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shadydaveHappy Pi Day! In celebration, I made a honey pecan pie! And as my sister so cunningly pointed out, you can't have a Round Table without pi, so I present to you the story I started... two years ago! (You'll notice it's set at Christmas. My sense of timing, as ever, is unerring.)
Being a Most Glorious Account of the Founding of the Round Table
How ARTHUR did create, from the SAD WRECKKAGE of a moste vicious CHRISTMAS AFFRAY, a symbol of ORDER and JUSTICE with the aide of his moste fayre ladye GUINEVERE, Sir GAWAIN the FLOWRE of CORTESIE, the ladye ANNA moste GILDED with LOVE amongst alle maydens, ond Sir KAY with the PARLOUS FOWLEDING CHAIR.
Warnings: Contains blatant anachronism, scenes of violence, Latin abuse, and wheat and dairy products. And Sir Kay.
~*~*~*~
C. Artorius Pendraco, rex Logri, dux comesque Brittaniarum et comes litoris Saxonici, sidled up to his wife in the banquet hall in Carlisle as she contemplated a curious scene.
“All right,” he said. “I give up. What is it?”
“It's our wedding present!” said Guinevere brightly. “My father sent it.”
"But we've been married for six months,” said Arthur.
"Well, he had wanted to give us one at the wedding, but you had been making all that fuss over the dowry so I told him to wait, and then he said that there had been some kind of accident involving the Great Oak – you know, that's the really ancient tree by his villa, we had that festival there and you had to wear the ribbons, I don't know how the herrings were involved but I'm sure it was very impressive – and a Cornish craftsman volunteered to build it, so my father sent it off months ago and his messengers have just caught up to us!"
“It's a table,” said Arthur.
“Well, yes,” said Guinevere. “I'm sure he meant well.”
Arthur searched for something nice to say. “It's very... round,” he said.
"When all the leaves are folded out, it nearly doubles the circumference," said Guinevere. "So you can adjust it for the number of people attending." She paused, and added casually, “It's based off one of my designs, you know.”
“I love it,” said Arthur immediately.
Guinevere sighed. “It is rather awkward to move, isn't it?” she said. “It breaks down well, but there are so many pieces...”
This indeed proved to be true, for the next time they moved (southeast to Londinium, with a brief but aggravating detour into Lothian for Arthur), it was put in the baggage train that went astray and ended up stranded in Caerleon, seemingly for the duration of the winter.
“It's a shame,” said Guinevere. “We certainly could have used it at Christmas. Seating everyone in this hall in is going to be a nightmare.”
“It's Christmas,” said Arthur. “How complicated could it be?”
“Arthur,” she said. “They made you a king last Christmas.”
“Yes, of course,” said Arthur, a moment too late.
Guinevere gave him a look that said she knew full well he had forgotten, and was both exasperated and somewhat impressed by this.
“I'm sure it will be fine,” said Arthur, well into what he would later characterize as his “totally wrong” phase.
~*~*~*~
Arthur entered the corridor to the Great Hall and rather unexpectedly found the Lady Anna Amorinaurata, hammer in hand and nails sticking out of the side of her mouth, balanced on the shoulders of her brother, Sir Gawain. He seemed unperturbed at being conscripted for use as a ladder, and Anna for once did not appear to be conducting some sort of arcane alchemical experiment, but was instead engaged in affixing the end of a long garland with more force than was strictly necessary.
“Anna, I know Pelleas is forward and rude,” Gawain said patiently, “But you can't threaten to cut off his – ” He saw Arthur. “ – allowance,” he finished.
“Hello, uncle,” Anna said from on high, after taking the nails out of her mouth. “Gawain, don't you even dare try to bow.” Gawain had indeed twitched reflexively before remembering his sister and gripping her ankles more firmly.
“Lady Anna,” said Arthur, amused. “Sir Gawain.” He gave them both a nod, which his nephew gratefully returned.
(“Gwen, what's the protocol for keeping hostages?” Arthur had asked one month previously, as soon as he had returned from Lothian.
“Well, it would depend on their rank and the political situation – ” she began, then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well, during the negotiations with Lot, I – oh, hello. Gwen, this is Sir Gawain and Lady Anna Amorinaurata of Lothian.”
“You took your own niece and nephew hostage?” she hissed in a strangled whisper, then immediately plastered on a welcoming smile as they came over.
“Gawain, Anna, Queen Guinevere of Logres,” continued Arthur.
“Your majesty,” said Anna, curtseying.
Gawain bowed and said, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I know the road from Lothian is long, and it must have been a bitter ride, coming from the north. I'll have you looked after immediately,” said Guinevere, signaling for the servants to take their cloaks. “I trust you've been well?” she asked, frowning slightly at Anna, who was missing an eyebrow.
“Oh, don't worry,” said Anna. “That was from before I volunteered us to be hostages. Unexpected exothermic reaction.”
“Ah,” said Guinevere. “I hope you found your journey... uneventful.”
“Oh, it was,” said Gawain. “Except for the bathtub, but it didn't put up much of a fight, considering.”
Guinevere barely blinked. “I – see,” she said, then smiled. “I can assure you our furniture is normally quite civil.” As they were lead off to their quarters, she muttered to Arthur, “Well, you're certainly all related.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked.)
“I take it the Queen recruited you for decorating duty,” said Arthur.
“She asked me to finish the corridors,” said Anna. “Apparently Lady Ellylw went mad with power and festooned anything that didn't move for more than thirty seconds in ribbons. Sir Kay wasn't pleased.”
“He was absorbed in the ledgers at the time,” said Gawain.
“I thought I heard screaming,” said Arthur. “Were there any survivors?”
“Well, you'll need new curtains in the atrium – ” said Anna.
“ – though the smoke damage was surprisingly minimal,” finished Gawain.
Arthur sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I never liked those curtains anyway.”
“You're far better off with a less flammable fabric,” said Anna, with a knowledgeable air. Arthur supposed she was rather an expert on the subject, given the number of times she'd been obliged to redecorate her rooms. She had yet to succeed in converting lead into gold, but routinely managed to convert her own gold into less gold, alarming messes, and the occasional small explosion.
“They did compliment the mosaics nicely, though,” said Gawain.
Anna tacked up the last garland, then looked down. It was quite a long way. “Wasn't there a table here when we started?” she asked in consternation.
“I believe it left in the company of the servants,” said Gawain.
“Because they were carrying it, or because it was running away from you?” asked Anna with a smirk.
“That bathtub was cursed, you know,” said Gawain. “Fighting was hardly its normal behavior.”
Arthur still couldn't decide whether the bathtub was more or less odd than the things he usually ended up fighting. On the one hand, bathtub. On the other, at least it hadn't kept leaving dead horses on people's doorsteps, like that one giant cat. “The table's probably been appropriated for the Great Hall,” he said. “Sir Kay was rounding them up for dinner.”
“Pity,” said Anna, though Arthur wasn't sure if this was because she couldn't stand on it, or because Gawain would not be obliged to engage it in battle. She looked down again. “Hmm.”
“Would you like some help?” asked Arthur.
She blinked at him. “Err, if you don't mind, uncle.” Arthur laced his fingers together and held out his hands.
“Be sure not to kick him in the head,” said Gawain, as Anna dropped the hammer into his waiting hand. “That would be an enormous breach of hospitality.”
“Why do you even know that,” said Anna. She took a careful step off Gawain's shoulder into Arthur's hands, and using her brother's head as an armrest made it safely to the ground. “Thank you, uncle,” she said. “If you don't mind, we have to go finish the hall off the vestibule.”
“Not at all,” said Arthur. He watched them go (arguing about Pelleas again) and contemplated hostages who hadn't even thought to ask him for help, and who volunteered to leave Lothian.
He was still there when Guinevere stalked in, holding a wax tablet and scowling. She smelled faintly of smoke.
Her face cleared somewhat when she saw Arthur. “Oh, good,” she said. “Arthur, I need you to look at this list. Is this everyone coming to the feast?"
Arthur glanced at the tablet. "Looks about right."
"Yes," said Guinevere, "but is it completely accurate? I need to know for the seating arrangements."
"Guinevere," said Arthur, “They're seating arrangements. Is it really that critical?"
"Of course not, you're absolutely correct," said Guinevere. "There's no reason why being the king of a relatively small and unimportant country who also commands most of the armies of Britain could possibly make people nervous. I'm sure none of them will be thinking of Maximianus, who stole the legions to take over the western Empire, or Hengist, who stole Vortigern's mercenaries to take over the eastern states, or your father, who stole Ambrosius Aurelianus' cavalry to expand the borders of Logres. It's not like we're entertaining seven kings and/or their sons and nephews who currently comprise some of your chief allies and neighbors. Clearly they won't mind at all where they sit, since it only reflects their status, and what YOU think of their status, and subsequently what everyone else will think of their status. It certainly doesn't matter that they compose a sizable portion of your southern forces, and there's been rumblings of another Saxon invasion. Honestly, what was I thinking? I should just go lie down and let Sir Kay take over the planning." She glared at him, nostrils flaring with barely-suppressed emotion.
Arthur winced. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. May I see that list again?"
She handed it to him wordlessly.
"Gwynedd isn't here," said Arthur. "And there's only a small delegation from Dyfed."
"Thank you," said Guinevere.
"If anything else has changed, Kay should know," said Arthur. "You could check with him."
Guinevere gave him a pointed look.
"Or I could check and let you know," amended Arthur.
"Thank you," she said again.
"No," said Arthur, "I need to thank you for taking care of this." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I don't know how I would do it without you. I don't know very much about, uh, well. Everything related to being a king, actually. Except for the fighting. But I'm not supposed to do that with my own allies, so, you know, I'm clueless when it comes to feasts and so on."
He gave his wife a bewildered smile, and finally received one in return.
"You've defeated countless Saxon armies," said Guinevere. "I think you can handle dinner."
"But not without my beautiful and charming wife," replied Arthur, catching her hand and raising it to his lips. "I cannot stress that enough."
She rolled her eyes at him, but the smile lingered. "I have to go check on the cooks," she said. "Just give these to Kay and make sure you show up before the feast starts. And that he and Anna haven't set anyone or anything else on fire. And that Gawain hasn't been waylaid by another rogue bathtub attack.”
“Technically speaking, the bathtub was attacked by Gawain,” said Arthur. “We treat kidnappers very harshly in this province.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Guinevere, angling the list towards her. “I didn't put Lady Helena next to anyone sloppy, did I? The poor dear's a bit sensitive to liquids now.”
“We have to know all of our guests' eating habits, too?” asked Arthur.
“You can never be too careful,” said Guinevere absently, as she scanned the tablet one last time. “I guess she'll be all right. But please let me know if anything changes."
"I will," said Arthur.
~*~*~*~
Kay stood on the dais in the great hall, shouting at the top of his lungs. This in and of itself was not unusual, although in an exciting change of pace there was a method to his martinetry, as he was directing the servants decorating the hall and dragging furniture around.
"Do you know of any changes to the guest list?" asked Arthur.
"Why would I know?" said Kay irritably.
"You're my steward," said Arthur.
"Yes, but I delegated all interpersonal communication to Bedwyr. He's only operating as cupbearer at half-capacity anyway. JUST KEEP MOVING THAT BENCH, BENCH-MOVER. I'VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU."
"Bedwyr is not here," said Arthur, ignoring the aside. "He's with his parents for the winter. I thought you would have noticed by now."
Kay scowled. "I noticed, I'm just bitter. KNOCK OVER THAT CENTERPIECE AND I WILL SHOVE IT SOMEWHERE VERY UNPLEASANT."
"So, guest list?"
"Ask me later, after I've finished STRANGLING YOU TO DEATH WITH THIS HOLLY, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
"Guinevere said it's important."
"Guinevere also thinks the color of the drapes is important,” said Kay.
“Those drapes are very nice,” said Arthur warningly, then amended it to “Were very nice, no thanks to you.”
“There were ribbons,” said Kay. “I panicked.” There was an enormous crash from behind them, and he rounded on the unfortunate perpetrator in fury. “Excuse me a moment, I have important things to do.” He leapt off the dais, stalking the unfortunate with grim determination. “WITH THIS FOLDING CHAIR. TO YOUR FACE."
"GUEST LIST," called Arthur over the sound of Kay threatening to demonstrate his mastery of the offensive properties of folding chairs. A table across the hall collapsed, and the incoherent bellow of rage he received in reply was not helpful.
"I'll be back later," said Arthur.
