taxonomites | 005: [ visual ] chivalry isn't dead

Usually, Arthur is good with public speaking. He's made countless rousing speeches, and being a prince has meant a great deal of being thrust into centre stage. It's a bit different when you're talking into a funny little machine though, and you can't actually see the masses of people you're addressing. Still, when he speaks, it's with an even (and slightly regal) confidence.

"My name is Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot. There are a few of you with whom I've spoken, and many more I have not."

"I'm making this announcement because I seek the assistance of those who would protect this city from the dangers that all too frequently seem to assail it."

"My kingdom, at home, is protected by a force of knights. We work together to ensure the safety of our people, and to defend against attacks - be it from fell creatures or simple troublemakers."

"It is my goal to establish a force like that here in Taxon. Being a knight requires courage, fortitude and discipline. You need only respond if you possess these qualities. Some experience in combat would be desirable, but if you have none and still wish to serve, I would be prepared to teach you."

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"The hell!"

Arthur was probably not expecting quite such an... emphatic response, but that's what he's going to get, along with a look of pure blazing outrage.

Apparently he hit a nerve.

Well, that's odd. Arthur arches an eyebrow, looking... disdainfully confused, if such a combination is possible.

"...is there a problem?"

Minus the official tone, he recognizes the voice, one he hasn't put a face to until now. Or a name, for that matter, but he's far from mollified on that count. "Problem, he says. I've some patience with fools, but none with liars."

Well. That's blunt.

Blunt indeed. He's making the transition from mystified to genuinely pissed off, which is apparent in his reply.

"You had better have a very good reason for insulting my honor."

"You had better have one for insulting my intelligence," coolly. "You are no Arthur, nor any of his."

"That's assuming you have any intelligence to insult." (Said in similarly icy tones.) At this point, if they were face to face, he'd be throwing down a gauntlet.

"I am Arthur, son of Uther, and you should either tell me who you are immediately or face me in single combat."

"Mordred," precise and dry, "son of Morgause. You could have had that for the asking."

At this point, Arthur laughs - it's almost like a bark, and doesn't actually contain much mirth.

"Impossible. The Mordred I know is a Druid boy of no more than ten years. You are either deluded or insane or both, and my money's on the last one."

Mordred shrugs. "That's as may be. There is, however, only one Pendragon." The white fury is past, or at least controlled; he regards Arthur's image with dour patience. "I don't, of course, discount the notion, but you might let it stand on its own merits."

"Yes, there is only one, and I am him." Arthur retorts, exasperated. Of course, he shouldn't care what this man claiming to be Mordred thinks, but it's a matter of principle.

"What's more, if we were in Camelot, you'd be put in the stocks for your impertinence - if you doubt my identity, you may consult the Lady Morgana, and she will confirm it."

The threat, oddly enough, gets a grin of what looks like genuine good humor. "Not impossible. It may come to that yet. Meanwhile, you fail to convince me."

"What proof would you have, then?" He demands, not quite managing to echo the good humor, he's a bit too irritated for that.

"In truth, none. Unless some witchery has turned my King and kinsman into an argumentative boy, in which case he has worse troubles than my doubts." This last, despite himself, with a bitter edge.

005: [ visual ] chivalry isn't dead

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