Chapter Text
Charles Tucker, otherwise known as Trip, contentedly made his way down a rather mellow hillside, the sight of Camelot’s city walls not too far ahead of him. It had been a pretty tough journey, especially for a foreigner like him–with a funny accent. He had been sent here by his mother to hone in his magic…which had become quite unruly as he aged. There was a man in Camelot, the court physician named Phlox. Evidently this ‘Phlox’ was a friend of his mother. And also a pooka.
It wasn’t every day you got to study magic with a faerie of the Old Religion.
Trip easily passed through Camelot’s gates, the guards only sparing him a single discerning glance. From there he had to follow the signs to the citadel, asking for directions a couple of times. Here the people seemed used to his out-of-place accent. It made sense, Camelot was the capital city of…the Kingdom of Camelot. It must’ve seen a lot of foreigners.
As Trip drew closer to the castle he noticed a rather large crowd gathered in the castle courtyard. A man, whom Trip astutely assumed to be King Stuart, was standing on the castle balcony. As Trip shrugged further to the front of the crowd he was startled to notice a chopping block on the podium.
“What in the hell…” Muttered Trip, horrified. Was he about to witness an execution? On his first day in Camelot?
“Let this serve as a lesson to all,” Began King Stuart, “I have decreed all magic and enchants to be banned.”
The King placed his hand over his heart, as if it were a gesture of both pride and sympathy. But Tucker saw through it all. There was something awfully dark in the King’s eyes—something angry and hateful.
“I pride myself as being a fair and just King. But for the crime of sorcery…there is but one sentence I can pass.”
A young peasant man was brought out from the shadows of the dungeons, his hands bound. And Tucker could only watch in horror as he was brought up to the podium and forced to kneel. All of Trip’s instincts screamed at him to stop the execution—how could this be fair? All he was guilty of was a little magic? No murder, no thievery? But self-preservation froze him in place.
As if to torture the poor magician further, the executioner raised his axe, waiting for the King’s direct cue to chop. And King Stuart did raise two fingers slowly, his eyes coldly bearing down on the bound young man. And in one swift motion he brought his fingers down, the axe swinging in unison.
A shrill cry rang through the audience and an old woman stepped out onto the podium, hands shaking with utter grief at the sight before her. Everyone quieted as she sobbed in front of them, her fist raised at the King.
“There is only one evil in this land and it is not magic.” She declared mournfully, “it is you. With your hatred…and ignorance.”
Stuart watched with a furrowed brow as the woman began shaking her fist, ruefully continuing her soliloquy.
“You took my son.” She sobbed once before becoming enraged. “But I swear to you, King Stuart Reed…an eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth…a son for a son!”
“Seize her!” Stuart ordered, but a large gust of wind began to swirl around the woman. She began furious incantations, her torn shawl rising in the vortex like tendrils out of hell. Her voice boomed through the courtyard as she recited text from the Old Religion. And just as she arrived on scene, she vanished entirely.
That was all Tucker needed to see for the day. He tried to put it out of his mind, fists clenched in terror and sympathy. Some part of him wondered if living in a Kingdom where magic was punishable by death was a wise decision…but he trusted his mother. He could have a better life here—make himself more useful than he ever had been back in his podunk town.
So he stalked into the castle, at a loss for direction once more. Luckily a pair of guards stood by the nearest stairwell.
“Which way to the doc?” Trip asked them.
“In there.” One of the guards said, pointing his thumb back to the stairs. Trip nodded his thanks and made his way up the steps. There was a short corridor with a door at the end of it. He assumed that was his destination, but couldn’t be too sure. He approached the door and gave it a firm knock, waiting for a response.
None. Maybe Phlox was out? After debating with himself for a second, Trip finally conceded and let himself in.
“Hello?” He called into the crowded physicians quarters. The first thing he noticed about the room was that there were many bookshelves full of dusty books and cobwebs. Then there was a table, full of vials and…jars of leeches? On the same table was a beaker with a small flame flickering under it, boiling the liquid inside.
Then he heard some muttering. Looking up, there was a man fiddling around with some books in the loft. Trip raised a brow, watching him for a moment before calling out to him yet again.
“Hello!” Trip called again, this time raising his voice a notch. The other man cried out in surprise, and unfortunately came tumbling through the railing that had been keeping him safe up there. Trip panicked and raised his hand up in a moment of duress. Magic dyed his eyes a vibrant shade of gold for a moment and the doctor’s descent slowed as though he were nearly frozen in time.
Trip looked around wildly for something the other man could land on and grinned when he saw a bed. He held his hand out again towards the bed and in came sliding forward to catch Phlox. The other spell faded and Phlox plummeted a short distance onto the mattress. The pooka, who looked strangely human, immediately sprung from the bed. Phlox’s blue eyes gaped at him in alarm.
