On the second day of the sixteenth year of his reign, Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot (and attempted king of the rest of the Five Kingdoms as well, but that had failed horribly and nobody (by which I mean Uther) wanted to hear it spoken of) strode confidently into the armoury, stepped on his cloak, tripped, and fell, which would not have been a cause for immediate concern (Of course it wouldn't have, Sa- er, I mean, Safiyah? Who is Safiyah? I don't know a Safiyah. No, definitely not, why would you ever think that? I am not in love with anyone named Safiyah, thank you very much. Besides, even if I were in love with this Safiyah character, she'd probably be in love with someone named Callum or Cellen or something. (Shut up, Esmerelda.) Anyway, I should get back to the story.) if he had not somehow managed to fall onto the rack containing the weaponry that was only to be used by royalty (and only on feast days) and thus trigger other shelves of weaponry to collapse onto him (don't ask me how, Esmerelda, I don't know. This was over a millennium ago. Obviously, none of us were alive then. What? No, Esmerelda, I am not immortal. Don't be ridiculous. I'm not a time traveller either. Honestly, the ideas you get sometimes... Wait, I've gotten off topic again, haven't I? Yes, I have).
The king's corpse was not a sight for the fainthearted, as one poor unfortunate maid discovered after she and some of her fellows (no, Esmerelda, not bedfellows) had managed to get the body out from under the collapsed shelves of weaponry (don't worry, she survived). There was a riddling mass of holes all over the king's body, and seven different blades were stuck in him. Needless to say, the servants were not happy about having to clean both the king's body and the rather large pool of blood he left behind, and made several complaints of the difficulty of completing the task without major injury (Mary and Clarissa did in fact die of infected cuts a week later, but only their sister Olwen cared).
Once the initial shock had worn off, the king's body had been cleaned and the other knights in the armoury had assured everyone that no, this tragic, unfortunate incident of terrible misfortune was not their fault, Sir Elan, son of Alixandre, was heard talking to Sir Aglaral, son of Andret, about how: "I've been trying to get him to listen for years. The cloaks are an accident waiting to happen, never mind the red being useless for hiding and camouflage. We can probably be seen from great distances with those red cloaks. But did our floundering fool of a king listen? Did he?"
"Like an idiot, he did not," Sir Aglaral, son of Andret, was heard responding, shaking his head with a sigh.
"Stupid kings and their idiotic obsession with aesthetics," Sir Elan, son of Alixandre, was heard concluding.
(They really didn't get paid enough for the stupidity and ridiculousness they had to deal with on a daily basis.)
Once Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot (but not of the Five Kingdoms), had been declared absolutely, totally, definitely, extremely, really very dead, there followed an extremely urgent and quite panicked meeting of the Council (aside from one dead member and three uninvited ones) to decide who should succeed the now deceased king. Now, if the king had been sensible (a feat that happened once a blue moon) and actually named an heir, this would not have had to happen, but as it was, he had not, meaning this decision would now fall to the Council to make.
The first candidate for the throne discussed by the Council was Gorlois, the Queen's first husband (and possibly the only one she had loved). "He is in no way related to King Uther, may his soul be at peace, and so could not possibly be given the crown," argued Lord Lucan Athelard; "it would perhaps tempt the queen to remarriage before the end of the mourning period," agreed Lord Gareth Griffin; "he was a fine friend and advisor to the late king," argued Geoffrey, stroking his beard.
Next on the list of potential rulers was the king's legitimate daughter, Anna, who had been proclaimed the Grace of Camelot on her fifth birthday and was renowned throughout Camelot (and possibly the rest of the Five Kingdoms) for her loving and just nature, as well as her will to act against injustices. "She is not so young that she could have no say in governing, and is the only one of the king's children to live past the age of five yet," argued Lady Isolda de Luthien, a steadfast advocate for the rights of women; "only a girl," argued Lord Meleager (not important enough to have a last name), a loyal believer in male primogeniture; "only a girl," agreed Lord Gareth Griffin. (No, I am not the reincarnation of Anna Pendragon, Esmerelda! Nor am I Elaine of Garlot's. I am not a reincarnation! ESMERELDA! STOP!)