~*~*~*~
Arthur had never met his eldest sister. Anna Morgause had been gone for years now, but he still came across traces of her presence: tales of her legendary beauty from the court in Logres, the occasional fond complaint from Morgaine, the elaborate web of conquered kingdoms, tributary states, and military detentes in and around Lothian that made him want to bang his head against the wall and were the cause of many of his more outrageous plans, including trading a legion and two companies of cavalry for his niece and nephew because Lot would rather let Bryneich get overrun by Saxons instead of allowing someone else to lead an army near his land...
(Arthur was hoping Lot would return his armies like a normal person, but had given his commander strict orders that in the event of uncooperativeness, his men should split up into squads of twenty and make their way south dressed as merchants, monks, or whichever herd animal was most convenient. He was fairly certain Lot would never see it coming.)
Yes, everyone agreed that Anna Morgause had a glamor about her, and she had used it with a precision and skill that could make Arthur's best knights cry with envy. Nevertheless, as he watched her children try to make conversation before dinner, he couldn't help but wonder if she too had gone through a hilariously awkward teenage phase.
“So...” said Gawain, desperately trying to keep his conversation afloat, “the weather certainly has been mild this winter.”
Lady Helena of Eburacum (though until quite recently Lady Helena of Haunted Bathtub Tower) gave a piercing giggle, then clapped her hand over her mouth and blushed furiously. She mumbled something incoherent and gazed at him with a hopeless expression. Gawain stared back in polite consternation.
“Err,” he said. “I hear we're in for a wet spring?”
“Aren't they sweet?” murmured Guinevere in Arthur's ear. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “I – oh, we're in for it now,” she said, as Sir Pelleas of Dumnonia spotted Lady Anna from across the hall and started making his way over. “Make sure she doesn't try to kill him, Arthur,” she said as she turned to the servants who had just come up to them, and started giving them instructions for whatever last-minute tasks had come up, like filling all the butter dishes before they accidentally consigned the world to utter chaos.
“Oh no,” said Anna, catching sight of the incoming threat. “Excuse me, Helena. Gawain, how do I get rid of him?”
“Have you tried being polite but firm?” said Gawain.
Anna gave him a flat look, but turned back.
“Sir Pelleas,” she said shortly.
“My lady,” he said with an elaborate bow. “You know, I've been wondering about your name.”
“After all this time? Really? It's Anna Amorinaurata. Now, if you'll excuse – ”
“No, no, that's not what I meant at all,” sputtered Pelleas, snagging her elbow before she could complete her escape. “Your name – it's beautiful. Amorinaurata – that means 'gilded with love', does it not?”
“Unfortunately,” said Anna.
“I just wanted you to know – you can gild me with love any time you – ”
“Stop talking and go away forever,” said Anna. “Please,” she added, after a moment's consideration.
“But – ”
“Goodbye!” said Anna pointedly. Pelleas flushed, but stalked off into the hall. Unfortunately, there was a small crowd of young men waiting for exactly this to happen.
“My lady,” said Sir Ulfius. “Are you tired? Because you've been running through my – ”
“Really?” Anna interrupted. “That's the best you can do? I am sorry, this will never work, kindly remove yourself from my presence immediately.”
“But – ”
“Go!” said Anna, shooing him away. Sir Sagramore, spotting an opening, sidled over.
“Those are nice shoes,” he said. “Want – ”
“I have powerful friends,” said Anna, finally snapping. “No one will ever find your body.”
“But – ”
“Ah, Sagramore,” said Arthur, looming up behind him. “What's your opinion about hunting in secluded yet treacherous terrain?”
Sagramore squawked and bolted.
“What is it about me?” Anna burst out to Gawain, who was forlornly watching Helena scamper across the hall. “What did I do to deserve being constantly surrounded by idiots?”
“We're both unlucky in love,” said Gawain sadly. “I don't think Lady Helena likes me at all.”
Arthur stifled a snort of laughter, and Anna jumped slightly, like she had forgotten he was there. “Thank you, uncle,” she muttered.
“Sorry for the interruption,” said Arthur. “I know you could have handled it, but I prefer the attempted murders to come after dinner.”
“Oh, is that why there are extra forks?” asked Anna, with an expression of great innocence.
“Don't be ridiculous, Anna,” said Gawain. “Everyone knows you can't stab your guests with a dessert fork.” He added, with all apparent seriousness, “That's what the second spoon is for.”
“...and make sure the salt cellars are at the head of the low tables,” said Guinevere to the last servant as she rejoined them. She absently smoothed Anna's hair, fixed Gawain's collar, and straightened Arthur's torc before taking his arm.
“There,” she said, finally satisfied. “Is everybody – Where are you going with that chair?" she asked Kay, who had just entered the room. "The feast is about to start!"
"There's not enough seats for Gwent's delegation," said Kay. "Two more of them arrived this morning."
Guinevere stared at him in horror, then turned towards Arthur beseechingly.
He winced.
She covered her face with her hands and started muttering what Arthur hoped were prayers.
"Oops," said Kay.
"It will be just fine," said Arthur sternly, taking Guinevere's hand as the doors swung open. "What's the worst that could happen?"
~*~*~*~
Arthur peered over the edge of the overturned High Table, and narrowly missed losing an eye to an enthusiastically launched drumstick.
He ducked back down, and said, "Look, just say it."
Guinevere was huddled against the table with her arms folded and mouth twisted up. She didn't say anything, but her eye did twitch. A tureen of soup splattered against the wall in front of them.
"Go on," said Arthur. "You'll feel much better. I fully admit that I deserve it."
"I told you so," she muttered.
"Yes, you did," said Arthur. "And now we need to get you out of here before everyone realizes they're all carrying knives, and stop trying to bludgeon each other to death with loaves of bread." One such loaf ricocheted off the wall and hit Arthur in the shin. "Ow! Also, I think we need to have a talk with the cook about the quality of his baked goods."
"I have been rather unimpressed with his performance of late," said Guinevere.
Someone vaulted over the table, and hastily deflected a blow from the loaf of bread with his forearm. "Ow! Peace, uncle!"
"Gawain?" said Arthur. "What are you doing?"
“You have to get out of here,” he began. “They've discovered – ”
"Duck!" said Arthur.
Gawain dodged the flying roasted fowl.
“What's that?” as Guinevere, at the loud clanging noise behind them. Gawain ventured a glimpse over, and yelped as a serving fork passed right over his head and stuck into the wall.
“As I was saying,” he continued. “They've discovered the cutlery.”
“Where's your sister?” asked Arthur.
“She grabbed Lady Helena and made it out to the servants' entrance right after the first hail of mulled wine bowls,” said Gawain.
There was an ominous lull in the chaos.
Guinevere grabbed the lid of the soup tureen, angled it to see the reflection of the hall behind them, then handed it silently to Arthur. He surveyed the backwards, distorted carnage behind them, and then swore creatively.
“Uncle?” Gawain asked. “What is it?”
“The main course,” said Arthur grimly. “Cover me.” He pulled Guinevere up and bolted for the servants' door, pushing her in front of him. Gawain leapt up and deflected a hail of dinner rolls with the tureen lid, then was charged by a maddened knight of Powys wielding a leg of mutton. He snapped up the soup ladle, parried a meaty blow, and sent the man flying into the sideboard with a kick to the chest.
“Gawain, get down!” shouted Arthur from the doorway.
Gawain dove for the floor as a roast suckling pig still on the spit narrowly missed impaling him. He somersaulted through the doorway, and Arthur kicked the door shut. There was a loud clang.
“That BETTER NOT have been my gravy boat!” he shouted through the door. “Are you all right, Gwen?”
“In the sense that my dress is ruined and my hair is a mess and we're out a fortune on provisions and dinnerware and I have been mortally insulted in my own house,” she said through gritted teeth.
“How about you, Gawain?”
“I'm fine, uncle,” he said. Arthur offered him a hand up.
Guinevere gave him a look filled with equal parts despair and rage. “Arthur, what are you going to do?” she demanded.
“I take it that slaughtering my house-guests would give the wrong impression?” he asked.
“It's generally frowned upon,” said Gawain.
“I'm sure we can make an exception,” said Guinevere darkly. Arthur noticed her eye twitch had made a reappearance.
He put his arm around her shoulder. “I know it looks bad,” he said. “But they've nearly made it through dessert; I think the best is to let this burn out by itself, so they're already tired when I start screaming.”
“Screaming will not be an issue,” muttered Guinevere.
“We'll need back-up regardless,” said Arthur, giving her one final squeeze. “Let's find the others.” They set out along the servants' hall by the kitchens, the sound of fighting filtering through the walls.
~*~*~*~
They found a large group of survivors, the rest of the serving staff, and Sir Kay watching the action from a curtained alcove. Arthur glumly surveyed the food-fueled feuds still raging in the hall, which seemed to include an embarrassingly large proportion of his own knights, then turned back to the observers. Anna was comforting a sobbing Helena. She also appeared to be running a betting pool on the household budget with Kay, who was relaxing on a spare chair and absently chewing on a drumstick from one of the abandoned serving trays.
"Oh, hello, Arthur. Your Majesty. Hostage," he said, nodding politely. "Nice work with that ladle, by the way."
"Er, thank you," said Gawain. "The trick is to angle the bowl so any blows redirect across the handle. That works for most cookware, really."
"Gawain, you've gotten into more than one fight using kitchen utensils?" said Guinevere, momentarily distracted from her woe. Helena gave a watery sigh.
Gawain looked uncomfortable. "Well, it was just one other fight. With a cooking pot."
“Guess why Gawain's not allowed to go on picnics anymore,” said Anna.
"Just to clarify," said Arthur, "when you said you were in a fight with a cooking pot, do you mean you fought by means of a cooking pot, or actually against one?"
"By means of a cooking pot," said Gawain. "Why?"
"No reason," said Arthur. “Kay – ”
There was a particularly loud scream from the hall, and everyone winced.
“Right in the allowance,” said Anna gleefully. Gawain gave her a pained look.
“Dammit, Pelleas,” grumbled Kay. “Doesn't he have any idea how much alembics cost?”
There was another, different, bloodcurdling screech.
“Don't worry, Sir Kay; I had given you three-to-one on that fight with Sir Sagramore, so we've just both broke even,” said Anna resignedly. Helena flinched. “No, it's all right, Helena. It was just the fruit compote, he's hardly wet at all.”
There was a large crunch.
"Ooh," said Kay. "Well, he's never going to want to look an apple in the eye again. Not that he could, at the moment...”
“As I was saying,” cut in Arthur. “Kay, what do you recommend?” he asked, gesturing to the fighting.
“I'm dropping my support for Powys and backing Dyfed,” said Kay immediately, standing up and stretching.
“Don't listen to him, the delegation from Powys has seven men down already,” said Anna. There was a loud bwong as Gwrgi of Powys became acquainted with one of their golden wine bowls, at some speed. Guinevere groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Sorry, eight,” continued Anna. “I'll raise you a year's supply of retorts and – oh, no, Helena, don't worry,” she said, as the lady hiccuped in fear. “I don't see any soap anywhere.”
“What's wrong?” Gawain asked Helena in bewilderment.
“I'm afraid we got winged by a bowl of mulled wine, and she started having traumatic flashbacks to the bathtub,” said Anna. “Shhh, no one can make you bathe now.” She gestured to Gawain behind Helena's back, and he came over, looking confused. Anna gave Helena a gentle nudge, and she immediately flung herself onto Gawain's chest, still sobbing.
“There, there, you're safe,” he said, patting her gingerly on the shoulder and looking slightly terrified. “All the bathtubs are gone.”
Guinevere clenched Arthur's arm, looking like she might start to cry herself, or at least, make other people cry.
“Our bowls,” she said. “Our tables. Our hall.”
“I know, I know,” he said. He would have patted her, too, if not for the fact that he was fairly certain she would tear his hand off and slap him with it.
"And," said Guinevere, her lip beginning to quiver, "the tablecloths are RUINED."
"They're just tablecloths," said Kay, unwisely. Anna winced.
“What,” said Guinevere flatly. She dropped Arthur's arm.
“I said they're just – ”
The queen's hand shot out and grabbed Kay's collar with surprising strength, yanking him forward and down until his face was level with hers. "Do you have any idea how much silk costs?"
"I --"
She shook him like a puppy. "Refined white silk," she snarled. "Shipped from all over the world, collected for years, tailored specifically for these tables. All that, and those wine-stains won't come out."
"Yes, I understand, I just think that perhaps you're overreacting --"
"OVERREACTING?"
Without even looking, she grabbed a meat pie off the tray of an awestruck serving boy and slammed it with all her strength into Kay's face. He staggered backwards, tripped over a spare folding chair, and landed heavily on his rear.
