Hokay. So. Like I mentioned once or twice, King Uther died, and Briton was plunged once more into chaos.
Or so the menfolk would have you think. You know the patriarchy and its bullshit, and because some dude wasn’t sitting on some chair in some cold-ass stone fortress trying to keep good people down, all the noblemen of the land were like “Oh my gawds we’re doomed wahhhh…”
Ahem. Anywho.
The truth of it was, Queen Igraine was the real power behind the throne. She was running Briton from like day one. She had plenty of practice when she was married to the Duke of Cornwall, after all. All that stability and prosperity and burgeoning health nationalized health system and not warring that Briton enjoyed? All Igraine.
But, as men are wont to do, Uther got all the credit. Igraine was fine with this while he lived—not thrilled, but fine because that was The Way Things Were.
And, as men are wont to do, the noblemen of the kingdom go their mail shirts into a twist when Uther died and it became clear that things were decidedly not going to fall apart because a woman was the one really in charge.
The noblemen of Briton appealed to Merlin.
In Merlin’s defense, if he had a choice, he would have ignored them and let things carry on as they were. Maybe a strategic match here, some influence there, and he could have helped Igraine establish a long-lasting matriarchy that would have extended well into the 23rd century.
But Merlin had seen some shit and knew this future was quite literally set in stone. Besides, he’d already put in the work so he was sort of stuck between a rock in a hard place. He needed to…
OK, I’ll stop. I think I made my point.
Anywho, the noblemen appealed to Merlin, and Merlin approached Igraine. “Yo,” he said. “There needs to be a new king.”
Igraine, who was just beginning to believe this patriarchal BS could finally be put to rest and she could reign in peace, said, “Well, we could have had a king if, but we’ll never know, will we?”
“About that…” Merlin shuffled his feet. He knew how to tell her, but… She was right. And that sucked for him. “Look, your noblemen aren’t going to be happy until there’s someone presenting as a man on the throne. Uther and I already cut a deal with the Courts of Faerie. I’ll sort things out, and if you work with me, you’ll be rewarded and stuff.”
“And if I don’t?” Igraine scowled.
“The Courts of Faerie are prepared to unleash a horde of dragons upon the Kingdom, which will unleash a war that will last one hundred and three generations.”
A part of Igraine wanted to see that. But she had worked too damn hard to let Briton be destroyed by dragons.
And so, before the noblemen of Briton could protest further, Merlin put his grand scheme into action. First, he asked Igraine to host a grand tournament for the winter solstice. Everyone knight, baron, earl, marquis, landgraf, duke, and oddly titled person was invited to attend.
Second, Merlin paid a visit to one of those new kirks that London recently imported from the tattered remnants of the Roman Empire. After a brief discussion with the priest therein, a bright light burst into kirkyard. When it cleared, it left behind a sizable boulder with a sword wedged in it.
But that’s a story for next time.