“Who taught you that kind of magic?” Phlox demanded, voice conveying a mixture of awe and urgency. Trip remembered all too late that magic was the worst taboo one could commit living in Camelot.
“Er—no doc. That wasn’t what it—”
“Oh, don’t play dumb young man. I know what that was!” Exclaimed Phlox, flashing him an impossibly wide grin. Trip swallowed in discomfort.
“There’s no need to lie to me. I’m a creature of magic, you see. So are you.”
“Well…” Trip shrugged, “I wouldn’t go ‘round callin’ myself a creature.”
Then Phlox grew serious, shaking his head. “You shouldn’t go around making any references to your magic. That is a secret you must guard with your life.”
The doctor then continued his enthusiastic rambling, eyes lighting up once more. “How did you do that without an incantation? How do you just…do magic in your head? Do you enchant with the sheer power of your thoughts?”
“No, no.” Trip insisted, throwing his hands up. “I don’t know any incantations. I don’t know anything about magic. I just know that…I was born with it.”
“You’re a creature of the Old Religion alright. No mere mortal is just born with magic. Now,” Phlox clapped his hands together, “who are you and what can I do for you, my enchanting friend?”
“Oh, it’s Trip. My mother sent me here.”
“Charles Tucker the Third, hm? But…you’re not meant to be here until Wednesday.” Phlox commented, taking the letter from Trip’s hands when it was offered.
“It’s Wednesday, doc.” Trip chuckled, sparing another look around his cramped quarters.
“Ah.” Phlox nodded, “I do tend to lose track of time. I get absorbed in all this…medicine. I’m afraid I don’t dabble in magic as much as I used to. What with it being banned and all. Now I’m a man of science!”
“You may stay in the backroom. Usually I use it for patients who need to be observed overnight but em…feel welcome to them.”
Trip nodded and heaved his bag off of his shoulders, carrying it into his new bedroom. This would be something new for sure. Though he couldn’t help but be anxious for his very own life in the middle of a Kingdom that would have him killed and they knew the truth.
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“Will you be joining us at the feast in two days time?” King Stuart asked as soon as he entered her quarters. Lady Hoshi Sato did not turn around to face him, electing to continue her spacey stare out the window.
“I’d rather not celebrate the death of…someone who didn’t deserve it.”
She could practically hear his face fall into a frown. He stomped in her direction, stopping just behind her.
“He was guilty. Those who practice magic dabble in our world’s most vile evils.”
“Vile evils?” Hoshi repeated, turning on her heels and tilting her head in questioning vexation. “For casting a little spell? It didn’t harm anyone.”
“You know nothing of harm!” Stuart exclaimed, raising his voice to an unnecessary volume. “Magic is evil! I should know, I’ve suffered at its hand.”
“Regardless. I would rather not attend a feast that glamorizes someone’s death.”
Stuart stepped even closer and grabbed her chin. “You are my ward. I took you in after your father’s death, do you hear me? You will obey my commands.”
Hoshi’s heart rapped at her ribcage. She didn’t exactly fear Stuart, but she knew the consequences of incurring too much of his wrath. Sometimes she wondered…if she truly defied him some day…would she find herself on the chopping block, just as the innocent sorcerers did?
“If you have no respect for me, at least have respect for the Kingdom’s finest singer. She will be here tomorrow night to put on what should be an excellent performance.”
Stuart released her and began his retreat from her quarters, much to her relief. She was thankful for her life in Camelot…as the daughter of a dead Lord, she didn’t have much hope of gaining her own seat to the throne. Just a place in the royal court was a fate fortunate enough for her.
“Are you alright?” Spoke another voice. Hoshi turned her head to the left and was abashed to see that her maidservant had witnessed all of it. She hadn’t even realized T’pol was still in her quarters.
And her maidservant was an enigma herself. Always wearing a headdress. Always so stoic and logical. Hoshi sometimes wondered where T’pol came from—why she wore headscarves all the time. Where her family was. But the other woman seldom answered personal questions.
“Yes. He…tries to intimidate me. But I won’t bend on what I believe in.”
“Very good.” T’pol nodded, curtseying a little bit before excusing herself from the room.
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Charles.
Trip was startled awake the next day by someone calling his name. Though he imagined that he was dreaming it. It hadn’t sounded like anyone had called out to him verbally.
Slowly he managed to get himself out of bed, rubbing his tired eyes and dressing in a blue tunic. His stomach let him know it was time to get something to eat, and hopefully something good. On the road he had a few apples and slices of bread to keep himself full. Now it was time to see if Phlox was any good as a cook.
