"Moira, forgive me if I sound a bit insane, but this all feels rather surreal to me." Artie told the younger woman as she helped her get dressed. Moira had called for another set of hands, and the two women had pulled over an elaborate room divider before helping to start getting her dressed. Artie felt like a medieval barbie, especially with the layers the two young women put her in. "This all feels like a rather elaborate final moment for me. I don't know why it hurts so much, but then again, my life hasn't been easy until now." Artie stated and Moira nodded while tying a few strings together. Artie had no idea what she was wearing. Sure, she'd liked history well enough, but hadn't dipped into the fashion trends of the times. She knew the basics. Greek clothing, tunics, togas, whatever. Roman clothing, very similar, but not quite. Then you got into medieval clothing that was full of breeches, linen loose tops, brass buttons, and leather belts. In amongst all that, cloaks. That's all she knew. So whatever the girls were making her put on, she had very little background knowledge on it.
There was a point where Moira had left her standing, in a panic, naked, while she went to go get the clothes they were currently putting on her. It was an awkward time, since the guards had been still in the room, facing away from her, and the divider hadn't been put up yet.
"My Lady, I am not aware of what you went through before this, but I cannot imagine someone who ended up with the wound you did had an easy life." Moira stated dryly, and Artie almost snorted. Almost. Moira and her helper plucked the nice, deep blue dress from the bed and began pulling it onto Artie's damaged frame. After she was tied in again, Moira began playing with her hair. Trying to tame the mess of curls and that only made Artie shake her head with a smile.
"It's a lost cause, Moira. No one can tame them. Just leave them. I don't want to leave the others waiting for too long. Who knows how upset they'll be?" Moira frowned at her behaviour, before sighing and shaking her head.
"You must let me put something on you to brighten your complexion. You look like the walking dead." She stated, and Artie waved her hand.
"I am that, Moira." The poor other young lady seemed flustered, unsure what to do when Moira rolled her eyes.
"Alright, if you want to be seen by the round table in that state, who am I to disagree with the honoured guest of the great Merlin?" Artie couldn't help the snort that left her then, and her eyes sparkled as she looked over the wispy girl. She had long brown hair pulled up into an elaborate braided hairstyle at the top of her head, and wide, grey eyes set into a rather plump looking face despite her frame. She was strong too, given how she had manhandled Artie quickly and efficiently, and she was funny. Pretty sarcastic for a woman who was supposed to help others. Artie was fairly certain that if she was correct, the position Moira and the other girl occupied was called a handmaiden. They were servants that for the most part were supposed to be demure and silent unless spoken to. Moira, well, she wasn't that. Artie didn't hate that. It was nice to have someone to distract her from everything.
Moira finished by helping her step into some leather soled shoes, and noticed that Artie had her hand pressed delicately against her wound. She frowned, standing at her full height, about half a head shorter than Artie.
"Are you in pain, my Lady?" She asked quietly, and Artie sighed.
"Yes, but not enough to stop me. Let's go. Merlin seems like an impatient man to me." Moira's eyes widened at Artie's words, and she followed behind her as she headed for the doors. The two guards stared at Artie for a moment before they fumbled with the door and opened it for the two women. There were another set of guards outside of the room as well. Huh.
Moira started off in one direction, while the girl who had come to assist her went in the other direction. Artie, who was unsure who she was supposed to be following, stood frozen in the hallway. Moira glanced behind her and found that she wasn't being followed. She tsked rather loudly, before stomping back towards Artie.
"My Lady, follow me please." Moira stated tartly, and Artie smiled. Now that she had a guide, Artie began to look around the hallways with interest. She was either in a castle, or a movie set. Those weren't mutually exclusive either. The floors were nicely polished and cut from stone. They were also quite flat. The walls were covered in drapes and tapestries, and Artie assumed it was to keep the heat in when it got colder. The more she looked at the fabric, the more she realised how detailed each piece was, and there had to be dozens, if not hundreds of them. Dear god, this was a textiler's wet dream.