"Sir Kay, I do not think we should continue this conversation until you can be quite civil," said Guinevere icily. “Arthur, take care of this.” Then she stormed out, making sure to shut the door carefully behind her. The pie pan parted ways with its contents, and hit the ground with a clatter.
"Wow," said Gawain.
"That was my pie," said Arthur sadly.
"That was my face!" said Kay, wiping gravy out of his eyes.
"You shouldn't have set her off like that, Kay. You know how she gets about fabric," said Arthur, shaking his head.
There was another drawn-out scream.
“And now it's a knife fight,” said Anna. “Uncle – ”
“I'm on it,” said Arthur. “You two, with me,” he said, pointing at Gawain and Kay.
“Here, take this,” said Anna, handing him a small twist of paper. “Throw it in the fire. That'll get their attention for sure.” Arthur tucked it into his pocket with extreme caution and more than a few misgivings.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Kay, hefting his folding chair. Gawain tenderly relinquished Helena to Anna's custody and picked up the ladle for lack of anything better.
“No,” said Arthur, “but we're doing it anyway.” Then he plunged into the fray.
~*~*~*~
Halfway across the hall, as he dodged a wild lunge from Maelwys of Dyfed, caught his arm, and banged his hand against the table until he dropped his knife, Arthur belatedly realized he really should have brought a weapon. But what kind of man went armed in his own home, in the presence of guests? Arthur was beginning to suspect he wasn't really meant for politics. He hauled Maelwys back around and tossed him over his hip into Uchdryd the Bearded, and the two of them went sprawling.
There was a loud thunk behind him, and Arthur spared a glance back to see Kay wading through the brawl, gleefully hitting people with a folding chair. Gawain was somewhat behind him, having somehow managed to get in a fight with three people at once. Arthur elbowed another one of Dyfed's men in the face before he could raise his knife, and by the time he looked again, one of Gawain's opponents was out cold in the middle of a broken table and the second was groaning on his hands and knees. “Excuse me,” said Gawain, and punched the third in the face.
He looked past Arthur, eyes widening, and Arthur flinched back as the ladle went spinning past his nose. The bowl bounced off the forehead of Sir Dinas, who staggered away from Arthur and fell over a bench.
Arthur heard someone behind him, and instinctively grabbed their arm and flipped them over his shoulder. Ulfius crashed to the ground in front of him. Arthur felt a little bad, until he noticed that Ulfius was covered in more gravy than could be entirely innocent. “Your majesty!” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my house, you idiot,” roared Arthur. “Get up and break up this fighting now!”
As Ulfius scrambled to his feet and tackled Marhalt of Dumnonia, Arthur jumped on the table. He pulled out Anna's packet, covered his eyebrows with his other arm, and tossed it towards an askew candelabra several feet away. It crackled loudly and let off a brilliant flash.
“Right!” bellowed Arthur, ignoring the purple spots dancing before his eyes. “That is IT!”
Everyone froze, except for a few unfortunates stumbling back from the enormous cloud of white smoke.
“The next person to so much as raise a hand, or a loaf of bread, against another guest — the next person — I will personally kill him, dump his body in the marshes, behead his closest relatives, and cut off the nose of every person he's ever met WITH,” – he brandished a piece of cutlery for emphasis, did a double-take at it, and continued anyway – “THIS BUTTER KNIFE.”
Arthur surveyed the wrecked hall. There was a circle of prone and groaning figures surrounding Kay, who was resting his folding chair against his shoulder, while Gawain had Pelleas in a headlock and his foot on the back of an unknown guest, who had his head jammed in a serving bowl. Everyone else had stopped fighting, and were starting to look around guiltily.
“Drop your weapons RIGHT THIS MINUTE,” shouted Arthur, and there was a short shower of knives and dinner rolls.
The hall was now completely silent, except for the faint tap-tap-tap-tap of Kay drumming his fingers against his folding chair.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” continued Arthur, more quietly, though no less disapproving. “We have gathered here to discuss the defense of our countries, our very way of life, and this is how you treat my hospitality? I am embarrassed to have shared a table with you, however briefly. Tomorrow you will all swear oaths to me, ensuring your good conduct and cooperation with one another, as clearly I cannot expect you to govern yourselves, much less the soldiers of Britain. We shall then commence with the feast that you have so rudely disrupted.” He pointed at the door. “Until then, go to your rooms and think about what you've done!”
As the abashed sons of Britain filed out, heads lowered in dejection (except for Morvran of Powys, who needed help to get his head unstuck), Gawain said softly, “Err, uncle – you do realize most of them are supposed to sleep in here, right?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispered back, still glowering at the retreating backs. “But we need to clean up in here first anyway. It serves them right if they have to spend the entire night wandering around awkwardly.”
“Well,” said Kay, wandering over and finally setting his chair at rest, “I had fun.”
~*~*~*~
“Tell me, Gawain,” said Arthur, as a few more abashed partygoers trickled in and tried to make their way to their little encampments as unobtrusively as possible. “Why weren't you wreaking havoc with a loaf of bread?”
“Hmm?” said Gawain, threading a needle so he could sew up his next patient. He was helping patch up the casualties of the night's festivities, since Arthur's own physician had a carrot stuck up his nose, and the surgeons in town seemed strangely reluctant to abandon their own friends and family in the middle of the night during Christmas.
“You didn't join the fight,” said Arthur. He frowned sternly at a few more latecomers, who slunk to their corners of the hall.
“Well, no,” said Gawain. “I'm a guest in your house. It would be a terrible violation of your hospitality.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. “What do you think, Pelleas?”
“Ow!” said Pelleas.
“Sorry,” said Gawain. “Try to hold your arm still.”
“Well?” asked Arthur.
Pelleas had a sullen expression on his face and a towel full of snow on his lap. He looked up at Arthur and then looked away, muttering.
“I didn't catch that,” said Arthur.
“Maelwys of Dyfed was making... inflammatory remarks,” he said. “I had to defend the honor of my country.”
Arthur nodded. “I see. And so you thought the best way to do this was by brawling in the middle of negotiations that would bring stability to your country's borders and guarantee that it would be defended in case of attack.”
“I,” said Pelleas. “Uh.”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “Uh. I'll deal with you tomorrow.”
“Keep your wound clean and dry,” added Gawain. They watched him walk gingerly back to the Dumnonians.
Gawain sighed.
“What?” asked Arthur.
“I don't understand,” said Gawain. “I thought that's why we had rules like hospitality, or courtesy. So that you'd always know how to treat others, no matter who or where you are.”
“And those are more important than the honor of your country?”
“They'd have to be, some of the time,” said Gawain.
Arthur studied him for a moment. “Is that why you left Lothian?”
Gawain looked down. “My father wants to protect Lothian,” he said. “You want to protect everyone. It didn't seem like that hard of a choice to us.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. Gawain packed up his supplies as the servants dimmed the lights in the hall. It looked like things were finally quieting down, though Arthur had left several guards in case anyone decided to start a riot over a midnight snack.
Arthur nudged Gawain's shoulder. “Get some sleep,” he said.
“Are you sure, uncle? I can help.”
“No, it's all right,” said Arthur. “I think I can figure it out.”
~*~*~*~
The next morning, C. Artorius Pendraco, rex Logri, dux comesque Brittaniarum, et comes litoris Saxonici, once again found his wife in the hall with Britain's most awkward wedding present.
“Have you spoken to that messenger from Lothian yet?” she asked. She looked tired, but at least she was talking to him. Perhaps she considered him sufficiently chastened from having to break up a brawling mob under his own roof.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Where is he?”
“I sent him off to the kitchens to get something to eat,” said Guinevere.
“I'll track him down later,” said Arthur. “Where'd you find this?”
“The last of our baggage came in this morning,” she said. “It's a good thing, since we don't have enough tables anymore. This should at least seat everyone. I wash my hands of trying to figure out precedence at a round table, though.”
“I'm sure it will --” Arthur stopped, and his mouth dropped open. He spun around and took her by the shoulders. “Gwen, you are a genius.”
She blinked up at him. “Well, I suppose. What did I do?”
He led her over the table and pulled out her chair, then sat next to her. “Look!” he said, gesturing to the rest of the table.
Guinevere's eyes brightened. “There's no head of the table – no way of designating rank,” she said. “Everyone will be equal! You'll be able to put them all on the same level without showing disrespect – Arthur, this is exactly what you need to encourage them to put aside their sovereignty and work together!”
“Do you think it's enough?” he asked.
"It's your table," said Guinevere. "They have to respect your household, especially after their atrocious behavior yesterday. It's really no odder than some of the other things you've done. Make up something about the defenders of Britain being equal in the rightness of their cause, or something. You're good at inspirational speeches."
"True," mused Arthur.
"You can even bring it with you to all your councils. The component pieces are fairly easy to transport, so you can drag it all across the countryside, too," Guinevere continued, only a little long-suffering. “I think we even still have all the boxes.”
"Right," said Arthur, gazing mistily into the future. "If we use it consistently, they'll have to accept it..." He snapped abruptly back to the present. "Of course, we're going to have to put Kay in charge of transportation and set up."
They both paused to recall Kay's typical reaction to anything that required rearranging furniture, and shuddered.
"I think you mean you're going to have to put Kay in charge of transportation and set up," Guinevere corrected.
"You did say this was our wedding present."
"I've never had to threaten to personally maim and kill my dinner guests."
"Point," said Arthur. He stood up and pulled Guinevere's chair out for her. "Well, I can always bring along a loaf of bread if he gets violent."
"I could hit him in the face with a pie again," said Guinevere, relenting.
"Please, Gwen," said Arthur, offering her his arm. "Why must you say such hurtful things?"
~*~*~*~
"A round table?" said Kay skeptically. He hadn't even started shouting yet, which Arthur took as a good sign.
"No one will be left out, and everyone will be equal,” said Arthur. “Also, I'll have a nearly uninterrupted line of sight to anyone who needs to be taken down with a dinner roll.”
"True," said Kay. "But it's going to be an absolute bitch to pass the salt."
"There are more important things than salt, Kay."
"Not with your cook, there's not.” He rapped the wood with his knuckles. “How will this work, then?”
“It's my table, so I'm in charge, but everyone else is on the same level, pledged to work for a common goal.”
“So... it's exactly like what you've been doing.”
“Well, yes, but more symbolic. So, how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Do you want to be a Knight of the Round Table?”
“Hmm,” said Kay, frowning. “Where'd you come up with the name?”
“Where did I – sometimes I worry about you, Kay.”
“Sometimes I worry about your face. Fine, I guess I'll do it.”
Arthur grinned. “Congratulations, Sir Kay. You are the first Knight of the Round Table.”
Kay blinked. “The first?” he asked, looking faintly pleased. Then his eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want me to haul this thing wherever we go.”
“I wouldn't trust anyone else with it,” said Arthur piously. “There's lots of boxes. You could label them all.”
Kay rolled his eyes. “Well,” he said, “At least you won't hurt yourself on pointy corners any more."
~*~*~*~
Arthur walked into the atrium to once again find his niece perched precariously, this time on a reclaimed table, hanging curtains. She was being watched speculatively by Lady Helena arm-in-arm with a pile of garlands with legs that eventually revealed itself to be Sir Gawain, who still looked half-asleep.
“I don't know, Anna,” said Helena. “I mean, he's so widely disliked, and tensions are so high with Dumnonia anyway, it's pretty much down to chance who snaps first. Move that ruffle to the left – keep going – right, there, tie it off.”
“What do you think, Gawain?” asked Anna.
“I've always preferred more of a swag valance,” said Gawain.
“About Pelleas,” said Anna.
“How much gold do you have riding on this?” he asked, rather pointedly. He spoiled the effect somewhat by yawning hugely behind his hand.
Anna looked shifty-eyed. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.” She stepped down from the table. “There! What do you think?”
“Where did you find new curtains?” asked Arthur.
Anna spun around. “Uncle!” she said delightedly. “Do you like them?”
“They're very... curtainy,” he said. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. “I thought “valance” was a place in Gaul.”
“Will the queen like them?” asked Gawain.
“Considering I have heard her state on any number of occasions that curtains are all that stand between us and the decline of civilization, yes, I think she will like them. Where did you get them?”
“Well, I've had rather good luck recently, and I thought it only fair that we help somehow after last night,” said Anna, somewhat evasively.
“And you managed to get them during Christmas?”
“My luck was particularly good,” she said.
“Right,” said Arthur. “Nephew, I'd like to speak with you. If you don't mind, Lady Anna, Lady Helena?”
