"You know, I always wanted to sit here," Tony Stark eagerly said as he rubbed his hands all over the wooden table.
"I even offered the guards a million the last time I was here, well, back when I was helping with the reactor problem anyway, but nope, they wouldn't budge," he continued.
"Show some respect, Sir Stark; it is a great honor to sit at this table, as an equal with the King himself," Sir Agravain said, none too happy that he had to share this table with these people.
But alas, the King's orders were absolute, and none could say the Illuminati hadn't earned the right.
Even if it was only for a single meeting.
"Don't be so hard on him, Sir Agravain. Sir Stark has worked hard over the last few weeks; let him enjoy himself," Sir Gareth tried to calm down her brother.
Tony, well, he didn't care much about what Sir Agravain had to say; he had long since learned to tune such things out. Far too many people said something much too similar at every board meeting.
He was beyond used to it.
Respect was simply not a word in his world.
"It really is hard, isn't it?" he mumbled as he used some small pen-like tool to shoot a laser down onto the wooden surface, only for it to do absolutely nothing, much to his shock and Sir Agravain's annoyance.
"I don't get it," Reed said. "It makes no sense at all."
"Yeah, right? It's far too hard to be wood; hell, even metal isn't this strong, not even Cap's shield." Tony nodded as he kept toying with his little tool, ignoring the death glare Sir Agravain was sending his way.
"No," Reed said after a moment, still staring down at the table with a deep frown on his face.
Tony finally stopped trying to burn a hole through the ancient wood and looked over at him. "No? You don't think it's strange that this thing apparently shrugs off a laser without even leaving a mark?"
"Of course I think that's strange," Reed replied, though from his tone, it clearly wasn't what had caught his attention. "But this is Camelot. I've been here enough times to know that half the things in this castle operate according to rules I don't understand yet."
Sir Agravain's expression darkened further at that. "They do not operate without rules, Sir Richards. Magic is no less a natural part of this world than gravity or light merely because you have failed to understand it."
Reed glanced toward him. "I didn't say it had no rules. I said I don't understand them, which is precisely the problem. If there are consistent principles behind magic, then those principles should be observable, measurable, and eventually explainable."
"They are explainable," Agravain replied rather stiffly. "There are libraries within Camelot containing several thousand years of magical theory."
Reed blinked at that, his irritation momentarily giving way to genuine interest. "There are?"
"Oh no." Tony immediately pointed the little pen-like tool at him instead. "Don't distract him with magical textbooks. I want to know what's actually bothering him, because that is very clearly the face Reed makes when reality has personally offended him."
"Reality has not offended me," Reed said.
"You have the face."
"What face?"
"The one where you start looking at the universe like you're preparing to file a complaint."
Gareth covered a small laugh behind one hand while Agravain looked increasingly tempted to remove Tony from the chamber himself.
Reed ignored all of them and instead gestured toward the table. "There are too many seats."
Tony stared at him for a second before following his gaze around the great wooden table. "That's what this is about?"
"Yes."
"Not the indestructible medieval furniture?"
"Tony."
"Just making sure."
Reed pushed his chair back and stood, slowly walking around the edge of the Round Table as he counted beneath his breath, his eyes narrowing a little more with every seat he passed.
"There are twenty-five."
Tony shrugged. "Okay."
Reed stopped and looked at him as though the problem should have been obvious. "There should be sixteen."
That earned a pause.
Tony leaned back slightly, his expression changing from amusement to curiosity. "And you know that how?"
"Because I've seen this table before."
"So have I."
"I've seen it several times."
"Still not explaining why you know the exact number of chairs."
Reed hesitated.
It was only for a fraction of a second, but Tony caught it immediately.
His eyes narrowed.
"Reed."
"What?"
"Did you count the chairs?"
"No."
The answer came so quickly that even Gareth looked suspicious.
Tony slowly grinned. "You counted the chairs."
"I did not count the chairs."
"You absolutely counted the chairs."
"I happened to notice there were sixteen."
Tony stared at him.
Reed stared back.
"Nobody accidentally notices that there are exactly sixteen chairs around a giant round table, Reed."
"I possess excellent spatial awareness."
"You counted them."
Reed crossed his arms, apparently deciding that continuing to deny it was beneath him. "There were sixteen."
Tony let out a laugh and shook his head. "This is incredible. You actually counted King Arthur's chairs."
"That isn't the point."
"It is absolutely part of the point."
Reed turned away from him and looked toward Gareth instead, clearly deciding she was more likely to provide a useful answer. "Lady Gareth, the last time I was in this chamber, were there sixteen seats around the table?"
Gareth looked down at the table, then around at the seats as though she had never once considered counting them herself. "I suppose so."
Reed frowned. "You suppose?"
"I don't normally count them."
Tony made a satisfied sound from behind him.
Reed ignored it with impressive determination. "There are twenty-five now."
"Yes."
"So where did the others come from?"
"Oh, come on, Reed," Tony sighed. "I'm sure they have a few extra chairs somewhere. Do you want to go to the chair storage room and count how many there are there as well?"