The hallways were large enough that 8 people could walk shoulder to shoulder and still not be squished together. At least, the hallways Moira was leading her down. She could see offshoots that were narrower. Maybe, two, three people wide? It was still impressive, even if they were smaller. Artie could recall castles she'd visited which had also been primarily made out of stone that hadn't been this expansive. She wondered how they managed it, as Moira continued to lead the way. Their leather soled shoes made no noise on the stone floors, and Artie felt like she was floating. She was slowly coming to terms with the fact that she was potentially still alive, she was in a ginormous castle she'd never heard of, and a guy who called himself Merlin had told her that they had returned the holy sword back to the lady of the lake. If there was one thing, one area Artie would consider herself an expert, it was the story of King Arthur of Camelot. Or stories. There were many interpretations of the lore, and due to the nature of who her birth parents had been, Artie knew quite a bit. In fact, her full name was based on it. So she could clearly say, the only time she had ever heard of the sword being returned, was after King Arthur had died. But the way Merlin said it, something felt…wrong. She couldn't put her finger on it, but Merlin seemed too young. Even if this was a reenactment, Merlin in the stories was much older, or at least portraying himself as much older then. Maybe the texts were wrong? A mistranslation perhaps. Maybe it was peace time, and Arthur was switching out his sword?
Moira led the two of them down a series of hallways, each as wide as the last, and Artie didn't pay attention at all. As far as she was concerned, she didn't need to. She could wake up at any point, so who needed to keep track of where she was going? What did amuse her as they continued were the shocked faces of the people they passed. Clearly, they were not expecting her nor Moira to come around a corner. Clearly, wherever she was, people had already heard rumours about her. Artie had just smiled at their shocked expressions. There was no need to be rude to them, since none of them had been rude to her.
That was when Moira stopped in the middle of a hallway in front of a huge set of wooden doors. The doors felt like they sucked the air out of the hallway, making it a few degrees colder. Compared to the other wooden doors she'd come across, these two seemed to be made of one, thick piece of wood. It surprised her, since the doors dwarfed her in size. Added to their mysticism was the fact that intricate, detailed drawings were carved into the doors themselves, and Artie found herself hesitant to even touch the wood. Whoever had done this was a true artist, and she hoped that they had been paid well. In classic fashion, the door knockers were dragons. Of course they were dragons. The doors themselves were also bracketed by two guards who were wearing more formal attire. Moira motioned for them to knock, and raising an eyebrow, one did. As soon as the guard's hand got a safe distance away from the door, they were flung open. Merlin stood on the other side, glee on his face and a smile all the way across.
"You were far quicker than I anticipated. Come on in, dear." Moira stepped back and away from Artie and Merlin, and Artie took that to mean she was on her own now. She was going to enter this room without her sidekick. It was a little upsetting, since she'd gotten used to having Moira by her side. And now, she was faced with the daunting task of meeting the people who considered themselves the round table alone. She swallowed, and stiffly followed Merlin into the room. She froze as soon as Merlin stepped to the side and the doors closed behind them.
There it was.
The round table of legend.
Only 8 of the 16 or so seats were filled, which meant the others had to be out and about, doing their jobs while the rest had the time to gather at Merlin's call. That being said, there were still quite a few knights in the room. On chairs pressed against the walls, standing with their arms crossed. They might not have been knights of the round, but they still held an important sway in the city.
The room itself was what she could consider on the smaller side. It fit the round table, all the giant chairs, and there was enough room for a row of chairs around it as well, but that was it. She would have expected a larger space, maybe open to the air, if she hadn't seen how the rest of the castle was laid out. Maybe this was an original room? That was the only thing she could guess.
Artie, for her part, was frozen still even as her mind raced a mile a minute. She remained near the doors, unable to move closer towards the table. Even if it was a replica, it was a damn near good one, and she was having a hard time. It also didn't help that the seat that she expected to be filled, the one that was obviously meant for the King, was empty. The 8 men sitting around the table stared at her, and Artie felt her pulse race.
