Appartement plat de Lucy

Aslan, le moggy farouchement coloré et semblable à un lion qu'il était, s'amusait avec amour à Aravis. Lucy a balancé sa tête autour du coin, les cheveux mouillés et enchevêtrés mais autrement prêts pour la journée dans une robe de soleil jaune. "Quelque gardienne que vous êtes," dit-elle chastissamment au chat, qui s'est effondré vers elle et s'est battue en signe de protestation quand elle a essayé de le prendre. Lucy a fait des bruits apaisants à l'arrière de son cou et il l'a accepté avec seulement quelques égratignures.
Pour ainsi dire, elle a offert un petit sourire fatigué à Aravis. Les cernes sous ses yeux la pesaient comme des sacs de sable, ou le lourd fardeau d'un royaume sur ses épaules.
« Je vais bien, Aravis », a dit Lucy rapidement pour rassurer son amie de longue date. « Ce n'est pas moi qui ai été blessé – c'était Dorothy. Croyez-moi, si j'étais en danger, vous le sauriez. Qui d'autre s'enregistrerait tous les jours avec vous?" Le bruit de la brique tremblante et du mortier a dû être un peu plus fort que les cris de son voisin, s'ils existaient même en premier lieu.
Lucy a retiré la serviette autour de son cou pour frotter ses cheveux, se détournant de la préoccupation d'Aravis pour un bref moment. Elle en a été reconnaissante. Il l'a réchauffée à ses os même où le brouillard épais et froid de Mystvale s'était installé.
"Hansel! Entrez!" Lucy a dit d'ouvrir la porte pour lui. Elle regardait ses éraflures avec un regard curieux, se demandant si c'était une rencontre avec le contrenaturel ou quelque chose de plus quotidien qui les causait. L'un ou l'autre résultat a produit un tut de désapprobation ou de sympathie. "La compagnie de deux, mais trois, c'est une fête – je vais mettre la bouilloire."
Elle les a cognés dans la cuisine, et a commencé à le faire. Sur la table derrière elle était une paire de pantoufles rouges rubis, le seul artefact de la maison de Dorothy qu'elle devait cacher de l'enquête policière.




L'abode d'Humble de la Hatter -> La magnifique librairie de la Hatter


J'ai pensé que le Hatter à trois heures et demie du matin, avait tout ce qu'il fallait pour nettoyer. Les tasses de thé laissées sur les comptoirs sans surveillance dans sa cuisine en forme d'armoire, de la taille d'un coin basculait sur le bord pour briser contre le sol pendant le premier des tremblements, et étant donné qu'il était debout et sur ses pieds à l'époque, il a fait un tiret fou pour sauver la plus grande partie de sa fine porcelaine que possible. Les victimes du crime horrible contre la nature par nature impliquaient trois petites assiettes et deux tasses.
Il y avait quelque chose d'irrespectueux à devoir balayer le tas de verre cassé quand, avant, dans le château de la Reine Rouge (l'original; le vrai deal, bien sûr), il y avait toujours eu des serviteurs qui s'apprêtaient à s'occuper de ces choses avec une grande hâte. Eh bien... tout devait être fait avec une grande hâte ou elle se dégringolait la tête, et personne ne voulait ça, le moins de tous les serfs eux-mêmes.
Mais il était tard – ou tôt, plutôt – et il était fatigué. Assez fatigué pour que, lorsqu'il a frappé un doigt et que les shards se sont ébranlés, il ne puisse pas tout à fait déchiffrer s'il s'agissait ou non d'une erreur ou d'une autre réplique des soi-disant tremblements de terre qui ravagent la bonne ville de Seattle. Il a fait tout son possible pour ne pas le reproduire, mais il ne pouvait pas se mentir. Twist et confondre lui-même, peut-être, mais pas mentir. Ce mal, quelque chose que le grand sorcier Merlin avait dit qu'il ne se sentirait pas sur Terre parce que c'était, oui, impossible, qu'il était revenu.
