Chapter Text
This is a strong turn because Rufus doesn't need to beat Arthur directly. A good political antagonist finds consequences Arthur didn't anticipate. I've expanded it to make Rufus feel more dangerous and intelligent, while showing how quickly the council pivots from outrage to conspiracy.
Rufus was ready to set the entire council chamber on fire.
Not literally, of course. He left dramatic displays to younger men and sorcerers. Fire was messy. Fire was unpredictable. Fire destroyed useful things.
No, what Rufus wanted was something far more satisfying.
He wanted Arthur Pendragon ruined.
The doors had barely closed behind the prince and his pet sorcerer before the chamber erupted into angry muttering. Councillors who had sat silent beneath Arthur's authority suddenly rediscovered their courage. Complaints filled the room. Insults followed. A few particularly foolish men even made vague suggestions about rebellion before immediately remembering who else was listening and hastily retreating.
Cowards.
Every one of them.
Rufus remained seated while the noise washed over him. He had long ago learned that the loudest men in a room were rarely the dangerous ones. The dangerous men were the ones who listened.
Arthur had surprised him.
That was an unpleasant admission.
He had expected the boy to defend Ambrose and give them grounds to oust him. Infatuation made men predictable. What he had not expected was the diplomatic argument. The little bastard had walked them neatly into a trap and then used their own privileges as a shield.
Challenge Ambrose's immunity and they risked weakening diplomatic protections for everyone.
For their sons.
Their nephews.
Their cousins.
For themselves.
Half the men in this room had avoided fines, taxes, customs duties, hunting restrictions, or trade disputes through careful interpretation of diplomatic law. Some had escaped far worse.
None of them would dare surrender those protections merely to catch a single sorcerer.
Arthur had known it.
Rufus hated that Arthur had known it.
For weeks they had collectively ignored Ambrose's growing influence, dismissing him as a passing fascination. A clever toy. A distraction. Something Arthur would eventually tire of.
After all, the prince's attachments rarely lasted.
Servants came and went.
Advisors were discarded.
Knights rose and fell in favour.
Even noble allies found themselves forgotten when they ceased being useful.
It had seemed reasonable to assume that Ambrose would eventually suffer the same fate.
Instead the opposite had happened.
Every month the sorcerer seemed to gain more authority.
More influence.
More legitimacy.
Today Arthur had effectively granted him control over relations with every magical creature, sorcerer, druid, and hedge-witch in Albion.
A kingdom within a kingdom.
Uther would have been apoplectic. He would be rolling in his grave if he knew.
Assuming, of course, anyone had ever managed to locate enough of him to bury.
The thought cheered Rufus considerably.
He leaned back in his chair and steepled his fingers.
This should not be happening.
They had the votes.
That was the truly maddening part.
If the council had possessed even a fraction of the courage they claimed, Arthur would already be gone. The support existed. Rufus knew it. He had spent weeks since that sham of a trial counting loyalties, favours, debts, and grudges.
The numbers were there.
The will was not.
No one wished to be first.
No one wished to gamble their lands, titles, and lives on a challenge that might fail.
Least of all Rufus.
His own position was uniquely frustrating.
His grandfather's oath to Constantine still bound the family. The wording was irritatingly thorough. Rufus could undermine, obstruct, delay, and frustrate. He could oppose policies and challenge decisions.
What he could not do was openly move against Constantine's lawful heir.
Not until someone else made the first move.
And if Arthur reached his coronation before that happened, matters became infinitely more difficult.
Removing an heir was politics.
Removing a crowned king was treason.
Beside him, Lord Pyramus was still sputtering.
"Ridiculous," the man huffed. "Absolutely ridiculous. The boy has lost his senses."
"That happened years ago," muttered someone.
A ripple of dark laughter passed through the chamber.
Rufus ignored it.
His attention had shifted to Lord Whittaker.
The older lord looked thoughtful.
Dangerously thoughtful.
"Well," Whittaker mused, "at least something useful came from the discussion."
Rufus turned towards him.
"Oh?"
Whittaker folded his arms.
"It means the magicals are no longer citizens of Camelot."
The chamber quieted.
Several councillors looked confused.
Rufus felt a faint stirring of interest.
"What do you mean?" he asked.
Whittaker blinked.
"Surely it's obvious."
It was not.
The lord seemed surprised by this.
"Camelot has never recognised dual nationality. You cannot simultaneously belong to another sovereign people and remain a citizen of the kingdom."
Slowly, very slowly, the room began to understand.
Whittaker continued.
"If Ambrose is claiming to represent a separate nation, then the magical population ceases to be part of Camelot's citizenry."
The silence deepened.
A dozen implications immediately presented themselves.
Land ownership.
Inheritance.
Taxes.
Guild membership.
Military service.
Property rights.
Legal protections.
Voting rights within local councils.
Every privilege afforded to a citizen suddenly became questionable.
Rufus sat perfectly still.
Inside, his thoughts were racing.
Arthur had been so focused on protecting the magical community from persecution that he had overlooked a more elegant weapon.
You did not need chains if you could simply redefine who belonged.
You did not need executions if you could strip people of every protection the law provided.
One by one, the councillors began planning, like merchants discussing an investment.
Rufus listened.
And as he listened, a wicked idea slowly unfurled inside his mind.