He departed his bedroom and padded down the three steps that separated his room from the rest of the court physician’s chambers. He found Phlox concocting some kind of medicine, a bowl of porridge sitting nearby.
Porridge. Great.
“Good morning. I hope you eat that up! I’m trying a new recipe.” Phlox greeted him enthusiastically. Trip struggled to stifle his groan. The doctor only shook his head and, to Trip’s surprise, removed the bowl from in front of him and replaced it with a ham and cheese sandwich.
“A joke, my apologies. I imagine after a few days of hiking through forests on your lonesome…you must want something of more substance.”
Trip nodded gratefully, “thanks doc.”
“Now…we must find you work! For now er…you can run errands for me.”
Trip chewed as Phlox retrieved a dozen or so vials, all labeled with names and the purposes of the substance. The doctor seemed rather pleased with himself as he explained where each vial would go and how much of it each individual should take. Trip tried to listen, but he didn’t find the doctor’s explanation of all the health conditions found in the royal court to be all that interesting. Eventually he finished his sandwich and gathered all the vials up.
“Alright doc, I’ll get this taken care of for you.”
“Thank you, Trip. And uh…it goes without saying that um…”
“I know. I ain’t tellin’ anyone about being a wizard.” Trip chuckled.
“Well. If you value that neck of yours.” Phlox nodded.
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Somewhere in the forest, Lady Helen was singing to herself. And a grieving woman—an elven woman at that, was lurking nearby with her pointed ears now revealed. The guards posted around the singer’s tent were on the alert, but even their open eyes and ears were no match for the magic of an elf.
Lady Helen died that morning. And a grieving mother used her magic to take her appearance.
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The sun had risen to its afternoon position when Tucker finished running his errands for Phlox. He had elected to explore in his freetime. After all…this was his new home. He needed to get the citadel all mapped out in his head so he wouldn’t get lost in the winding hallways and training grounds around the building.
The sound of shuffling caught his attention when he exited the castle. A serving boy, not much younger than Trip, crouched behind a shield. There were Knights throwing knives at this boy’s shield, all giggling to themselves about how ridiculous the boy looked cowering behind the wooden circle.
Geez. They were bullying the sorry fella. And he never did like bullies.
“Come on you sorry sod, we need a moving target. That’s the whole point of this exercise.” Spoke an particularly eloquent young man. Trip looked for the source of the voice and found him to be another Knight, though his uniform was far more ornamental than the others. The serving boy whimpered and began to toe around the grass slowly. And the young man who spoke before began to throw knives with surprising accuracy. At one point he threw with such force that the bony serving boy actually fell over, much to the amusement of the Knights who were guffawing and wheezing at the sight of it.
Trip wouldn’t stand by and allow this to happen another second. He jogged over to where the boy was crumpled on the ground and helped him up, throwing a sharp glance in the direction of the Knights.
“Alright fellas. You’ve had your fun. Let ‘em be now, friend.”
The young Knight, who appeared to be their ringleader, looked mildly amused by Trip’s interruption. He began to saunter over, a brow raised.
“Have we been acquainted before?” Questioned the ringleader—he can’t have been that much older than Trip.
“Naw, just moved here.” Trip shrugged, extending a hand, “I’m called Trip.”
The other man didn’t take it. “You called me a ‘friend’. But I’ve never even seen you here before.”
“Ah, right. My mistake.” Trip nodded, smirking a little bit. “I’d never have such an asshole for a friend.”
The Knight seemed taken aback then, looking over to the over Knights incredulously. Then he scoffed, still seeming to be amused by their interactions. “You can’t address me in such a manner.”
“I can. And I will.” Trip argued.
The Knight drew his sword, the amusement of their interaction fading into annoyance. “Tell me, Trip. Where you’re from…do people happen to know how to beg on their knees?”
“If you think I’m gonna grovel, you’ve got another thing comin’. Who do you even think you are? The King?” Trip exclaimed as he backed away from the pointed blade.
“No. I happen to be his son, Malcolm.”
Oh shit. He was in trouble.
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“Come now, Trip. I enjoy mischief as much as the next person, but challenging the Crown Prince of Camelot is another kind of foolishness entirely.”
The cell door swung open and the guards ushered him out of the jail. Trip rolled his eyes, throwing his hands up in exasperation. “I didn’t know he was a Prince. I just thought he was another high-falutin Knight.”
“Ah,” Phlox nodded, “well I wouldn’t pick a fight with them either.”
Trip sighed and reluctantly followed Phlox up the stairwell. They began to make their way through the halls and to the court physician’s quarters once more. It was dusk now, the sun setting on the horizon. A pair of women appeared at the end of the hallway, one of them dressed in a lavish viridian gown befitting royalty with braided black hair. The other wore a more modest robe and a headscarf over her chestnut hair and ears. He recognized the first woman as Lady Hoshi–as he had delivered her a sleeping draft earlier that day. He assumed the other woman, who was…looking at him funny, was her maidservant.
