Market, the Lower Town, Thursday
Fandom had always brought with it a curious insistance on 'being yourself': of pushing aside layers of protocol and appropriate behaviour to show some nebulous quality underneath. Arthur had always seen a reason for such layers - self-protection, a map of rules to be used and bucked where needed, expectations that laid a groundwork you could fall back on.
Fandom had been a confusing experience, in that regard; and barely a few days in, Arthur already found himself sinking back behind familiar covers, his shoulders set in the way they should, shaping a small but present distance between himself and everyone else that could be dubbed The Prince.
Yesterday, Gaius had let him leave his chambers with a dire warning against straining himself too much. He had spent some portion of the day with his knights, and shaped himself back into The Knight among them. Had trounced Sir Leon rather thoroughly at the thrown knife, and patted men on the shoulders and listened to their boasts from the time he'd been away.
But then he had gone down to the market, and now he was there again. Everywhere, workers were fixing roofs, picking up rubble and excavating bodies. Every corpse was another slight nick on his conscience - he tried to ignore it, but it lingered.
Still, the reconstruction effort was finally coming into its own, and it gave him something to focus on. He didn't dare spend too much time on the hope they could speak to their... friends in Fandom again - that way laid madness. Instead, he let his eyes drift over the busywork before him--
--and frowned.
"Look at that hovel, Leon," he said, and pursed his lips. "The roof's caved in, there's children sitting outside, and no one's minding."
Leon's shoulders came up into a gentle shrug. "They say it's the homestead of a druid sympathiser, sire," he said, respectfully. "No one wishes to stir the king's anger if it turns out to be true."
Arthur pursed his lips, and frowned. "That's ridiculous," he decided. "They are citizens of this city, they deserve the same aid as everyone else."
He felt Leon's eyes on his back as he walked back towards the cart of supplies he'd been sent here to escort. He knew there were other eyes on him as well, as he rifled around their cargo, but he paid it no heed.
Finally, he found some bread, and a piece of cheese, and took it. "You, you and you," he called, pointing out three workers who'd been obsessing over some pointless noble statue that had lost a few ends during the attack. "Take care of that woman's roof. You'll be awarded due salary for it."
They shot him questioning glances - Arthur knew the statue was one of his father's favourites. He had no patience for it.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped, and stalked across the market, past the statue and to the poor woman's house (if you were going to call it that, to be charitable), knelt down, and passed the woman's children some food.
"And do not fear my father's reprisal," he said, glancing up at the quizical workers. "If asked, tell them it was done on the Crown Prince's orders."
As it turned out, her husband had died in the attack, and they were sorely in need of means. Arthur stayed there for a short while longer to ensure the repairs were well on their way (and to assure her he would do his utmost best to negotiate employment for her; that she could come and ask, should poverty strike her too fiercely), then went back outside, and called for Leon to move on.
Leon shot him a great deal of questioning glances that day, but there was no disapproval in the way he held himself - not that Arthur would have cared if he had.
[[ open for ooc or any of the Camelot folks if they're about ]]
Fandom had been a confusing experience, in that regard; and barely a few days in, Arthur already found himself sinking back behind familiar covers, his shoulders set in the way they should, shaping a small but present distance between himself and everyone else that could be dubbed The Prince.
Yesterday, Gaius had let him leave his chambers with a dire warning against straining himself too much. He had spent some portion of the day with his knights, and shaped himself back into The Knight among them. Had trounced Sir Leon rather thoroughly at the thrown knife, and patted men on the shoulders and listened to their boasts from the time he'd been away.
But then he had gone down to the market, and now he was there again. Everywhere, workers were fixing roofs, picking up rubble and excavating bodies. Every corpse was another slight nick on his conscience - he tried to ignore it, but it lingered.
Still, the reconstruction effort was finally coming into its own, and it gave him something to focus on. He didn't dare spend too much time on the hope they could speak to their... friends in Fandom again - that way laid madness. Instead, he let his eyes drift over the busywork before him--
--and frowned.
"Look at that hovel, Leon," he said, and pursed his lips. "The roof's caved in, there's children sitting outside, and no one's minding."
Leon's shoulders came up into a gentle shrug. "They say it's the homestead of a druid sympathiser, sire," he said, respectfully. "No one wishes to stir the king's anger if it turns out to be true."
Arthur pursed his lips, and frowned. "That's ridiculous," he decided. "They are citizens of this city, they deserve the same aid as everyone else."
He felt Leon's eyes on his back as he walked back towards the cart of supplies he'd been sent here to escort. He knew there were other eyes on him as well, as he rifled around their cargo, but he paid it no heed.
Finally, he found some bread, and a piece of cheese, and took it. "You, you and you," he called, pointing out three workers who'd been obsessing over some pointless noble statue that had lost a few ends during the attack. "Take care of that woman's roof. You'll be awarded due salary for it."
They shot him questioning glances - Arthur knew the statue was one of his father's favourites. He had no patience for it.
"Well, what are you waiting for?" he snapped, and stalked across the market, past the statue and to the poor woman's house (if you were going to call it that, to be charitable), knelt down, and passed the woman's children some food.
"And do not fear my father's reprisal," he said, glancing up at the quizical workers. "If asked, tell them it was done on the Crown Prince's orders."
As it turned out, her husband had died in the attack, and they were sorely in need of means. Arthur stayed there for a short while longer to ensure the repairs were well on their way (and to assure her he would do his utmost best to negotiate employment for her; that she could come and ask, should poverty strike her too fiercely), then went back outside, and called for Leon to move on.
Leon shot him a great deal of questioning glances that day, but there was no disapproval in the way he held himself - not that Arthur would have cared if he had.
[[ open for ooc or any of the Camelot folks if they're about ]]