They shook their heads. Gawain looked down at his armful of garlands with a slight expression of chagrin.
“Oh, just leave them, Gawain,” said Anna. “I promise not to put them all in Lady Ellylw's room.”
They began to leave, Gawain still brushing pine needles off his clothes, but Arthur stuck his head back in.
“I hope you weren't betting against me,” he said.
Anna blinked, then smiled. “Of course not, uncle,” she said. “I would never bet against you.”
~*~*~*~
“What do you think?” said Arthur, gesturing expansively. Now that there were no servants, or Kay, swearing as they tried to set up the last pieces, it was starting to look rather impressive.
“It's a table,” said Gawain. “It's very round?” He looked slightly apprehensive, like it might attack, but also stared at Arthur with all apparent faith that he was going somewhere with this.
“This,” said Arthur, “is the seat of the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Wow,” said Gawain. A moment later he added, “Forgive me, uncle, but – who are the Knights of the Round Table?”
“The Knights of the Round Table,” said Arthur, “are the very best of men. They are people who drop everything to dash across the countryside to defend someone else’s kingdom; who would fight anyone or anything, no matter how ridiculous; who can go to war and then go to dinner, and figure out a way not to kill anyone at both; who remember there’s always a greater principle to believe in, but that no principle is too great. They protect the helpless, defend the faith, and respect the weak, and their names and exploits will live on in legend.”
“Wow,” said Gawain again, eyes shining. “When were they founded?”
“This morning,” said Arthur. “Want to join?”
Gawain blinked. “Me? But – I’ve never led an army, or fought giants.”
"And I've never fought furniture," said Arthur. "Though everyone seems quite keen on naming the geography after mine. That's not the point. The point is that there was a cursed bathtub, and now there's not. The point is – ”
Arthur stopped. Gawain was looking more and more like a crushed puppy.
Arthur frowned. “A messenger from Lothian came in this morning,” he said.
“Yes.”
“With a message for you?”
“Yes.”
“Your father is sending my army back, and wants you to come home.”
“Yes.”
Arthur sighed. “We'll miss you,” he said.
“Yes,” said Gawain, looking down at his feet.
“I'm still making you a Knight of the Round Table.”
Gawain's head snapped up. “Really?” he asked.
“I'm not leaving Lothian behind,” said Arthur. “I will drag this island to safety kicking and screaming, by the ear if necessary.”
“The screaming won't be necessary, uncle,” said Gawain. “I'll do what I can.”
“Excellent,” said Arthur. “Sir Gawain, by the power vested in me as Arthur Pendragon, King of Logres, commander and count of Britain and the Saxon Shore, I hereby make you a Knight of the Round Table. May you always bring honor to its illustrious ranks.”
“Thank you, uncle,” said Gawain, looking a bit stunned. “I’ll do my best. Who else is in it?”
“Well, so far... You. And Sir Kay.” Watching Gawain’s now carefully blank face, he added, “Eventually, I'm hoping certain courtesy-challenged individuals will want to join too. But I want them to have a good example.”
“You think I'm a good example?”
Arthur looked at his nephew thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “I think you'll do.”
~*~*~*~
“Gwen, might I borrow you for a moment?” asked Arthur, poking his head into Guinevere's solar.
“Of course, Arthur,” she said, putting aside her accounts. She tucked her hand in his arm as they headed towards the atrium.
“There have been any number of rumors flying around about the Round Table,” she said. “But talk seems favorable. If you can make a strong enough impression tonight, I think you'll be able to carry it off for everyone.”
“I hope so,” said Arthur. “Gwen – about hostages – ”
“Yes?”
“I don't suppose we can keep them?”
She sighed. “No,” she said. “I don't suppose you can send another army to the north?”
“No,” said Arthur.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “We'll work something out,” she said.
One of Guinevere’s maids burst through the door and skidded to a halt in front of them, looking flustered. She immediately dropped into a deep curtsey.
“Please excuse me, your majesties,” she said. “My king, there’s a man dressed as a sheep in your council chamber. He says he’s supposed to report to you?”
“A sheep?” said Guinevere, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“It’s an ancient tactical move,” said Arthur. “Will you do me the honor of meeting me in the atrium, my lady?”
“What’s happened to it now?” she asked in exasperation.
“Oh, not much. I'll be right back,” said Arthur, striding out of the room.
He could hear her shriek of delight as she saw the curtains all the way by the council chamber.
~*~*~*~
“I have terrible news,” announced Arthur cheerfully as he walked into the atrium. Ribbons had been spontaneously produced from somewhere, and Anna had been commandeered to divide the valance, though it was not from Gaul, into three parts. Guinevere and Gawain watched critically. “It seems King Lot was unfortunately reluctant to release my army back to my command, and has defaulted on the agreement to which the two of you were pledged.”
“So we have to stay here?” asked Gawain, looking like all his Christmases had come at once, and nobody had started fighting.
“Absolutely,” said Guinevere immediately. “I’m afraid an escort to Lothian would be out of the questions, what with the awkward conscription issue, and the province is far too unstable for you to go on your own, even if things have settled down in Bryneich. Obviously, we’d have vastly preferred if your father had honored his obligations, but ideally we’d still like to reach some sort of alliance, and your presence here is really the best facilitator for peaceful discourse.”
“Obviously,” said Anna. She held out her hand, and Gawain helped her down from the table.
“Of course,” said Arthur, scratching the back of his head, “it's not like you're prisoners, exactly. I'm sure no one would object if one day you just happened to travel in a northerly direction.”
“With some friends,” said Guinevere. “Well-armed, unaffiliated friends.”
Anna and Gawain exchanged a glance. “If it's not a strain on your hospitality, your majesties, we'd like to stay here,” said Anna.
“There's no reason for us not to uphold our end of the agreement,” said Gawain.
“It's not the most courteous household, I'll admit,” said Arthur. “I doubt you never had to deal with threats to cut people's noses off during dinner before.”
“Clearly you've never visited Lothian during the holidays,” muttered Anna.
Guinevere beamed. “We'd be delighted to have you.”
Arthur grinned. “Looks like you're stuck with us for a while.”
“I think we'll manage somehow,” said Gawain, smiling back.
~*~*~*~
Surprisingly, each of Arthur’s guests swore their oath of obedience to Arthur without starting a single international incident. Arthur supposed it was a potent combination of their collective shame and hangovers.
He led them into the Great Hall, now full repaired from the ravages of the previous night.
“My friends,” said Arthur, “I will not deny that I was greatly pained when this place of peace had become yet another battleground of strife and violence. However, just as I was beginning to despair that our fellowship was forever broken, I was given a sign, by way of my father-in-law: the Round Table!”
There was a polite murmur of awe, and one particularly whiny mutter of “A round table? What sort of evil is this?”
“Pelleas,” said Kay in a voice which Arthur was probably not supposed to hear. “Does the phrase “torn apart by wild horses” mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“It will.”
Everyone edged away from Kay and tried to look attentive and polite.
“Yes,” continued Arthur, “I was given a sign: a place of communion in our time of need. And so, I once again welcome you to my hall. At this table, we are all equal in our duty, united in our quest to preserve our kingdoms and our people.
“Knights of this table will swear to protect the helpless, uphold the faith, and respect those of lesser power,” he said, gesturing expansively. “Every one of us is needed to build a future where we leave a legacy of freedom, not conflict, for future generations. For each of us alone, the task may be daunting; but together, there is surely no enemy that cannot be repelled, no obstacle that cannot be overcome.”
Arthur stopped, feeling confident and pleased with himself as everyone nodded thoughtfully. Then he realized they expected him to keep talking.
"Is there no better place to seek this goal than that of gathering at supper?” he extemporized. “For our unity is as vital as our nourishment.” Talking about food was making him hungry, so he shifted the focus. “Face to face, we will know our fellows as friends and allies, and judge that each is as good as his word.”
The nods were even more enthusiastic, and damningly expectant.
“Furthermore, gentlemen," said Arthur, now letting his mouth run and hoping his brain would catch up soon, "this table’s circular shape recalls not only the perfection of God, whose love and laws our fellowship strives to uphold, but also symbolizes the, uh, majesty of the universal and enduring presence of, uh." At this point, his brain gave up completely, leaving his mouth to stumble across the finish line by itself. "Pie," he concluded grandly, saying the first thing that popped into his head.
"The mysterious and irrational mathematical constant which nevertheless provides the stable foundation of geometry, and hence, civilization," added Gawain. He gave Arthur a bland look, and Arthur was struck by the sudden suspicion that underneath Gawain's polite exterior lurked a – well, a polite interior, but one that was secretly trying not to laugh.
"Ahh," said the assembly, many of whom had become rather mistakenly superstitious about geometry ever since the Angles had invaded.
Kay muttered something about curtains.
“What say you, gentlemen?” asked Arthur, finally realizing that the best way to stop talking was to make everyone else do it. “Will you accept your seats at the Round Table, and rise to meet our destiny in one accord?”
The thunderous reply was a nice way to cap things off, and Arthur was pleasantly surprised that much of it seemed genuine. Apart from one of the folding chairs collapsing whenever anyone tried to sit on it, the rest of the council went off without a single problem.
~*~*~*~
By the end of the night, Arthur had acquired three new firm allies, campaigns for the next two years, and twenty-eight Knights of the Round Table. Overall, he figured this holiday probably counted as a success. If one glossed over the massive prandial insurrection, anyway.
He took his leave, Gawain trailing behind, as the servants began to clear the food and his guests made their ways off to their respective rooms or corners to turn in. Kay joined them, the unreliable folding chair stuck under his arm. “I think this seat is cursed, or something,” he said with a frown. “Gawain, you're the expert. What do you think?”
“It hasn't kidnapped anyone,” said Gawain. “We're probably safe for the time being.”
“Unless it's been cursed by one the poor souls you hit in the face with it, Kay, I'm thinking it's merely broken,” said Arthur. “Why did you even put it out?”
“In case of ambush,” said Kay.
“Perhaps it's more a metaphor for the collapse of the ideal construct in a post-lapsarian world,” said Gawain, as they entered the outer chambers of Arthur's rooms, where Guinevere and her ladies had retired for quiet conversation and certainly not to speculate who might not make it through dessert.
“Don't encourage him,” said Guinevere, Anna sprawled in a chair beside her. “Pie, Arthur?” she continued, in a long-suffering (but amused) tone.
“What?” said Arthur. “I like pie.”
“Evidently,” snorted Anna.
“Next year you can make as many pastry-related speeches as you want,” said Guinevere. “Maybe recite a poem, or sing a little song, recount the adventures of famous pies throughout history, whatever you want – as long as they're in front of a small family gathering. We'll all be very impressed, I'm sure.”
“Oh,” said Arthur. “I was actually looking forward to another big feast.”
Everybody stared at him.
“Why?” said Guinevere, completely horrified.
“It's bound to go much better. Christmas is supposed to be a relaxing and peaceful time,” he said.
“Arthur, have you not paid attention at Christmas ever?” said Kay.
“All right, fine, the holiday has, on occasion, been a bit – eventful,” said Arthur, “But future Christmases will definitely be relaxing and peaceful.”
Several prophecies, coronations, decapitations, and ghostly apparitions later, Arthur was forced to conclude his “totally wrong” phase lasted for quite some time.
~*~*~*~
Now that all the business had been accomplished, the feasting continued for the rest of the week. By that point the partying had started blurring together, though Arthur never quite stopped feeling grateful when he managed to leave a feast with all his food safely in his stomach. On the last night, however, he stopped short as the doors were thrown open for the last gathering of the Round Table for the season.
“There are tablecloths,” he said.
“Of course there are, what do you think I – oh!” sputtered Guinevere, as Arthur spun her into his arms and kissed her soundly.
“I love you,” said Arthur.
She blinked up at him a few times, then smiled. “Well, we're not barbarians, are we?”
“We could be stylish barbarians.”
“Don't be foolish: tablecloths stand between us and the decline of civilization.”
Arthur grinned at her. “I thought that was curtains,” he said.
“Yes, those too,” she said. She gave him a sidelong glance, and added, “I suppose you help occasionally, as well.”
“Occasionally?”
“Often enough,” she said, then smiled brilliantly at him. He took her arm, and they entered the hall with the fanfare of trumpets into the company of the Knights of the Round Table.
Being a Most Glorious Account of the Founding of the Round Table
How ARTHUR did create, from the SAD WRECKKAGE of a moste vicious CHRISTMAS AFFRAY, a symbol of ORDER and JUSTICE with the aide of his moste fayre ladye GUINEVERE, Sir GAWAIN the FLOWRE of CORTESIE, the ladye ANNA moste GILDED with LOVE amongst alle maydens, ond Sir KAY with the PARLOUS FOWLEDING CHAIR.