Arthur believed he had transformed the question into a diplomatic matter.
Very well.
Rufus would make it a diplomatic matter.
If the magical population wished to become a separate people, then Camelot could treat them as one.
Foreigners.
Immigrants.
Illegals.
People who possessed no automatic right to live upon Pendragon land.
The beauty of the strategy was that Arthur himself had laid the foundation.
All Rufus had to do was build upon it.
For the first time since the council meeting began, he smiled.
A real smile.
Small.
Sharp.
Predatory.
Perhaps the prince had won today's battle.
But victories had consequences.
And Rufus suspected Arthur had just handed him a weapon far more dangerous than any sword.
_____________
The servants' quarters were buzzing.
Officially, council meetings were private affairs attended only by nobles, advisors, and those specifically summoned by the Crown. Unofficially, they were discussed by half the castle before they had even ended.
A guard mentioned something to a maid.
A maid repeated it to a cook.
A cook told a stableboy.
The stableboy improved the story.
By supper, everyone knew exactly what had happened despite none of them having actually been there.
Kesh had barely stepped through the door before she heard Misha's voice rising above the others.
"...and I heard he can control people's minds with only a look!" she declared dramatically. "One glance and you're his slave forever."
A chorus of horrified gasps greeted this revelation.
"And he keeps the Prince under a spell," Misha continued, warming to her performance. "That's why His Highness never notices that he's secretly a troll."
"Not a troll," corrected Tilly. "My cousin's husband saw him once and said he was obviously a goblin."
"How would he know?"
"He used to live near goblins."
"Where?"
Tilly hesitated.
"Somewhere."
The group accepted this immediately.
Kesh sighed. She was already regretting returning. Balancing the untouched tray she had collected from the tower, she pushed through the crowd gathered around Misha.
"Who are you talking about?" she asked.
Several faces turned towards her.
"Lord Ambrose!" Mare said, eyes wide with excitement. "He was outed as a sorcerer!"
The girls collectively leaned in as though discussing a particularly scandalous romance.
Kesh blinked.
"Lord Ambrose?"
The image that came to mind was of a pale, exhausted man sitting alone in the library surrounded by books. He looked more likely to fall asleep on a manuscript than summon demons.
"Don't be daft," she said. "You can't spread rumours like that."
"It's not a rumour," Misha protested.
"It absolutely is."
"No, it isn't. Pike was on guard duty outside the council chamber."
That gave Kesh pause.
The guards always knew everything. Usually before everyone else.
"He heard the whole thing," Misha continued triumphantly. "The King himself said so."
A ripple of excitement passed through the group.
Kesh frowned.
The King himself said so could mean almost anything.
People tended to hear what they wanted from authority figures.
"When do you think they'll arrest him?" asked Helli eagerly.
Her green eyes sparkled.
The enthusiasm in her voice made Kesh uncomfortable. There was a difference between enjoying gossip and looking forward to somebody's execution. Apparently Helli had not discovered it.
"Arrest him for what?" Kesh asked.
"For being a sorcerer."
"Pike says Lord Ambrose is legally allowed to be a witch," Misha announced, trying to get the attention back onto herself.
The way she said it made it sound like a personal insult. A collective shudder moved through the room.
"They're just going to let him walk around amongst us all."
"Imagine sleeping under the same roof as a sorcerer."
"I'd never feel safe again."
"My aunt says they can steal your thoughts."
"My gran says they drink blood."
"My uncle says they curse cows."
"What sort of person curses a cow?"
"A very evil one."
The discussion immediately derailed into a debate about livestock-related magic.
Kesh rubbed her forehead.
The story was growing faster than mould.
By tomorrow Ambrose would probably be accused of eating children.
"He doesn't seem very dangerous," she said before she could stop herself.
The room fell silent.
Everyone stared at her.
Misha looked scandalised.
"You know him?"
"...No."
"Then how do you know he isn't dangerous?"
Kesh opened her mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because she didn't know.
Not really.
She had only seen him once. The quiet man in the library. She couldn’t get his sad eyes out of her head.
"I just mean..." Kesh hesitated. "Has anyone here actually met him?"
Silence.
Several girls exchanged looks.
"No."
"No."
"My cousin's friend saw him once."
"That doesn't count."
"Well, Pike saw him."
"From across a room."
The silence returned.
It lasted all of three seconds.
Then Misha brightened.
"Oh! Pike also said Lord Ambrose is the ambassador for all the magical creatures."
The room erupted again.
"What, all of them?"
"Even dragons?"
"There are dragons?"
"My brother swears he saw one."
"Your brother swears he saw a mermaid in a horse trough."
"It was dark."
Kesh closed her eyes. The conversation was rapidly becoming impossible to follow.
"Apparently all the sorcerers answer to him now," Misha continued. "And if they break the law, they get sent back to magic-land."
"Magic-land?" Kesh repeated.
"I don't know where sorcerers come from."
"Here?" Kesh suggested.
The others ignored her.
"What if he's building an army?" whispered Helli.
"What if he's already got one?" whispered Mare back.
"What if the Prince is part of it?"
That earned a collective gasp.
Kesh looked around the room and realised with growing unease that some of them actually believed this nonsense. By morning, half of Camelot would probably believe Lord Ambrose could turn people into goats.
Kesh wasn't entirely convinced somebody wouldn't try to test the theory.