The Council then considered the suitability of the king's wife, Queen Ygraine, for the role of regent. "A woman," argued Lord Meleager, to the surprise of absolutely zero people; "a woman that spent many a year governing alongside the king," argued Gaius, the Court Physician; "a woman much beloved by commoners and nobility alike," said Lady Isolda de Luthien, frowning severely at Lord Meleager.
Lord Lucan Athelard brought up the king's bastard daughter, Morgana, born of the queen's first husband's current wife, the Lady Vivienne. "An illegitimate girl on the throne of Camelot?" asked Lord Gareth Griffin. "We'd be laughing stock!"; "besides the girl's unfortunate circumstance of birth, she has barely seen the change of two summers," Lady Isolda de Luthien begrudgingly agreed with Lord Gareth Griffin; "only a girl," argued Lord Meleager; "giving her husband's illegitimate child the crown would be a grave insult to the queen," argued Gaius.
Lord Meleager suggested the one candidate it was clear he would throw his whole support behind: the, as yet unborn, babe in Queen Ygraine's womb - "most probably a boy, as the king and that witch believed," he argued; "a child not even born has not what is needed for governing," Lady Isolda de Luthien shook her head in obvious disapproval; "judging by the queen's previous children, very unlikely to live past the age of five," argued Gaius.
(Nobody at the table tried to suggest the Queen's eldest daughter, Elaine of Garlot, seventeen to Anna's fourteen, which was just as well as most would have objected to Elaine being given the crown due to the fact that Elaine was born of the Queen's previous marriage to Gorlois, the Duke of Cornwall. (And some because of their misogynistic views.))
Lady Isolda de Luthien frowned. "Come to think of it, where is Nimueh? Is she not a member of this council anymore?"
Lord Meleager arranged his face in what he perhaps believed to be a comforting smile, but was more akin to a vicious snarl. "I did not think it... a matter that the witch would be interested in."
"No," said Lady Isolda de Luthien. "Clearly our Court Sorceress that so graciously extended her help in matters of childbearing to the queen would be entirely uninterested in the rather more delicate games of inheritance, instead preferring to be deliberately kept out of a Council meeting in which she would have absolutely no insights to share." Lady Isolda de Luthien took a deep breath, and would have continued with her tirade if the doors to the Council Chambers had not at that precise moment been opened by the visibly furious trio of the aforementioned Court Sorceress, the Duke of Cornwall, and the Queen's brother, Tristan de Bois, who somehow managed to slam a door that had been built so as not to slam (on second thought, it was perhaps the magic of the Court Sorceress and dear friend to the Queen that achieved the feat, rather than the Queen's brother).
"Why," hissed the Queen's brother, "were none of us three informed of this meeting?"
"It seems that our Lord Meleager believed it would be entirely inappropriate for you to be present here," said Lady Isolda de Luthien, as cold as ice, narrowing her eyes at Lord Meleager. "Perhaps he knew that none of you would agree with his rather narrow views on the succession."
"Is that so?" asked the Court Sorceress, looking as if she were a moment away from arranging her hands into the familiar stance that all members of the Council had seen strike fear into the hearts of Camelot's enemies on the battlefield.
Lord Meleager sneered and opened his mouth to say something, but his words were lost to history as the Queen's brother fixed him with a stare that would make the bravest of men quail, whilst a hand rested on the pommel of his sword, his other hand drifting between the handles of three different blades - the Queen's brother was the sort to believe that having no visible (for he always had at least one concealed dagger on his person) blade in sight of his body was "inviting disagreement, and my brother-in-law does enough of that for the entire family, his and Gorlois' children not of my dear sister included."
"Careful, my dear Lord Malignant," the Queen's brother said in a mild tone, although the glinting of his weapons betrayed his true feelings. "You wouldn't want anyone to get the wrong idea, would you?"
"Of course he wouldn't," replied the Queen's first husband, the Duke of Cornwall, "but I fear it is already too late for that." He smiled sharply at the one that would now forever be known by the Queen's family as Lord Malignant.