Warnings: Contains blatant anachronism, scenes of violence, Latin abuse, and wheat and dairy products. And Sir Kay.
~*~*~*~
C. Artorius Pendraco, rex Logri, dux comesque Brittaniarum et comes litoris Saxonici, sidled up to his wife in the banquet hall in Carlisle as she contemplated a curious scene.
“All right,” he said. “I give up. What is it?”
“It's our wedding present!” said Guinevere brightly. “My father sent it.”
"But we've been married for six months,” said Arthur.
"Well, he had wanted to give us one at the wedding, but you had been making all that fuss over the dowry so I told him to wait, and then he said that there had been some kind of accident involving the Great Oak – you know, that's the really ancient tree by his villa, we had that festival there and you had to wear the ribbons, I don't know how the herrings were involved but I'm sure it was very impressive – and a Cornish craftsman volunteered to build it, so my father sent it off months ago and his messengers have just caught up to us!"
“It's a table,” said Arthur.
“Well, yes,” said Guinevere. “I'm sure he meant well.”
Arthur searched for something nice to say. “It's very... round,” he said.
"When all the leaves are folded out, it nearly doubles the circumference," said Guinevere. "So you can adjust it for the number of people attending." She paused, and added casually, “It's based off one of my designs, you know.”
“I love it,” said Arthur immediately.
Guinevere sighed. “It is rather awkward to move, isn't it?” she said. “It breaks down well, but there are so many pieces...”
This indeed proved to be true, for the next time they moved (southeast to Londinium, with a brief but aggravating detour into Lothian for Arthur), it was put in the baggage train that went astray and ended up stranded in Caerleon, seemingly for the duration of the winter.
“It's a shame,” said Guinevere. “We certainly could have used it at Christmas. Seating everyone in this hall in is going to be a nightmare.”
“It's Christmas,” said Arthur. “How complicated could it be?”
“Arthur,” she said. “They made you a king last Christmas.”
“Yes, of course,” said Arthur, a moment too late.
Guinevere gave him a look that said she knew full well he had forgotten, and was both exasperated and somewhat impressed by this.
“I'm sure it will be fine,” said Arthur, well into what he would later characterize as his “totally wrong” phase.
~*~*~*~
Arthur entered the corridor to the Great Hall and rather unexpectedly found the Lady Anna Amorinaurata, hammer in hand and nails sticking out of the side of her mouth, balanced on the shoulders of her brother, Sir Gawain. He seemed unperturbed at being conscripted for use as a ladder, and Anna for once did not appear to be conducting some sort of arcane alchemical experiment, but was instead engaged in affixing the end of a long garland with more force than was strictly necessary.
“Anna, I know Pelleas is forward and rude,” Gawain said patiently, “But you can't threaten to cut off his – ” He saw Arthur. “ – allowance,” he finished.
“Hello, uncle,” Anna said from on high, after taking the nails out of her mouth. “Gawain, don't you even dare try to bow.” Gawain had indeed twitched reflexively before remembering his sister and gripping her ankles more firmly.
“Lady Anna,” said Arthur, amused. “Sir Gawain.” He gave them both a nod, which his nephew gratefully returned.
(“Gwen, what's the protocol for keeping hostages?” Arthur had asked one month previously, as soon as he had returned from Lothian.
“Well, it would depend on their rank and the political situation – ” she began, then stopped and narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?”
“Well, during the negotiations with Lot, I – oh, hello. Gwen, this is Sir Gawain and Lady Anna Amorinaurata of Lothian.”
“You took your own niece and nephew hostage?” she hissed in a strangled whisper, then immediately plastered on a welcoming smile as they came over.
“Gawain, Anna, Queen Guinevere of Logres,” continued Arthur.
“Your majesty,” said Anna, curtseying.
Gawain bowed and said, “Thank you for your hospitality.”
“I know the road from Lothian is long, and it must have been a bitter ride, coming from the north. I'll have you looked after immediately,” said Guinevere, signaling for the servants to take their cloaks. “I trust you've been well?” she asked, frowning slightly at Anna, who was missing an eyebrow.
“Oh, don't worry,” said Anna. “That was from before I volunteered us to be hostages. Unexpected exothermic reaction.”
“Ah,” said Guinevere. “I hope you found your journey... uneventful.”
“Oh, it was,” said Gawain. “Except for the bathtub, but it didn't put up much of a fight, considering.”
Guinevere barely blinked. “I – see,” she said, then smiled. “I can assure you our furniture is normally quite civil.” As they were lead off to their quarters, she muttered to Arthur, “Well, you're certainly all related.”
“What makes you say that?” he asked.)
“I take it the Queen recruited you for decorating duty,” said Arthur.
“She asked me to finish the corridors,” said Anna. “Apparently Lady Ellylw went mad with power and festooned anything that didn't move for more than thirty seconds in ribbons. Sir Kay wasn't pleased.”
“He was absorbed in the ledgers at the time,” said Gawain.
“I thought I heard screaming,” said Arthur. “Were there any survivors?”
“Well, you'll need new curtains in the atrium – ” said Anna.
“ – though the smoke damage was surprisingly minimal,” finished Gawain.
Arthur sighed. “Fair enough,” he said. “I never liked those curtains anyway.”
“You're far better off with a less flammable fabric,” said Anna, with a knowledgeable air. Arthur supposed she was rather an expert on the subject, given the number of times she'd been obliged to redecorate her rooms. She had yet to succeed in converting lead into gold, but routinely managed to convert her own gold into less gold, alarming messes, and the occasional small explosion.
“They did compliment the mosaics nicely, though,” said Gawain.
Anna tacked up the last garland, then looked down. It was quite a long way. “Wasn't there a table here when we started?” she asked in consternation.
“I believe it left in the company of the servants,” said Gawain.
“Because they were carrying it, or because it was running away from you?” asked Anna with a smirk.
“That bathtub was cursed, you know,” said Gawain. “Fighting was hardly its normal behavior.”
Arthur still couldn't decide whether the bathtub was more or less odd than the things he usually ended up fighting. On the one hand, bathtub. On the other, at least it hadn't kept leaving dead horses on people's doorsteps, like that one giant cat. “The table's probably been appropriated for the Great Hall,” he said. “Sir Kay was rounding them up for dinner.”
“Pity,” said Anna, though Arthur wasn't sure if this was because she couldn't stand on it, or because Gawain would not be obliged to engage it in battle. She looked down again. “Hmm.”
“Would you like some help?” asked Arthur.
She blinked at him. “Err, if you don't mind, uncle.” Arthur laced his fingers together and held out his hands.
“Be sure not to kick him in the head,” said Gawain, as Anna dropped the hammer into his waiting hand. “That would be an enormous breach of hospitality.”
“Why do you even know that,” said Anna. She took a careful step off Gawain's shoulder into Arthur's hands, and using her brother's head as an armrest made it safely to the ground. “Thank you, uncle,” she said. “If you don't mind, we have to go finish the hall off the vestibule.”
“Not at all,” said Arthur. He watched them go (arguing about Pelleas again) and contemplated hostages who hadn't even thought to ask him for help, and who volunteered to leave Lothian.
He was still there when Guinevere stalked in, holding a wax tablet and scowling. She smelled faintly of smoke.
Her face cleared somewhat when she saw Arthur. “Oh, good,” she said. “Arthur, I need you to look at this list. Is this everyone coming to the feast?"
Arthur glanced at the tablet. "Looks about right."
"Yes," said Guinevere, "but is it completely accurate? I need to know for the seating arrangements."
"Guinevere," said Arthur, “They're seating arrangements. Is it really that critical?"
"Of course not, you're absolutely correct," said Guinevere. "There's no reason why being the king of a relatively small and unimportant country who also commands most of the armies of Britain could possibly make people nervous. I'm sure none of them will be thinking of Maximianus, who stole the legions to take over the western Empire, or Hengist, who stole Vortigern's mercenaries to take over the eastern states, or your father, who stole Ambrosius Aurelianus' cavalry to expand the borders of Logres. It's not like we're entertaining seven kings and/or their sons and nephews who currently comprise some of your chief allies and neighbors. Clearly they won't mind at all where they sit, since it only reflects their status, and what YOU think of their status, and subsequently what everyone else will think of their status. It certainly doesn't matter that they compose a sizable portion of your southern forces, and there's been rumblings of another Saxon invasion. Honestly, what was I thinking? I should just go lie down and let Sir Kay take over the planning." She glared at him, nostrils flaring with barely-suppressed emotion.
Arthur winced. "No, you're right. I'm sorry. May I see that list again?"
She handed it to him wordlessly.
"Gwynedd isn't here," said Arthur. "And there's only a small delegation from Dyfed."
"Thank you," said Guinevere.
"If anything else has changed, Kay should know," said Arthur. "You could check with him."
Guinevere gave him a pointed look.
"Or I could check and let you know," amended Arthur.
"Thank you," she said again.
"No," said Arthur, "I need to thank you for taking care of this." He scratched the back of his head awkwardly. "I don't know how I would do it without you. I don't know very much about, uh, well. Everything related to being a king, actually. Except for the fighting. But I'm not supposed to do that with my own allies, so, you know, I'm clueless when it comes to feasts and so on."
He gave his wife a bewildered smile, and finally received one in return.
"You've defeated countless Saxon armies," said Guinevere. "I think you can handle dinner."
"But not without my beautiful and charming wife," replied Arthur, catching her hand and raising it to his lips. "I cannot stress that enough."
She rolled her eyes at him, but the smile lingered. "I have to go check on the cooks," she said. "Just give these to Kay and make sure you show up before the feast starts. And that he and Anna haven't set anyone or anything else on fire. And that Gawain hasn't been waylaid by another rogue bathtub attack.”
“Technically speaking, the bathtub was attacked by Gawain,” said Arthur. “We treat kidnappers very harshly in this province.”
“Oh, that reminds me,” said Guinevere, angling the list towards her. “I didn't put Lady Helena next to anyone sloppy, did I? The poor dear's a bit sensitive to liquids now.”
“We have to know all of our guests' eating habits, too?” asked Arthur.
“You can never be too careful,” said Guinevere absently, as she scanned the tablet one last time. “I guess she'll be all right. But please let me know if anything changes."
"I will," said Arthur.
~*~*~*~
Kay stood on the dais in the great hall, shouting at the top of his lungs. This in and of itself was not unusual, although in an exciting change of pace there was a method to his martinetry, as he was directing the servants decorating the hall and dragging furniture around.
"Do you know of any changes to the guest list?" asked Arthur.
"Why would I know?" said Kay irritably.
"You're my steward," said Arthur.
"Yes, but I delegated all interpersonal communication to Bedwyr. He's only operating as cupbearer at half-capacity anyway. JUST KEEP MOVING THAT BENCH, BENCH-MOVER. I'VE GOT MY EYE ON YOU."
"Bedwyr is not here," said Arthur, ignoring the aside. "He's with his parents for the winter. I thought you would have noticed by now."
Kay scowled. "I noticed, I'm just bitter. KNOCK OVER THAT CENTERPIECE AND I WILL SHOVE IT SOMEWHERE VERY UNPLEASANT."
"So, guest list?"
"Ask me later, after I've finished STRANGLING YOU TO DEATH WITH THIS HOLLY, WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
"Guinevere said it's important."
"Guinevere also thinks the color of the drapes is important,” said Kay.
“Those drapes are very nice,” said Arthur warningly, then amended it to “Were very nice, no thanks to you.”
“There were ribbons,” said Kay. “I panicked.” There was an enormous crash from behind them, and he rounded on the unfortunate perpetrator in fury. “Excuse me a moment, I have important things to do.” He leapt off the dais, stalking the unfortunate with grim determination. “WITH THIS FOLDING CHAIR. TO YOUR FACE."
"GUEST LIST," called Arthur over the sound of Kay threatening to demonstrate his mastery of the offensive properties of folding chairs. A table across the hall collapsed, and the incoherent bellow of rage he received in reply was not helpful.
"I'll be back later," said Arthur.
~*~*~*~
Arthur had never met his eldest sister. Anna Morgause had been gone for years now, but he still came across traces of her presence: tales of her legendary beauty from the court in Logres, the occasional fond complaint from Morgaine, the elaborate web of conquered kingdoms, tributary states, and military detentes in and around Lothian that made him want to bang his head against the wall and were the cause of many of his more outrageous plans, including trading a legion and two companies of cavalry for his niece and nephew because Lot would rather let Bryneich get overrun by Saxons instead of allowing someone else to lead an army near his land...
