man or another. As far as he could remember, he knew of only one couple who'd loved each other equally. His parents, and look at how wonderful their lives had been. He couldn't fathom falling in love. Couldn't fathom how irresponsible leading someone to that kind of pain would be.
Bill saved him from answering with a loud snort. “People may marry for love, but Arthur is the embodiment of a nation,” he said. Art did not bristle at the implication he was not a person. By Bill’s definition, apparently he never had been.
“Love seems trivial when we should be worried about aggression from Orkney or Rome,” Arthur said. “At least, let’s come up with a better system of protecting my subjects before we worry about my unborn children.”
Bedivere opened his mouth again, but he was interrupted.
“I agree with His Majesty.”
It was rare for George to call Art by his title of courtesy. He’d known Art longer than anyone else sitting at this giant cheese wheel of a table.
George spoke rarely in public, preferring to talk to Art in private. Then Art could bring George’s concerns to the other knights as if they were his own. Art thought this was because most of the noble born knights didn’t take George seriously unless he beat them in hand to hand combat.
Now, just because George could beat them all in hand to hand combat didn’t mean he wanted to spend the rest of his life in the sparring ring.
“A living person has no heirs,” George continued. “Heirs are for the dead.”
“But-” Percy began.
George silenced the other man with a look. “Whatever a living person may wish, by the time the inheritance is carried out, they will be dead, and therefore have no say in the matter. The survivors may follow the deceased recommendations, but nothing forces them to. If it did, Arthur would have been crowned king years ago.”
Everyone looked at Arthur. Sir Dinadan had an especially horrified expression. It would take him time to grow accustomed to the realities of Art's life. Art wished him luck. It had been twenty god damn years and he still woke up in a cold sweat most nights. Weeks after killing Vortigern hadn't stopped his nightmares. They were just different now. More detailed.
He tried not to think about how a sweat drenched bed shared with a thrashing, terrified man was no bed a woman would want.
“King Nentres of Garlot has a daughter, doesn’t he?” Percy said, as if thinking about the realities of George’s statements weren’t worth the time. Perhaps that was why George mostly didn't speak in public.
Bedivere shook his head. “You forget that Queen Elaine is Arthur’s half-sister by his mother’s first marriage. Her daughter is Arthur’s niece.”
Everyone scowled at the thought. Everyone except Arthur. He thought of Catia’s birds in the tower. The last reminder of one of his blood relatives, and he’d only ever seen them from a distance. Blue knew the birds better than he did. As Maggie had known Catia better than he did. As Bedivere has known Uther and Igraine better than he did.
He wanted a niece.
“Invite them to Camelot,” he said.
“Excuse me?” Bill asked. “You can’t marry your cousin, boy.”
Arthur scowled and decided that just because he could no longer punch his subordinates in public didn’t mean he couldn’t do it in private. If anyone got to call him "boy," it wasn't Bill. “George is right. You can discuss my heirs after I’m dead. In the meantime, apparently I have a family I should learn about. Friends are better than enemies, and what better friends than your own family?”
That last was somewhat less persuasive than it could have been, considering the ever-present specter of Uthur’s murder by his own brother’s hand. The shadow of it presided over everything Arthur would ever do in his entire life.
“King Nentres has a son as well. King Lot’s wife is also your half-sister,” Maggie reminded him. “She has four sons.”
“Invite them too,” Arthur said.
“King Lot hates you,” Bill reminded him. “I think Morgause probably does as well. She was your father’s most vocal detractor when he proposed to your mother.” He smiled. “Despite being about eight at the time. If they come, it will be to spy on you.”
Art shrugged. “So let’s show them what we’re made of,” he said. “Maybe we can convince them not to hate us.”
“Probably not all of them,” Bedivere said.
“Even one is better than none,” Art said.
Eventually, everyone agreed. Even Bill. “It will be done, sire,” the archer said with a smile that did not make Art want to punch him any less.