La première des six choses impossibles avant le petit déjeuner. Il en avait cinq autres pour reproduire le disque de la Reine Blanche, et seulement une petite poignée d'heures.
Après l'aube, quand le soleil se levait à peine et qu'un des reines de Narnia l'appelait au téléphone, The Hatter partit ouvrir sa librairie. Ce n'était pas plus d'une minute de marche de sa porte d'entrée, et si les choses n'avaient pas mal tourné, il serait plutôt vivre au-dessus de lui, mais apparemment la Terre canalisait le pays des merveilles d'une manière : même les meilleurs plans allaient mal, et l'on ne pouvait pas vivre quelque part où l'autre vivait.
Il ouvrit la porte, la cloche avec le carillon enlevé restant toujours silencieux au-dessus, et tourna le panneau à 'Ouvrir'. C'était vraiment un exercice de futilité: les seuls clients étaient ses amis, ou les gens de Mystvale propre plutôt que le côté banal du quartier. Réfugiés. Et certains n'ont pas payé.
La serrure n'était pas tout à fait comme il l'avait laissé.
Le capitaine.
« Vous êtes très tôt, capitaine Hook », a dit The Hatter quand il l'a trouvée, la tête inclinée vers le côté et l'épaule fermement contre l'arc de la porte à l'arrière de la pièce. "Et très soûl aussi, j'imagine. Harlianne." Tarrant a récupéré le plus lourd d'une grande pile de livres laissés sur la table de travail, et a regardé les bouteilles qu'elle avait apporté avec elle suspectement.
"Au moins, emprunte un verre, ou une tasse." La correction a été rapide car il s'est rendu compte qu'il ne possédait pas beaucoup de lunettes, ni à la maison ni ici à Mystvale. "Ce n'est que des bonnes manières." S'attendre à de bonnes manières de Harlianne Hook était également un exercice dans la futilité.
"Vous pourriez être intéressé par un rassemblement de sortes qui a lieu aujourd'hui. L'état d'urgence. Vous voudrez peut-être aussi y réfléchir, peu importe à quel point cela pourrait sembler étrange pour un pirate tel que vous-même. »
"Promise me that after my death they won't declare me the greatest king that ever was and will ever be. That sort of talk starts riots."


 •  N A M E 
Arthur Pendragon
 •  S T O R Y 
King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table; Arthurian Legend
 •  B I R T H P L A C E 
Albion
 •  M A G I C 
No – however, due to the circumstances of Arthur's birth (in that he was conceived and brought into this world with the magic of the Old Religion) he had an innate resistance to magic. That is not to say that magic would never be able to harm him, as it had in the past, but he could shrug off the smaller things and had some amount of fortitude when it came to magics that alter the mind: incorruptibility.
 •  A G E 
Thirty-Six at Time of Disappearance
 •  R O M A N T I C I N T E R E S T S 
Historically, Arthur was only vaguely interested in the concept of romance. He was no stranger to trysts – the defiler of royalty from foreign lands; two princesses and one prince respectively – but when it came to something concrete, something special, there did not seem to be room in his heart. He remained unwed, heirless, and seemed content to spend time usually reserved for lovers with the people of Camelot and his own Knights of the Round Table.
As for his preferences, he had always been tight-lipped about it. When prodded too far, he snapped, "It won't ever come of anything." A commoner, then, his knights assumed. Something taboo.
 •  A T T I R E 
Arthur was a handsome king––golden hair, brown eyes and boyish good looks––and one who looked as if he could be a knight himself from the amount of time he spent working on his skill with the sword. He would don his dragon-engraved armor in battle and trips outside the boundaries of Camelot, of which he took rather often, but when attending to the duties of the king he would be wearing rich velvets and silks on his tunics: red and gold.
Excalibur was his only accessory. Many fakes were made in its likeness, the ancient futhorc runes in the correct order and all, but only the real deal managed to produce the faint sheen of dragon's fire in the reflection of the enchanted blade.