(Arthur was hoping Lot would return his armies like a normal person, but had given his commander strict orders that in the event of uncooperativeness, his men should split up into squads of twenty and make their way south dressed as merchants, monks, or whichever herd animal was most convenient. He was fairly certain Lot would never see it coming.)
Yes, everyone agreed that Anna Morgause had a glamor about her, and she had used it with a precision and skill that could make Arthur's best knights cry with envy. Nevertheless, as he watched her children try to make conversation before dinner, he couldn't help but wonder if she too had gone through a hilariously awkward teenage phase.
“So...” said Gawain, desperately trying to keep his conversation afloat, “the weather certainly has been mild this winter.”
Lady Helena of Eburacum (though until quite recently Lady Helena of Haunted Bathtub Tower) gave a piercing giggle, then clapped her hand over her mouth and blushed furiously. She mumbled something incoherent and gazed at him with a hopeless expression. Gawain stared back in polite consternation.
“Err,” he said. “I hear we're in for a wet spring?”
“Aren't they sweet?” murmured Guinevere in Arthur's ear. She sounded like she was trying not to laugh. “I – oh, we're in for it now,” she said, as Sir Pelleas of Dumnonia spotted Lady Anna from across the hall and started making his way over. “Make sure she doesn't try to kill him, Arthur,” she said as she turned to the servants who had just come up to them, and started giving them instructions for whatever last-minute tasks had come up, like filling all the butter dishes before they accidentally consigned the world to utter chaos.
“Oh no,” said Anna, catching sight of the incoming threat. “Excuse me, Helena. Gawain, how do I get rid of him?”
“Have you tried being polite but firm?” said Gawain.
Anna gave him a flat look, but turned back.
“Sir Pelleas,” she said shortly.
“My lady,” he said with an elaborate bow. “You know, I've been wondering about your name.”
“After all this time? Really? It's Anna Amorinaurata. Now, if you'll excuse – ”
“No, no, that's not what I meant at all,” sputtered Pelleas, snagging her elbow before she could complete her escape. “Your name – it's beautiful. Amorinaurata – that means 'gilded with love', does it not?”
“Unfortunately,” said Anna.
“I just wanted you to know – you can gild me with love any time you – ”
“Stop talking and go away forever,” said Anna. “Please,” she added, after a moment's consideration.
“But – ”
“Goodbye!” said Anna pointedly. Pelleas flushed, but stalked off into the hall. Unfortunately, there was a small crowd of young men waiting for exactly this to happen.
“My lady,” said Sir Ulfius. “Are you tired? Because you've been running through my – ”
“Really?” Anna interrupted. “That's the best you can do? I am sorry, this will never work, kindly remove yourself from my presence immediately.”
“But – ”
“Go!” said Anna, shooing him away. Sir Sagramore, spotting an opening, sidled over.
“Those are nice shoes,” he said. “Want – ”
“I have powerful friends,” said Anna, finally snapping. “No one will ever find your body.”
“But – ”
“Ah, Sagramore,” said Arthur, looming up behind him. “What's your opinion about hunting in secluded yet treacherous terrain?”
Sagramore squawked and bolted.
“What is it about me?” Anna burst out to Gawain, who was forlornly watching Helena scamper across the hall. “What did I do to deserve being constantly surrounded by idiots?”
“We're both unlucky in love,” said Gawain sadly. “I don't think Lady Helena likes me at all.”
Arthur stifled a snort of laughter, and Anna jumped slightly, like she had forgotten he was there. “Thank you, uncle,” she muttered.
“Sorry for the interruption,” said Arthur. “I know you could have handled it, but I prefer the attempted murders to come after dinner.”
“Oh, is that why there are extra forks?” asked Anna, with an expression of great innocence.
“Don't be ridiculous, Anna,” said Gawain. “Everyone knows you can't stab your guests with a dessert fork.” He added, with all apparent seriousness, “That's what the second spoon is for.”
“...and make sure the salt cellars are at the head of the low tables,” said Guinevere to the last servant as she rejoined them. She absently smoothed Anna's hair, fixed Gawain's collar, and straightened Arthur's torc before taking his arm.
“There,” she said, finally satisfied. “Is everybody – Where are you going with that chair?" she asked Kay, who had just entered the room. "The feast is about to start!"
"There's not enough seats for Gwent's delegation," said Kay. "Two more of them arrived this morning."
Guinevere stared at him in horror, then turned towards Arthur beseechingly.
He winced.
She covered her face with her hands and started muttering what Arthur hoped were prayers.
"Oops," said Kay.
"It will be just fine," said Arthur sternly, taking Guinevere's hand as the doors swung open. "What's the worst that could happen?"
~*~*~*~
Arthur peered over the edge of the overturned High Table, and narrowly missed losing an eye to an enthusiastically launched drumstick.
He ducked back down, and said, "Look, just say it."
Guinevere was huddled against the table with her arms folded and mouth twisted up. She didn't say anything, but her eye did twitch. A tureen of soup splattered against the wall in front of them.
"Go on," said Arthur. "You'll feel much better. I fully admit that I deserve it."
"I told you so," she muttered.
"Yes, you did," said Arthur. "And now we need to get you out of here before everyone realizes they're all carrying knives, and stop trying to bludgeon each other to death with loaves of bread." One such loaf ricocheted off the wall and hit Arthur in the shin. "Ow! Also, I think we need to have a talk with the cook about the quality of his baked goods."
"I have been rather unimpressed with his performance of late," said Guinevere.
Someone vaulted over the table, and hastily deflected a blow from the loaf of bread with his forearm. "Ow! Peace, uncle!"
"Gawain?" said Arthur. "What are you doing?"
“You have to get out of here,” he began. “They've discovered – ”
"Duck!" said Arthur.
Gawain dodged the flying roasted fowl.
“What's that?” as Guinevere, at the loud clanging noise behind them. Gawain ventured a glimpse over, and yelped as a serving fork passed right over his head and stuck into the wall.
“As I was saying,” he continued. “They've discovered the cutlery.”
“Where's your sister?” asked Arthur.
“She grabbed Lady Helena and made it out to the servants' entrance right after the first hail of mulled wine bowls,” said Gawain.
There was an ominous lull in the chaos.
Guinevere grabbed the lid of the soup tureen, angled it to see the reflection of the hall behind them, then handed it silently to Arthur. He surveyed the backwards, distorted carnage behind them, and then swore creatively.
“Uncle?” Gawain asked. “What is it?”
“The main course,” said Arthur grimly. “Cover me.” He pulled Guinevere up and bolted for the servants' door, pushing her in front of him. Gawain leapt up and deflected a hail of dinner rolls with the tureen lid, then was charged by a maddened knight of Powys wielding a leg of mutton. He snapped up the soup ladle, parried a meaty blow, and sent the man flying into the sideboard with a kick to the chest.
“Gawain, get down!” shouted Arthur from the doorway.
Gawain dove for the floor as a roast suckling pig still on the spit narrowly missed impaling him. He somersaulted through the doorway, and Arthur kicked the door shut. There was a loud clang.
“That BETTER NOT have been my gravy boat!” he shouted through the door. “Are you all right, Gwen?”
“In the sense that my dress is ruined and my hair is a mess and we're out a fortune on provisions and dinnerware and I have been mortally insulted in my own house,” she said through gritted teeth.
“How about you, Gawain?”
“I'm fine, uncle,” he said. Arthur offered him a hand up.
Guinevere gave him a look filled with equal parts despair and rage. “Arthur, what are you going to do?” she demanded.
“I take it that slaughtering my house-guests would give the wrong impression?” he asked.
“It's generally frowned upon,” said Gawain.
“I'm sure we can make an exception,” said Guinevere darkly. Arthur noticed her eye twitch had made a reappearance.
He put his arm around her shoulder. “I know it looks bad,” he said. “But they've nearly made it through dessert; I think the best is to let this burn out by itself, so they're already tired when I start screaming.”
“Screaming will not be an issue,” muttered Guinevere.
“We'll need back-up regardless,” said Arthur, giving her one final squeeze. “Let's find the others.” They set out along the servants' hall by the kitchens, the sound of fighting filtering through the walls.
~*~*~*~
They found a large group of survivors, the rest of the serving staff, and Sir Kay watching the action from a curtained alcove. Arthur glumly surveyed the food-fueled feuds still raging in the hall, which seemed to include an embarrassingly large proportion of his own knights, then turned back to the observers. Anna was comforting a sobbing Helena. She also appeared to be running a betting pool on the household budget with Kay, who was relaxing on a spare chair and absently chewing on a drumstick from one of the abandoned serving trays.
"Oh, hello, Arthur. Your Majesty. Hostage," he said, nodding politely. "Nice work with that ladle, by the way."
"Er, thank you," said Gawain. "The trick is to angle the bowl so any blows redirect across the handle. That works for most cookware, really."
"Gawain, you've gotten into more than one fight using kitchen utensils?" said Guinevere, momentarily distracted from her woe. Helena gave a watery sigh.
Gawain looked uncomfortable. "Well, it was just one other fight. With a cooking pot."
“Guess why Gawain's not allowed to go on picnics anymore,” said Anna.
"Just to clarify," said Arthur, "when you said you were in a fight with a cooking pot, do you mean you fought by means of a cooking pot, or actually against one?"
"By means of a cooking pot," said Gawain. "Why?"
"No reason," said Arthur. “Kay – ”
There was a particularly loud scream from the hall, and everyone winced.
“Right in the allowance,” said Anna gleefully. Gawain gave her a pained look.
“Dammit, Pelleas,” grumbled Kay. “Doesn't he have any idea how much alembics cost?”
There was another, different, bloodcurdling screech.
“Don't worry, Sir Kay; I had given you three-to-one on that fight with Sir Sagramore, so we've just both broke even,” said Anna resignedly. Helena flinched. “No, it's all right, Helena. It was just the fruit compote, he's hardly wet at all.”
There was a large crunch.
"Ooh," said Kay. "Well, he's never going to want to look an apple in the eye again. Not that he could, at the moment...”
“As I was saying,” cut in Arthur. “Kay, what do you recommend?” he asked, gesturing to the fighting.
“I'm dropping my support for Powys and backing Dyfed,” said Kay immediately, standing up and stretching.
“Don't listen to him, the delegation from Powys has seven men down already,” said Anna. There was a loud bwong as Gwrgi of Powys became acquainted with one of their golden wine bowls, at some speed. Guinevere groaned and covered her face with her hands. “Sorry, eight,” continued Anna. “I'll raise you a year's supply of retorts and – oh, no, Helena, don't worry,” she said, as the lady hiccuped in fear. “I don't see any soap anywhere.”
“What's wrong?” Gawain asked Helena in bewilderment.
“I'm afraid we got winged by a bowl of mulled wine, and she started having traumatic flashbacks to the bathtub,” said Anna. “Shhh, no one can make you bathe now.” She gestured to Gawain behind Helena's back, and he came over, looking confused. Anna gave Helena a gentle nudge, and she immediately flung herself onto Gawain's chest, still sobbing.
“There, there, you're safe,” he said, patting her gingerly on the shoulder and looking slightly terrified. “All the bathtubs are gone.”
Guinevere clenched Arthur's arm, looking like she might start to cry herself, or at least, make other people cry.
“Our bowls,” she said. “Our tables. Our hall.”
“I know, I know,” he said. He would have patted her, too, if not for the fact that he was fairly certain she would tear his hand off and slap him with it.
"And," said Guinevere, her lip beginning to quiver, "the tablecloths are RUINED."
"They're just tablecloths," said Kay, unwisely. Anna winced.
“What,” said Guinevere flatly. She dropped Arthur's arm.
“I said they're just – ”
The queen's hand shot out and grabbed Kay's collar with surprising strength, yanking him forward and down until his face was level with hers. "Do you have any idea how much silk costs?"
"I --"
She shook him like a puppy. "Refined white silk," she snarled. "Shipped from all over the world, collected for years, tailored specifically for these tables. All that, and those wine-stains won't come out."
"Yes, I understand, I just think that perhaps you're overreacting --"
"OVERREACTING?"
Without even looking, she grabbed a meat pie off the tray of an awestruck serving boy and slammed it with all her strength into Kay's face. He staggered backwards, tripped over a spare folding chair, and landed heavily on his rear.
"Sir Kay, I do not think we should continue this conversation until you can be quite civil," said Guinevere icily. “Arthur, take care of this.” Then she stormed out, making sure to shut the door carefully behind her. The pie pan parted ways with its contents, and hit the ground with a clatter.