The man that I shall henceforth refer to as Lord Malignant glared darkly at both the Queen's brother and the Duke of Cornwall. Both men remained unphased.
Nimueh smiled a smile of sweet poison. "You know," began the Court Sorceress in a tone that most would describe as pleasant (the Council members knew better), "it would be such a shame if word of your lack of respect for the Princess somehow, magically, got to my friend the Queen's ear."
Lord Malignant tried to seem as if he were not absolutely terrified of the woman that could (and would) poison him with none being the wiser (aside from the queen and her daughters, who wouldn't care anyway). Of course, he failed miserably at this, as all members of the Council (excluding the late king, may he suffer in the flames for all eternity for all the ways he had caused pain to those around him, especially the queen, his supposed "best friend" the Duke of Cornwall, both of his daughters, the Duke of Cornwall's second wife, and the Duke of Cornwall's daughters with his first and second wives) had been trained to read facial expressions, as well as body language, from the age of five. "You wouldn't," scoffed Lord Malignant in an attempt at being dismissive, which was an absolute, spectacular fail.
Nimueh's smile widened and she laughed. "Come now, my lord," said she, "we both have sat on these very seats since Uther conquered Camelot, and were members of the Council whilst we were still locked in vicious combat with those that had torn Camelot out of the grasp of his family. If you have learned anything about me over all those years, it is that I absolutely would tell the Queen about your disregard for young Anna."
Lord Malignant scowled at the reminder that the Court Sorceress had been on the Council as long as he, and opened his mouth to say something about this, but once more was a member of the Council of Camelot interrupted by the opening of the door.
This time, only one person stepped through the door and this person was not anyone from either nobility or royalty, although she had been sent by the latter. The Queen's maid, Elen, currently pregnant with her first child, a boy that in a different universe would become Morris, ill-fated (but not death-marked as Merlin and Arthur were), and hardly as well known as the next, manservant to Prince Arthur of Camelot, was the one with the pleasure of stopping the much loathed enemy noble from continuing his argument with the ever graceful and violent High Priestess.
Servants were not usually permitted entrance into the Council Chambers during meetings of the Council (nor were they allowed on hunting trips, but that's another matter entirely), as Lord Malignant, irritated that nothing was going his way, snapped at Elen.
Elen hissed at him (and I mean that quite literally), much to the amusement of the majority of the Council. The hissing went on for exactly 18.18 seconds (Lady Isolda de Luthien counted), before Elen addressed the entirety of the Council: "The Queen and Princess would like to know if it is the intention of the Council to let them have no say in the current proceedings."
"I don't know about the rest of the Council," spoke Lady Isolda de Luthien, "but I would say it is definitely his intention." She jerked her head towards Lord Malignant, fighting to hide an amused grin.
"I see," said Elen calmly, although her dark stare at Lord Malignant betrayed the true depths of her fiery, dragonesque, fury. (She may have been born outside her mother's marriage bed, but she was still the granddaughter of a dragonlord through her.) She turned to the Queen's brother and first husband, eyes still narrowed. "And what about you?" she asked. "Was the legendary love you are said to hold for my lady not enough for you to even think about including her in this? After all, it's not like she spent year after year after year doing her best to give Camelot what the king desired for an heir, even after she was cruelly ripped away from her first daughter, who had barely seen the change of two summers."
"On the contrary," said the Duke of Cornwall, "my former brother-in-law, the Court Sorceress and I were not even informed of this meeting, and only found out when we heard voices arguing. It appears that he," he pointed a steady finger at Lord Malignant, "decided that our input was as unnecessary as he deemed that of darling Ygraine and her royal daughter."
Elen continued to stare at the two in deep disapproval, before eventually turning away from them. "Very well, then."
"Hold on, said Lord Malignant, "you're only a serving girl. You can't give orders to us."
Elen raised an eyebrow. "Are you truly so ignorant as to forget that the word of your Queen and the true heir are not mere guidelines, but law, and that they both outrank you by far?"