 •  H E R O ' S N A T U R E 
Be just, Uther had said. Be wise. Be strong. That is what makes a good king.
Arthur was all of these – lawful, expecting nothing of the people he did not expect from himself; wise with sense beyond his years and the know-how to tap into the sheer knowledge his advisors possessed; and strong, with a vision for the future of Camelot that he struck towards with every treaty, every piece of new legislation, and every action. His people near-deified the young king, though that was not surprising after Uther's reign when the new king sought peace and prosperity in place of punishment and retribution. Arthur was, perhaps, somewhat headstrong and stubborn when it came to his goals for his kingdom, a 'he knew best' situation, but nobody else stepped forward to make the decisions for him.
But, he was also a kind king, and that is something Uther did not think was necessary. Arthur was the type to feed stray kittens with milk from the kitchens, or sneak out of the castle to play with the peasant children, or forge his father's signature (in later years) to stop the hunts for magic in the outlying villages when it was only the innocent being brought in. It was something Uther thought was weak, in fact, when as a child Arthur used to turn his head away from the executions of magic users. Death was the ultimate cruelty in Arthur's mind, more so than enslavement or torture which had a chance of uprising or escape. He formed these ideas independently, and while he agreed in his heart that magic was dangerous, wild, and unpredictable – perhaps even that it was an abomination as his father dictated – he knew that his first act in power was going to be to fix that.
Ambition runs like a lion rampant in the Pendragon blood. Arthur had no small ideas. Similarly, he pursued them doggedly until they were achieved, which is what happened in the end. Magic brought under the law – fair laws this time, unbiased by his own negative perceptions of magic, which was something Uther could never do.
Training with the knights skewed his personality somewhat. He believed in clichéd ideals of chivalry and duty––especially duty. A somewhat morbid idea inherited from one of his tutors was the suggestion that the greatest honor would be dying for a cause one believes in, whether it be a kingdom, a king or a true love. A younger, more melancholy Arthur was undeniably obsessed with the idea of a self-sacrifice that would have songs written about him, especially because he wasn't enamored with the idea of living at the time thanks to his father. Even when he became slightly less melodramatic, he gave more than he accepted in return – to his people, to the Knights of the Round Table, and to his friends.
He also spoke of his future death rather often.
Arthur was not all fairy-tale princes. He was, as mentioned previously, as stubborn as an ox. He would play devil's advocate just to ensure that someone he was arguing with believed wholeheartedly in what they were presenting before accepting defeat. He could be a right git sometimes – moody, a temper that is easily stoked even if he apologized for outbursts afterwards. He was a total womanizer, though refused to find a queen to secure the Pendragon lineage. He was not celibate, so the people could not ponder that option, but they assumed some tale of star-crossed lovers while the truth is all the more tragic.
But, as with all long-lost and legendary kings, the negative traits are glossed over.
 •  R E N O W N E D S K I L L S 
Does kingship count as a skill? Kingliness? Ruling, perhaps––that's something that Arthur is renowned for all over: the art of diplomacy, of connecting with the commoners and noblemen alike, of judging situations fairly. He was well-liked, enough so that people miss him even ten years after he was presumed dead––enough so that the rare few still seek out answers to where he disappeared to. His swordsmanship was above-average but what made him so fearsome in battle was his leadership, his command.
 •  F A T A L F L A W 
Self-sacrificial: for all of his skill and worth as a human being – a king – Arthur never hesitated to put his life at risk, often when another could have put their own at risk instead. He was immovable when he insisted it should be him instead of one of the other knights, something that threw Camelot into chaos (such as when he was poisoned and his knights had to head out on a quest to save him) on several occasions.
 •  O N C E U P O N A T I M E 
Arthur Pendragon, the Crown Prince of Camelot and heir to the tyranny of his father, King Uther. Arthur was born in the before times; before the purge of all so-called heretical magic users. His mother, Queen Ygraine's death was the flip of the switch that set Uther to begin his crusade against all the witches and warlocks of Albion. By the time Arthur was two years old, the streets of Camelot had ran red with blood and magic moved from something practiced by someone in each and every hamlet to something dealt in shady dungeons and dark alleys.