"Wow," said Gawain.
"That was my pie," said Arthur sadly.
"That was my face!" said Kay, wiping gravy out of his eyes.
"You shouldn't have set her off like that, Kay. You know how she gets about fabric," said Arthur, shaking his head.
There was another drawn-out scream.
“And now it's a knife fight,” said Anna. “Uncle – ”
“I'm on it,” said Arthur. “You two, with me,” he said, pointing at Gawain and Kay.
“Here, take this,” said Anna, handing him a small twist of paper. “Throw it in the fire. That'll get their attention for sure.” Arthur tucked it into his pocket with extreme caution and more than a few misgivings.
“Are you sure this is a good idea?” asked Kay, hefting his folding chair. Gawain tenderly relinquished Helena to Anna's custody and picked up the ladle for lack of anything better.
“No,” said Arthur, “but we're doing it anyway.” Then he plunged into the fray.
~*~*~*~
Halfway across the hall, as he dodged a wild lunge from Maelwys of Dyfed, caught his arm, and banged his hand against the table until he dropped his knife, Arthur belatedly realized he really should have brought a weapon. But what kind of man went armed in his own home, in the presence of guests? Arthur was beginning to suspect he wasn't really meant for politics. He hauled Maelwys back around and tossed him over his hip into Uchdryd the Bearded, and the two of them went sprawling.
There was a loud thunk behind him, and Arthur spared a glance back to see Kay wading through the brawl, gleefully hitting people with a folding chair. Gawain was somewhat behind him, having somehow managed to get in a fight with three people at once. Arthur elbowed another one of Dyfed's men in the face before he could raise his knife, and by the time he looked again, one of Gawain's opponents was out cold in the middle of a broken table and the second was groaning on his hands and knees. “Excuse me,” said Gawain, and punched the third in the face.
He looked past Arthur, eyes widening, and Arthur flinched back as the ladle went spinning past his nose. The bowl bounced off the forehead of Sir Dinas, who staggered away from Arthur and fell over a bench.
Arthur heard someone behind him, and instinctively grabbed their arm and flipped them over his shoulder. Ulfius crashed to the ground in front of him. Arthur felt a little bad, until he noticed that Ulfius was covered in more gravy than could be entirely innocent. “Your majesty!” he gasped. “What are you doing here?”
“This is my house, you idiot,” roared Arthur. “Get up and break up this fighting now!”
As Ulfius scrambled to his feet and tackled Marhalt of Dumnonia, Arthur jumped on the table. He pulled out Anna's packet, covered his eyebrows with his other arm, and tossed it towards an askew candelabra several feet away. It crackled loudly and let off a brilliant flash.
“Right!” bellowed Arthur, ignoring the purple spots dancing before his eyes. “That is IT!”
Everyone froze, except for a few unfortunates stumbling back from the enormous cloud of white smoke.
“The next person to so much as raise a hand, or a loaf of bread, against another guest — the next person — I will personally kill him, dump his body in the marshes, behead his closest relatives, and cut off the nose of every person he's ever met WITH,” – he brandished a piece of cutlery for emphasis, did a double-take at it, and continued anyway – “THIS BUTTER KNIFE.”
Arthur surveyed the wrecked hall. There was a circle of prone and groaning figures surrounding Kay, who was resting his folding chair against his shoulder, while Gawain had Pelleas in a headlock and his foot on the back of an unknown guest, who had his head jammed in a serving bowl. Everyone else had stopped fighting, and were starting to look around guiltily.
“Drop your weapons RIGHT THIS MINUTE,” shouted Arthur, and there was a short shower of knives and dinner rolls.
The hall was now completely silent, except for the faint tap-tap-tap-tap of Kay drumming his fingers against his folding chair.
“You should be ashamed of yourselves,” continued Arthur, more quietly, though no less disapproving. “We have gathered here to discuss the defense of our countries, our very way of life, and this is how you treat my hospitality? I am embarrassed to have shared a table with you, however briefly. Tomorrow you will all swear oaths to me, ensuring your good conduct and cooperation with one another, as clearly I cannot expect you to govern yourselves, much less the soldiers of Britain. We shall then commence with the feast that you have so rudely disrupted.” He pointed at the door. “Until then, go to your rooms and think about what you've done!”
As the abashed sons of Britain filed out, heads lowered in dejection (except for Morvran of Powys, who needed help to get his head unstuck), Gawain said softly, “Err, uncle – you do realize most of them are supposed to sleep in here, right?”
“Yes,” Arthur whispered back, still glowering at the retreating backs. “But we need to clean up in here first anyway. It serves them right if they have to spend the entire night wandering around awkwardly.”
“Well,” said Kay, wandering over and finally setting his chair at rest, “I had fun.”
~*~*~*~
“Tell me, Gawain,” said Arthur, as a few more abashed partygoers trickled in and tried to make their way to their little encampments as unobtrusively as possible. “Why weren't you wreaking havoc with a loaf of bread?”
“Hmm?” said Gawain, threading a needle so he could sew up his next patient. He was helping patch up the casualties of the night's festivities, since Arthur's own physician had a carrot stuck up his nose, and the surgeons in town seemed strangely reluctant to abandon their own friends and family in the middle of the night during Christmas.
“You didn't join the fight,” said Arthur. He frowned sternly at a few more latecomers, who slunk to their corners of the hall.
“Well, no,” said Gawain. “I'm a guest in your house. It would be a terrible violation of your hospitality.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. “What do you think, Pelleas?”
“Ow!” said Pelleas.
“Sorry,” said Gawain. “Try to hold your arm still.”
“Well?” asked Arthur.
Pelleas had a sullen expression on his face and a towel full of snow on his lap. He looked up at Arthur and then looked away, muttering.
“I didn't catch that,” said Arthur.
“Maelwys of Dyfed was making... inflammatory remarks,” he said. “I had to defend the honor of my country.”
Arthur nodded. “I see. And so you thought the best way to do this was by brawling in the middle of negotiations that would bring stability to your country's borders and guarantee that it would be defended in case of attack.”
“I,” said Pelleas. “Uh.”
“Yes,” said Arthur. “Uh. I'll deal with you tomorrow.”
“Keep your wound clean and dry,” added Gawain. They watched him walk gingerly back to the Dumnonians.
Gawain sighed.
“What?” asked Arthur.
“I don't understand,” said Gawain. “I thought that's why we had rules like hospitality, or courtesy. So that you'd always know how to treat others, no matter who or where you are.”
“And those are more important than the honor of your country?”
“They'd have to be, some of the time,” said Gawain.
Arthur studied him for a moment. “Is that why you left Lothian?”
Gawain looked down. “My father wants to protect Lothian,” he said. “You want to protect everyone. It didn't seem like that hard of a choice to us.”
“Hmm,” said Arthur. Gawain packed up his supplies as the servants dimmed the lights in the hall. It looked like things were finally quieting down, though Arthur had left several guards in case anyone decided to start a riot over a midnight snack.
Arthur nudged Gawain's shoulder. “Get some sleep,” he said.
“Are you sure, uncle? I can help.”
“No, it's all right,” said Arthur. “I think I can figure it out.”
~*~*~*~
The next morning, C. Artorius Pendraco, rex Logri, dux comesque Brittaniarum, et comes litoris Saxonici, once again found his wife in the hall with Britain's most awkward wedding present.
“Have you spoken to that messenger from Lothian yet?” she asked. She looked tired, but at least she was talking to him. Perhaps she considered him sufficiently chastened from having to break up a brawling mob under his own roof.
“Not yet,” he replied. “Where is he?”
“I sent him off to the kitchens to get something to eat,” said Guinevere.
“I'll track him down later,” said Arthur. “Where'd you find this?”
“The last of our baggage came in this morning,” she said. “It's a good thing, since we don't have enough tables anymore. This should at least seat everyone. I wash my hands of trying to figure out precedence at a round table, though.”
“I'm sure it will --” Arthur stopped, and his mouth dropped open. He spun around and took her by the shoulders. “Gwen, you are a genius.”
She blinked up at him. “Well, I suppose. What did I do?”
He led her over the table and pulled out her chair, then sat next to her. “Look!” he said, gesturing to the rest of the table.
Guinevere's eyes brightened. “There's no head of the table – no way of designating rank,” she said. “Everyone will be equal! You'll be able to put them all on the same level without showing disrespect – Arthur, this is exactly what you need to encourage them to put aside their sovereignty and work together!”
“Do you think it's enough?” he asked.
"It's your table," said Guinevere. "They have to respect your household, especially after their atrocious behavior yesterday. It's really no odder than some of the other things you've done. Make up something about the defenders of Britain being equal in the rightness of their cause, or something. You're good at inspirational speeches."
"True," mused Arthur.
"You can even bring it with you to all your councils. The component pieces are fairly easy to transport, so you can drag it all across the countryside, too," Guinevere continued, only a little long-suffering. “I think we even still have all the boxes.”
"Right," said Arthur, gazing mistily into the future. "If we use it consistently, they'll have to accept it..." He snapped abruptly back to the present. "Of course, we're going to have to put Kay in charge of transportation and set up."
They both paused to recall Kay's typical reaction to anything that required rearranging furniture, and shuddered.
"I think you mean you're going to have to put Kay in charge of transportation and set up," Guinevere corrected.
"You did say this was our wedding present."
"I've never had to threaten to personally maim and kill my dinner guests."
"Point," said Arthur. He stood up and pulled Guinevere's chair out for her. "Well, I can always bring along a loaf of bread if he gets violent."
"I could hit him in the face with a pie again," said Guinevere, relenting.
"Please, Gwen," said Arthur, offering her his arm. "Why must you say such hurtful things?"
~*~*~*~
"A round table?" said Kay skeptically. He hadn't even started shouting yet, which Arthur took as a good sign.
"No one will be left out, and everyone will be equal,” said Arthur. “Also, I'll have a nearly uninterrupted line of sight to anyone who needs to be taken down with a dinner roll.”
"True," said Kay. "But it's going to be an absolute bitch to pass the salt."
"There are more important things than salt, Kay."
"Not with your cook, there's not.” He rapped the wood with his knuckles. “How will this work, then?”
“It's my table, so I'm in charge, but everyone else is on the same level, pledged to work for a common goal.”
“So... it's exactly like what you've been doing.”
“Well, yes, but more symbolic. So, how about it?”
“How about what?”
“Do you want to be a Knight of the Round Table?”
“Hmm,” said Kay, frowning. “Where'd you come up with the name?”
“Where did I – sometimes I worry about you, Kay.”
“Sometimes I worry about your face. Fine, I guess I'll do it.”
Arthur grinned. “Congratulations, Sir Kay. You are the first Knight of the Round Table.”
Kay blinked. “The first?” he asked, looking faintly pleased. Then his eyes narrowed. “I suppose you want me to haul this thing wherever we go.”
“I wouldn't trust anyone else with it,” said Arthur piously. “There's lots of boxes. You could label them all.”
Kay rolled his eyes. “Well,” he said, “At least you won't hurt yourself on pointy corners any more."
~*~*~*~
Arthur walked into the atrium to once again find his niece perched precariously, this time on a reclaimed table, hanging curtains. She was being watched speculatively by Lady Helena arm-in-arm with a pile of garlands with legs that eventually revealed itself to be Sir Gawain, who still looked half-asleep.
“I don't know, Anna,” said Helena. “I mean, he's so widely disliked, and tensions are so high with Dumnonia anyway, it's pretty much down to chance who snaps first. Move that ruffle to the left – keep going – right, there, tie it off.”
“What do you think, Gawain?” asked Anna.
“I've always preferred more of a swag valance,” said Gawain.
“About Pelleas,” said Anna.
“How much gold do you have riding on this?” he asked, rather pointedly. He spoiled the effect somewhat by yawning hugely behind his hand.
Anna looked shifty-eyed. “I'm sure I have no idea what you're talking about.” She stepped down from the table. “There! What do you think?”
“Where did you find new curtains?” asked Arthur.
Anna spun around. “Uncle!” she said delightedly. “Do you like them?”
“They're very... curtainy,” he said. She raised her eyebrows at him, and he shrugged. “I thought “valance” was a place in Gaul.”
“Will the queen like them?” asked Gawain.
“Considering I have heard her state on any number of occasions that curtains are all that stand between us and the decline of civilization, yes, I think she will like them. Where did you get them?”
“Well, I've had rather good luck recently, and I thought it only fair that we help somehow after last night,” said Anna, somewhat evasively.
“And you managed to get them during Christmas?”
“My luck was particularly good,” she said.