"She's right," remarked Lady Isolda de Luthien as Lord Malignant opened his mouth to make an indignant reply. He closed his mouth with a huff. "I propose that we break up this conversation that was never going to go anywhere anyway, and reconvene sometime after the king's funeral."
"Excellent," said the Queen's brother, getting out of his seat and stretching. "I'm going to go to my dear sister and nieces. Perhaps that will remove the stench of our resident prejudiced Council member."
"I do NOT smell!" shrieked Lord Malignant.
"Whatever you say, Malignant," replied the Queen's brother, leaving the room.
Lord Malignant took quick, angry breaths. "DO NOT CALL ME THAT ABOMINATION OF A NAME!" screamed the lord. He glanced at Lord Gareth Griffin, the only one still in the room. (The others had made their exits whilst Lord Malignant released his anger.) "Can you believe his nerve?"
"Tristan de Bois is Queen Ygraine's beloved brother," said Lord Gareth Griffin. As if Lord Malignant needed the reminder! "He could get away with just about anything, short of attacking Camelot or her people or guests. And really, he could have done much worse, you know."
"I thought that you, of all people would be on my side, at least. It seems I was mistaken." Lord Malignant, still fuming, stormed out of the Council Chambers.
Lord Gareth Griffin sighed. He knew that if Malignant continued like this (which he would), he would end up in a grave (well, he would anyway, but you get the gist) sometime in the not too distant future. At least that way he wouldn't have to deal with the other man's constant plotting.
The funeral of Uther Pendragon, King of Camelot (but not of the Five Kingdoms), was held the very next day. Although many courtiers and commoners were present, nobody truly seemed as if they were at all sad about the king's death, apart from Gaius, and even then only slightly. Oh, they had appropriately mournful expressions on their faces, but these were quite obviously false. (Nobody had forgotten the fate nearly suffered by the queen numerous times over the course of her marriage to the king.) Some didn't even bother trying to appear sorrowful. In fact, Queen Ygraine looked the happiest she had been since being forcibly and forcefully torn away from her young daughter, now seventeen years of age and married to Nentres of Garlot. Princess Anna, the Grace of Camelot, looked more at ease than anyone had ever seen her in all her fourteen years of life. (The servants whispered that she had torn the king's chambers apart in a controlled frenzy with the dagger her uncle Tristan gave her, furious at her father's (curse that word) harmful actions towards her mother and family, and grateful that he was no longer around to torment them.)
All in all, a successful funeral, all would agree. After all, there were no deaths or acts of violence.
The next Council meeting was called the day after the unmourned king's funeral. Lady Isolda de Luthien was the first to arrive, followed by Lord Lucan Athelard, Malignant, Lord Gareth Griffin, Gaius and Geoffrey. There was a pause as they all realised they were missing people.
"After that display the day before yesterday, they haven't even bothered to come," scoffed Malignant. "Well, let's get on with it then."
Immediately after he had finished speaking, the doors were opened with what one might describe as a flourish, and Queen Ygraine walked gracefully into the Council Chambers (although at this point it should probably be called the argument room), behind whom were Princess Anna Pendragon, the Grace of Camelot, her sister Elaine beside her. The two were followed by their uncle, the Duke of Cornwall, the Court Sorceress, Sir Elan, son of Alixandre, and Elen.
Anna sat down in the big fancy chair. Her mother and sister sat on either side of her, whilst her uncle stood behind her at her right. The rest of the Council members took their usual seats. Elen and Elan remined standing, hands intertwined, smiling softly at each other, an air of relief surrounding them.
"It seems you spoke too soon," remarked Lady Isolda de Luthien to Malignant, much to his continuing irritation.
"What do you mean?" asked Elaine sharply.
Lady Isolda de Luthien gestured to Malignant and then said, "After he realised that none of you were here, he suggested starting without you."
"Ah," said Elaine. "Now I see why my uncle calls him Malignant."