“Good evening, Phlox.” Lady Hoshi greeted fondly and nodded to Trip equally as friendly.
Her maidservant stared at him for a moment. Like she knew he didn’t belong.
“Ah, good evening Lady Hoshi. And to you too, T’pol.”
Trip tried to put that uncomfortable interaction out of his head as they made their way back to Phlox’s quarters, but he couldn’t help but think about it. There was no way anyone besides him and Phlox knew about his magic…how could she know?
“Hoshi’s maidservant.” Phlox said once they were in the privacy of his quarters. “T’pol. She’s an elf, you see.”
Trip did a double take at Phlox, jaw dropped in disbelief. He had only ever heard of elves in stories but knew of their raw magical power. Legends seemed to have mixed opinions about them—sometimes they were depicted as evil sorcerers who destroyed crops and brought about acid rains. Other times they were depicted as wholly good, blessing newborn children with long lives and good health.
“You and I are not the only ones with a secret.” Phlox admitted, “though I’m not really sure what her goal here is, if she was here to cause harm she would’ve done so already. I doubt she’s a threat to anyone living here.”
“Does she know you’re a pooka?”
Phlox shrugged, “I would imagine so. Elves are gifted at…finding those who share their gifts. It wouldn’t surprise me if she picked up on some magic in you.”
“I bet she did with the way she was eyein’ me there in the hall. Is it dangerous for her to know about me?” Trip questioned anxiously. Phlox didn’t seem concerned.
“She hasn’t outed me yet. Still, err on the side of caution, hm? It would be best to keep your magic to yourself as much as is possible.”
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Charles.
Trip tossed one way. And then the other. Sleep came fitfully to him that night, his dreams…loud. Like someone was calling to him again.
I suppose you prefer Trip.
He felt wakefulness begin to pull him from his light sleep, much as he fought it. Someone was calling for him. This much he knew to be true this time around. His eyelids parted and he sat up in bed.
Trip. Are you there?
Now he knew it wasn’t just in his head. He sprang up from the bed and swiftly departed Phlox’s quarters to find the source of the voice. Disconcertingly, it seemed to lead into the dungeons. Though the further he went, the more it became an underground chasm. The stairwells he padded down were filled with cobwebs and dust…as though no one had visited the place in a great number of years.
“Hello?” He called into the darkness, holding his hand out. A magic ball of light appeared in it, slightly illuminating the large chasm in front of him. A cage hung from the ceiling and in it was a man. Only…he didn’t look too human up close. His eyes were golden and slitted—almost reptile-like. He had yellowish black scales all over his arms and legs. Long claws and sharp teeth. A tail with spikes on the end of it.
“Whoahh there!” Trip exclaimed, taking a few steps back at the sight of the monstrous man. He clapped a hand over his heart and found it racing. “What…what the hell are you? Who! Who the hell are you?”
“Archer.” The man replied simply, shifting around in the cage a little bit. “I’m a Dragon Lord.”
“Oh yea.” Trip huffed sarcastically, “that surely explains everything.”
“I am the last of my kind, that’s why the King keeps me here. To make an example of me.” Archer continued, his tail flicking in slight agitation. “You seem confused so let me explain. Dragon lords are warlocks, like you, who have the ability to command dragons. We are…their kin. And as such we have access to their ancient prophecies.”
“Prophecies?” Trip repeated, failing to see what direction this conversation was going. Does the guy want me to…free him? Seems kinda shady to me.
“Yes…you see, I knew you were coming, Trip. It’s been prophesied for quite awhile now. That you and Prince Malcolm will unite the lands of Albion.”
“Excuse me?” Trip exclaimed indignantly. “You must have the wrong guy. ‘Cause that Malcolm guy up there couldn’t unite his own two ass cheeks. He’s got this gigantic stick shoved up there.”
Archer began to laugh heartily, slapping the side of his knee. He nodded, as if he expected that sort of response from Trip. “Yea, I know. But hey…the prophecies don’t lie. Give him a chance, Trip. Maybe…you should make it your mission to help him mature.”
“I’m sorry but I barely know him and I barely know you. I’m not makin’ anything my personal mission until I decide otherwise.”
“Just think about it, Trip. It’s been written in scripture for thousands of years, clearly something is gonna give.”
Trip shook his head and started backing away towards the steps. “I’ve only been alive in the last few decades. And what some old dragons thought was gonna happen thousands of years ago makes no difference to me.”
Trip turned on his heels and ran up the stairs. The sounds of Archer’s laughter, however, followed him.