“Right,” said Arthur. “Nephew, I'd like to speak with you. If you don't mind, Lady Anna, Lady Helena?”
They shook their heads. Gawain looked down at his armful of garlands with a slight expression of chagrin.
“Oh, just leave them, Gawain,” said Anna. “I promise not to put them all in Lady Ellylw's room.”
They began to leave, Gawain still brushing pine needles off his clothes, but Arthur stuck his head back in.
“I hope you weren't betting against me,” he said.
Anna blinked, then smiled. “Of course not, uncle,” she said. “I would never bet against you.”
~*~*~*~
“What do you think?” said Arthur, gesturing expansively. Now that there were no servants, or Kay, swearing as they tried to set up the last pieces, it was starting to look rather impressive.
“It's a table,” said Gawain. “It's very round?” He looked slightly apprehensive, like it might attack, but also stared at Arthur with all apparent faith that he was going somewhere with this.
“This,” said Arthur, “is the seat of the Knights of the Round Table.”
“Wow,” said Gawain. A moment later he added, “Forgive me, uncle, but – who are the Knights of the Round Table?”
“The Knights of the Round Table,” said Arthur, “are the very best of men. They are people who drop everything to dash across the countryside to defend someone else’s kingdom; who would fight anyone or anything, no matter how ridiculous; who can go to war and then go to dinner, and figure out a way not to kill anyone at both; who remember there’s always a greater principle to believe in, but that no principle is too great. They protect the helpless, defend the faith, and respect the weak, and their names and exploits will live on in legend.”
“Wow,” said Gawain again, eyes shining. “When were they founded?”
“This morning,” said Arthur. “Want to join?”
Gawain blinked. “Me? But – I’ve never led an army, or fought giants.”
"And I've never fought furniture," said Arthur. "Though everyone seems quite keen on naming the geography after mine. That's not the point. The point is that there was a cursed bathtub, and now there's not. The point is – ”
Arthur stopped. Gawain was looking more and more like a crushed puppy.
Arthur frowned. “A messenger from Lothian came in this morning,” he said.
“Yes.”
“With a message for you?”
“Yes.”
“Your father is sending my army back, and wants you to come home.”
“Yes.”
Arthur sighed. “We'll miss you,” he said.
“Yes,” said Gawain, looking down at his feet.
“I'm still making you a Knight of the Round Table.”
Gawain's head snapped up. “Really?” he asked.
“I'm not leaving Lothian behind,” said Arthur. “I will drag this island to safety kicking and screaming, by the ear if necessary.”
“The screaming won't be necessary, uncle,” said Gawain. “I'll do what I can.”
“Excellent,” said Arthur. “Sir Gawain, by the power vested in me as Arthur Pendragon, King of Logres, commander and count of Britain and the Saxon Shore, I hereby make you a Knight of the Round Table. May you always bring honor to its illustrious ranks.”
“Thank you, uncle,” said Gawain, looking a bit stunned. “I’ll do my best. Who else is in it?”
“Well, so far... You. And Sir Kay.” Watching Gawain’s now carefully blank face, he added, “Eventually, I'm hoping certain courtesy-challenged individuals will want to join too. But I want them to have a good example.”
“You think I'm a good example?”
Arthur looked at his nephew thoughtfully. “Yes,” he said, “I think you'll do.”
~*~*~*~
“Gwen, might I borrow you for a moment?” asked Arthur, poking his head into Guinevere's solar.
“Of course, Arthur,” she said, putting aside her accounts. She tucked her hand in his arm as they headed towards the atrium.
“There have been any number of rumors flying around about the Round Table,” she said. “But talk seems favorable. If you can make a strong enough impression tonight, I think you'll be able to carry it off for everyone.”
“I hope so,” said Arthur. “Gwen – about hostages – ”
“Yes?”
“I don't suppose we can keep them?”
She sighed. “No,” she said. “I don't suppose you can send another army to the north?”
“No,” said Arthur.
She gave his arm a gentle squeeze. “We'll work something out,” she said.
One of Guinevere’s maids burst through the door and skidded to a halt in front of them, looking flustered. She immediately dropped into a deep curtsey.
“Please excuse me, your majesties,” she said. “My king, there’s a man dressed as a sheep in your council chamber. He says he’s supposed to report to you?”
“A sheep?” said Guinevere, the corner of her mouth twitching.
“It’s an ancient tactical move,” said Arthur. “Will you do me the honor of meeting me in the atrium, my lady?”
“What’s happened to it now?” she asked in exasperation.
“Oh, not much. I'll be right back,” said Arthur, striding out of the room.
He could hear her shriek of delight as she saw the curtains all the way by the council chamber.
~*~*~*~
“I have terrible news,” announced Arthur cheerfully as he walked into the atrium. Ribbons had been spontaneously produced from somewhere, and Anna had been commandeered to divide the valance, though it was not from Gaul, into three parts. Guinevere and Gawain watched critically. “It seems King Lot was unfortunately reluctant to release my army back to my command, and has defaulted on the agreement to which the two of you were pledged.”
“So we have to stay here?” asked Gawain, looking like all his Christmases had come at once, and nobody had started fighting.
“Absolutely,” said Guinevere immediately. “I’m afraid an escort to Lothian would be out of the questions, what with the awkward conscription issue, and the province is far too unstable for you to go on your own, even if things have settled down in Bryneich. Obviously, we’d have vastly preferred if your father had honored his obligations, but ideally we’d still like to reach some sort of alliance, and your presence here is really the best facilitator for peaceful discourse.”
“Obviously,” said Anna. She held out her hand, and Gawain helped her down from the table.
“Of course,” said Arthur, scratching the back of his head, “it's not like you're prisoners, exactly. I'm sure no one would object if one day you just happened to travel in a northerly direction.”
“With some friends,” said Guinevere. “Well-armed, unaffiliated friends.”
Anna and Gawain exchanged a glance. “If it's not a strain on your hospitality, your majesties, we'd like to stay here,” said Anna.
“There's no reason for us not to uphold our end of the agreement,” said Gawain.
“It's not the most courteous household, I'll admit,” said Arthur. “I doubt you never had to deal with threats to cut people's noses off during dinner before.”
“Clearly you've never visited Lothian during the holidays,” muttered Anna.
Guinevere beamed. “We'd be delighted to have you.”
Arthur grinned. “Looks like you're stuck with us for a while.”
“I think we'll manage somehow,” said Gawain, smiling back.
~*~*~*~
Surprisingly, each of Arthur’s guests swore their oath of obedience to Arthur without starting a single international incident. Arthur supposed it was a potent combination of their collective shame and hangovers.
He led them into the Great Hall, now full repaired from the ravages of the previous night.
“My friends,” said Arthur, “I will not deny that I was greatly pained when this place of peace had become yet another battleground of strife and violence. However, just as I was beginning to despair that our fellowship was forever broken, I was given a sign, by way of my father-in-law: the Round Table!”
There was a polite murmur of awe, and one particularly whiny mutter of “A round table? What sort of evil is this?”
“Pelleas,” said Kay in a voice which Arthur was probably not supposed to hear. “Does the phrase “torn apart by wild horses” mean anything to you?”
“No.”
“It will.”
Everyone edged away from Kay and tried to look attentive and polite.
“Yes,” continued Arthur, “I was given a sign: a place of communion in our time of need. And so, I once again welcome you to my hall. At this table, we are all equal in our duty, united in our quest to preserve our kingdoms and our people.
“Knights of this table will swear to protect the helpless, uphold the faith, and respect those of lesser power,” he said, gesturing expansively. “Every one of us is needed to build a future where we leave a legacy of freedom, not conflict, for future generations. For each of us alone, the task may be daunting; but together, there is surely no enemy that cannot be repelled, no obstacle that cannot be overcome.”
Arthur stopped, feeling confident and pleased with himself as everyone nodded thoughtfully. Then he realized they expected him to keep talking.
"Is there no better place to seek this goal than that of gathering at supper?” he extemporized. “For our unity is as vital as our nourishment.” Talking about food was making him hungry, so he shifted the focus. “Face to face, we will know our fellows as friends and allies, and judge that each is as good as his word.”
The nods were even more enthusiastic, and damningly expectant.
“Furthermore, gentlemen," said Arthur, now letting his mouth run and hoping his brain would catch up soon, "this table’s circular shape recalls not only the perfection of God, whose love and laws our fellowship strives to uphold, but also symbolizes the, uh, majesty of the universal and enduring presence of, uh." At this point, his brain gave up completely, leaving his mouth to stumble across the finish line by itself. "Pie," he concluded grandly, saying the first thing that popped into his head.
"The mysterious and irrational mathematical constant which nevertheless provides the stable foundation of geometry, and hence, civilization," added Gawain. He gave Arthur a bland look, and Arthur was struck by the sudden suspicion that underneath Gawain's polite exterior lurked a – well, a polite interior, but one that was secretly trying not to laugh.
"Ahh," said the assembly, many of whom had become rather mistakenly superstitious about geometry ever since the Angles had invaded.
Kay muttered something about curtains.
“What say you, gentlemen?” asked Arthur, finally realizing that the best way to stop talking was to make everyone else do it. “Will you accept your seats at the Round Table, and rise to meet our destiny in one accord?”
The thunderous reply was a nice way to cap things off, and Arthur was pleasantly surprised that much of it seemed genuine. Apart from one of the folding chairs collapsing whenever anyone tried to sit on it, the rest of the council went off without a single problem.
~*~*~*~
By the end of the night, Arthur had acquired three new firm allies, campaigns for the next two years, and twenty-eight Knights of the Round Table. Overall, he figured this holiday probably counted as a success. If one glossed over the massive prandial insurrection, anyway.
He took his leave, Gawain trailing behind, as the servants began to clear the food and his guests made their ways off to their respective rooms or corners to turn in. Kay joined them, the unreliable folding chair stuck under his arm. “I think this seat is cursed, or something,” he said with a frown. “Gawain, you're the expert. What do you think?”
“It hasn't kidnapped anyone,” said Gawain. “We're probably safe for the time being.”
“Unless it's been cursed by one the poor souls you hit in the face with it, Kay, I'm thinking it's merely broken,” said Arthur. “Why did you even put it out?”
“In case of ambush,” said Kay.
“Perhaps it's more a metaphor for the collapse of the ideal construct in a post-lapsarian world,” said Gawain, as they entered the outer chambers of Arthur's rooms, where Guinevere and her ladies had retired for quiet conversation and certainly not to speculate who might not make it through dessert.
“Don't encourage him,” said Guinevere, Anna sprawled in a chair beside her. “Pie, Arthur?” she continued, in a long-suffering (but amused) tone.
“What?” said Arthur. “I like pie.”
“Evidently,” snorted Anna.
“Next year you can make as many pastry-related speeches as you want,” said Guinevere. “Maybe recite a poem, or sing a little song, recount the adventures of famous pies throughout history, whatever you want – as long as they're in front of a small family gathering. We'll all be very impressed, I'm sure.”
“Oh,” said Arthur. “I was actually looking forward to another big feast.”
Everybody stared at him.
“Why?” said Guinevere, completely horrified.
“It's bound to go much better. Christmas is supposed to be a relaxing and peaceful time,” he said.
“Arthur, have you not paid attention at Christmas ever?” said Kay.
“All right, fine, the holiday has, on occasion, been a bit – eventful,” said Arthur, “But future Christmases will definitely be relaxing and peaceful.”
Several prophecies, coronations, decapitations, and ghostly apparitions later, Arthur was forced to conclude his “totally wrong” phase lasted for quite some time.
~*~*~*~
Now that all the business had been accomplished, the feasting continued for the rest of the week. By that point the partying had started blurring together, though Arthur never quite stopped feeling grateful when he managed to leave a feast with all his food safely in his stomach. On the last night, however, he stopped short as the doors were thrown open for the last gathering of the Round Table for the season.
“There are tablecloths,” he said.
“Of course there are, what do you think I – oh!” sputtered Guinevere, as Arthur spun her into his arms and kissed her soundly.
“I love you,” said Arthur.
She blinked up at him a few times, then smiled. “Well, we're not barbarians, are we?”
“We could be stylish barbarians.”
“Don't be foolish: tablecloths stand between us and the decline of civilization.”
Arthur grinned at her. “I thought that was curtains,” he said.
“Yes, those too,” she said. She gave him a sidelong glance, and added, “I suppose you help occasionally, as well.”
“Occasionally?”
“Often enough,” she said, then smiled brilliantly at him. He took her arm, and they entered the hall with the fanfare of trumpets into the company of the Knights of the Round Table.