Malignant bristled. "Why, you little -"
Tristan's hand inched closer to his sword, and Queen Ygraine raised an eyebrow, daring him to finish the sentence. Gorlois was furious bur said nothing as he did not wish to drag things out even further. Anna looked as if she wanted to stab him with a dagger drenched in the poison of the mortaeus flower. (Perhaps she had spent too much time with Camelot's resident expert on poisons, Nimueh.)
Nimueh cleared her throat. "In any case, we have decided what will happen."
"We have?" asked Lord Lucan Athelard.
"Oh, brilliant," said Lord Gareth Griffin, standing up and heading to the door. "I can finally do something worthwhile."
"Sit down," ordered the Duke of Cornwall. The lord grumbled but complied with obvious reluctance.
"As Nimueh was saying," said Tristan, "we have decided what will happen."
"Yes, we've established that already, even if some of us have no idea exactly what will happen," interrupted Lord Gareth Griffin.
Gaius sighed deeply, clearly regretting waking up early to be on time for the meeting.
Elaine decided to take charge, turning to Geoffrey. "You're going to crown my darling sister," she announced.
Geoffrey nodded. "Of course."
Malignant did not look pleased and would, in fact, have told everyone this if Lord Gareth Griffin, wishing he could leave, had not glared at him in a silent warning to keep quiet.
"Why are Sir Elan and your maidservant with us?" Lord Lucan Athelard asked the Queen.
"Elen is pregnant with my child," blurted out Sir Elan, son of Alixandre.
"And that explains what you are doing here, how, exactly?" drawled Malignant.
"Elan's father is eager for a betrothal between him and Lady Igerna. However, both Elen and Elan have begged me to allow them to get married so that Elan's father won't disown him for marrying a commoner. I have agreed to their request," explained the Queen Dowager.
"I'm... not sure that fully explains their presence," said Lord Lucan Athelard.
"Sir Elan is my new sworn protector," chirped Anna. "He didn't want to risk an attack on my person, so he came with me. Elen insisted on accompanying us."
Lady Isolda de Luthien, who had mostly been silent thus far, nodded to them both. "Congratulations!"
The couple beamed.
The Throne Room was brimming with people, nobles and commoners alike, as they awaited with eager eyes the ascension of the new girl-queen to the Pendragon Throne.
It was not long before the doors were thrown open, and the young queen strode inside with all the grace and elegance of a leopard, the crowd parting seamlessly to let her through. When she reached the steps leading to the throne, she sank to her knees.
Geoffrey walked to her, holding the crown. "By the power vested in me," he began, "I crown thee Anna Pendragon, Queen of Camelot." He lowered the crown onto her head amidst fierce cheers from the crowd.
Queen Anna rose to her feet and ascended the steps, before sitting down on her throne.
"Long live Queen Anna!" yelled Elaine, the chant being taken up by everyone else soon after.
"Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen! Long live the Queen!" roared the crowd ever louder.
Queen Anna (valiant, yes, but not yet Queen Anna the Valiant) smiled.
Once the official mourning period had passed, Lord Gareth Griffin's fears came true, and the Duke of Cornwall split with his wife, the Lady Vivienne, and married Queen Dowager Ygraine in a small ceremony conducted by Geoffrey. The Lady Vivienne, for her part, took her fall in status with all the grace of a practiced and formidable courtier, as she had indeed become in the years of her marriage to Gorlois, and left courtly matters behind her for the time being as she completed her training as a High Priestess on the Isle of the Blessed. All agree that she found true happiness there, especially when the time came for Nimueh's weekly visit.
What of Vivienne's daughters? Have no fear. Morgana and Morgause grew up alongside their stepmother's only living son, Arthur Pendragon, the boy that would once have been a king, but no longer. There was no Purge, no jagged split that divided the Five Kingdoms in such a cruel and harsh way. There was no Emrys.
The conflict that gave birth to him had never begun, so there would be no great saviour of magic needed.
Instead, there was merely the boy-prophet Merlin, who, although still the most powerful of his generation, would not go down in history in quite the same way as Emrys, the shining beacon of hope for the Old Religion, risen from the bloody, murky depths of a senseless slaughter.