The population of magic users in Camelot was decimated – worse than decimated. Many who could fled to other lands like Bellgarde rather than risk beheading for their birth-right or their lives' research. But time ticked on in the castle. Arthur grew up. He didn't know a childhood filled with magic that his father did, with a Court Wizard who performed small entertaining spells. They had an alchemist, but magic was strictly prohibited. The king passed on his will that even those of royal blood had to follow the same laws as those beneath them and that was the reporting of any neighbor casting spells and the alienation of those suspected of such treason.
When he was much younger, perhaps five or six, Arthur wondered what his father would do if his only son had magic. Perhaps he would reinstate it, make it legal. When the question was asked, he received a typical answer: "I'd behead you. Magic is an abomination." There it was again –– duty. Swiftly, Arthur learned his. He was to follow in Uther's footsteps in maintaining peace in Camelot by whatever means necessary.
So he learned to distrust magic users (which was made easier by the assassination attempts on his and his father's lives), to bad-mouth them. To stare stiffly on as they were burnt at the stake or executed by any other method. He stopped turning his head at the blood or the gore – it didn't please him, not by any means, but under the Pendragon name it was a show of solidarity he had to take part in. Arthur was ten. He had no confidants then, before he trained with the knights.
As a young teen he was trained by the knights. He would never become one, as much as he hoped, because he was the Crown Prince. Instead he was introduced as the one who would lead them in the future. As his bond with the knights of Camelot grew – through hazing and great personal struggle as the adult knights did not make it easy for him – he won their favour from the inside; their loyalty. He would be a good king, or so was the general consensus. He didn't have his father's temperament.
Somebody kills his father.
Somebody kills his father with magic.
Arthur mourns the loss of a father and despite seeing his enemies in every corner, and he picks up the crown. His seventeenth birthday came swiftly after. Thoughts of magical assassins haunted him. He sent knights out to hunt them down for regicide, but they found nothing, and after two years, he called off the search but chased down every rumor as soon as it arises.
Despite believing magic to be bad and corrupt, the root cause behind three of his assassination attempts as the Crown Prince and, of course, his father's death, Arthur took away the death penalty for it. It was one of his first acts as king. Only if someone was murdered by magic or harmed by it would it result in a hanging; simple practice resulted in fines and imprisonment, sometimes in the stocks and sometimes in the cells. It was better to pay up than to die, and the plots against Arthur's life near disappeared overnight. The law took over, and with the advice of Merlin, The Tower was set up within Camelot's walls so as to provide a legal means to teach and practice magic. Outwith this location, the punishments remained the same.
To maintain the peace and the pleasant state of his kingdom, Arthur set out what remained of his father's knights to guard the borders and watch for magic with ill-intent. Convincing himself not to become complacent even with The Tower serving as an academy for magic within Camelot, he set up an organisation of his most trusted friends and companions: the Knights of the Round Table. They were not just his own personal guard; they were warriors of his kingdom that he could entrust his life to who would set out on quests such as for the Holy Grail in the years to come.
Prosperity for over a decade with only a few hiccups, further attempts on his life for miscellaneous reasons and evil kings in Albion and old magic and the like – but what good tale wouldn't have those? Eleven years ago, before the Cataclysm had ever happened, small events happened in Albion: earthquakes, missing people, the like. Arthur sent the Knights of the Round Table and other key figures away, some on diplomatic missions, some on hunts for mythical beasts or relics of great power... Wild goose chases. They were out of Albion when it disappeared, and the void claimed everything therein.
Some suggest Arthur knew it was going to happen in advance.

 •  A N E W C H A P T E R 
Oft it occurs that great men do not get their "happy ending". Albion is gone. Camelot is gone. And with those, like a whisper on the wind, goes King Arthur.