"It's not just extra chairs, Tony; the original sixteen are perfectly spaced out, leaving no room for more, yet here there are more, and they sit no closer together, as if the table itself has changed, gotten bigger," Reed pointed out, sharing his discovery.
Tony paused for a moment to inspect the table, counting the chairs and judging whether the table looked any different from when he last saw it.
"Say, there are nineteen of you, aren't there?" he suddenly asked Sir Percival.
"Knights of the Round Table? Indeed, there are nineteen of us, or twenty when you include the King himself," he replied with a nod.
Reed's frown deepened. "So there are always four people who have to stand?"
"What? Of course not. When we all gather, we all sit around the table; that is what makes it special. Everyone sits together, as equals," Gareth replied, a little confused.
"Then how can there be nineteen of you if there are only sixteen chairs?"
At this question, not only did the members of the Illuminati seem interested, but even many of the knights themselves suddenly found themselves surprised.
Because they had never considered it.
They would just sit down, and there were always enough chairs for everyone, and honestly, no one went around counting the number of chairs.
Tony found the entire thing hilarious; here were the legendary Knights of the Round Table, having sat around this table countless times, never noticing this, while Reed had.
The reason he found this so funny was because it highlighted one important thing.
Reed Richards was the only person in all this time who had bothered to count the chairs.
It was both sad and hilarious, and he couldn't wait to tell him how weird he was.
But before he could, he too realized what this meant.
Magic, of course.
"All right, I'll bite," Tony said, his grin unwavering. "So the table magically grows more chairs when it needs to. And I assume it also magically resists my laser because it's, what, an artifact? One of those things that's more important than it looks?"
Agravain looked like he'd been forced to swallow a sour lemon. "It is more than an artifact, Sir Stark. It is a symbol. A symbol of the unity and equality of all who sit here. A symbol of the Round Table's ideals."
"Right," Tony said, nodding slowly. "So it's a magic table that grows chairs and is basically indestructible. Got it."
He turned back to Reed. "Still doesn't explain why you're so hung up on the number. We've got nine extra chairs. Enough for all of us and then some. Problem solved."
Reed shook his head slowly.
"No, it isn't."
He pointed a finger at the empty seats. "There are exactly nine empty places. One for each of us. The table adjusted itself to accommodate our presence. It didn't just add chairs; it anticipated our arrival and prepared a place for us."
"Wait a minute," Steve Rogers suddenly interjected. "Who is the last chair for? Has Doom returned, or will we finally get to meet this mysterious Illuminati member, the Sorcerer Supreme?"
Everyone quickly did a headcount, and indeed, even accounting for Bedivere and Mordred, along with Arthuria herself, there was still one unexplained seat.
At the mention of the Sorcerer Supreme, all the Illuminati members looked toward Sir Agravain.
This person had a seat on the Illuminati, something even Tony didn't have, a true voting member, but none of them had ever met them.
The only reason they had the seat was that Arthuria had grandfathered a seat for the Sorcerer Supreme into the Illuminati.
So, were they finally going to meet this last member?
Sir Agravain, however, had no intention of answering; he knew well enough who the last seat was prepared for, but given the disrespect shown here, he wasn't inclined to reveal that information.
So for a few moments, the Illuminati just stared at the silent Sir Agravain before finally realizing he wasn't going to talk and looking toward the other knights, but they too offered no answer.
"I'm sure we will find out soon," Charles said as he sat in the wooden chair, feeling rather naked outside of his normal wheelchair.
"Right, leave it to the telepath to know, but no doubt, you also won't tell anyone," Tony said with a sigh, having long since learned that Charles Xavier wasn't one for gossiping about what he learned from people's minds.
Before Charles could dignify that with a response, the heavy doors to the chamber opened, and Sir Bedivere stepped forward, striking the butt of his spear once against the stone floor.
The sound was enough to silence the room.
Even Tony seemed to remember that, however unusual the meeting might be, they were still within the royal halls of Camelot.
"His Royal Highness, Prince Mordred Pendragon, Heir to Camelot!"
Mordred entered first, dressed in full armour, his expression considerably more restrained than usual as he crossed the chamber and took his place beside one of the empty chairs.
Bedivere waited until he had stopped before announcing the next arrival.
"His Majesty, Arthuria Pendragon, King of Camelot and Sovereign of Albion!"
Everyone rose.
Arthuria entered without hurry, acknowledging those gathered with a slight nod before moving toward the Round Table.
Still, one chair remained empty.
Tony noticed.
So did Reed.
Bedivere struck the floor once more.
"His Majesty, Loki Odinson, Regent King of Asgard!"
For perhaps a second, nobody reacted.
Then Tony slowly looked toward Reed.
Reed was already staring at the final chair.
Loki entered with an easy smile, seemingly entirely unaware of the small existential crisis his seat had caused before his arrival.
Once all three had taken their places, Arthuria looked around the now-complete Round Table.
"Now," he said, "let us decide how this war ends."
(End of chapter)
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