"She's awake!" Merlin sang, quite pleased with himself. In fact, she was pretty sure he was the only one pleased in the whole room. As Artie looked around the table, she was quite surprised by the diversity she found there. Three of the men at the table were white, but the other five, and several of the people around the table were not. There was someone who she might have thought of as first nations, but she wasn't sure, two people of african descent, someone who appeared to be from spain or portugal, and a person of asian descent. She was leaning towards Chinese, but she didn't want to assume.
Merlin was continuing to stare at Artie, along with the others in the room, and it was making her quite uncomfortable.
"Uh, what seems to be the problem?" She asked and Merlin laughed.
"You are a strange one, aren't you? Aren't you going to introduce yourself?" He prodded and Artie could feel heat spread to her cheeks before she cleared her throat.
"What's the point in that? You're either going to think I'm a spy, a monster, or a traitor of some kind. I'm not really liking my odds of survival right now." Merlin's green gaze sparkled as the room went up in chatter. She could tell that she had offended quite a few of the men in the room, but mostly on the outskirts. The men seated at the table seemed mildly surprised. The man she had pegged as Spanish or Portuguese threw his head back and laughed.
"She's right. We are all waiting to judge her. If she's so worried, I'll do it first. I am the knight known as Percival, but you may call me Sir Percy." Surprised, Artie gave a slight nod and he grinned. His brown eyes danced as he looked her over. "It is good to see you are not as pale as before. We thought you were already dead when you arrived." Artie sighed at his clear teasing, and instead answered sincerely.
"I did as well. I'm trying to figure out if that was a blessing or a curse."
"Why stabbed you?" The voice overtook all other noise in the room, commanding attention. Artie met his green eyes quietly. If she had to guess, this man was Sir Lancelot, but that was just a guess. He had black hair, long, but no nonsense. His green eyes were bright and clear, and he had a strong jaw. He was the perfect form of masculinity and she could see, if this was Sir Lancelot, why he became a problem for Arthur.
"Well, the easy answer is someone I trusted." She didn't elaborate and Merlin shook his head with a grin.
"Someone you trusted? Are they still around? Why would they stab you?" She gave the 'wizard' a look. He couldn't be satisfied with the easy answer, could he?
"She got in with the wrong crowd. Apparently, they wanted to use me. When I confronted her about it, it ended poorly. I got stabbed. Does that clear it up for you?" Merlin only seemed more confused.
"They wanted to use you? How would they do that? I mean, besides her being someone you trusted?" Merlin kept asking the questions that Artie really didn't want to answer. It was still too fresh, and she didn't know any of these people. She had no idea if they were going to be bigots or not, so she really had to tread carefully. She sighed.
"I work for a group of individuals who follow, dig up information and persecute people like the group she was a part of. I am assuming you guys know who the police are?" Blank stares across the room and she blinked. They were really into roleplaying. "Okay, the police and like knights. I work for a specific branch of knights who hunt down human shaped monsters." One of the men scoffed, and Artie wasn't surprised when it was one of the white men. He had flaxen hair, he was ripped to the high heavens, and had brown eyes.
"A woman, as a knight? Forgive me, but no knight of ours would get almost killed by a friend." Artie raised an eyebrow.
"Forgive me, but it isn't as if she came at me with the knife right away. Of course we were in a place that felt safe, and when I realised what was happening, it was too late. I doubt any of you would think a fellow at this table would betray you, would you?" Merlin snickered. It felt like he was using her to stir up the others, like a little trickster, and she didn't like it. The man who had challenged Artie went red in the face, and Sir Percy laughed loudly.
"She has you there, Sir Bedivere, and I doubt that will be the last time either." An awkward pause made everyone glance around before Sir Percy spoke again. "Can you use any weapons?" What was up with their obsession with weapons? Artie shrugged, then winced at the way that tugged on her wound.
"None that have been invented yet."