A/N: welcome to part 3 of Knights of the Round Table! I'm super excited to finally be writing this part, because I'm pretty sure it's the first one I came up with the idea for. I wasn't going to start posting for a while, but then I wrote like 4,000 words on it in like two hours and figured I'd just go for it. A WARNING THOUGH: I'm about to start finals, so I might get busy and stop updating when those get going (ah, who am I kidding, I'm a horrible procrastinator).
This story is going to be much longer than the last two, I think. It's also going to split into two storylines after the first few chapters, and I'm not entirely sure how I'm going to handle that... I'm not sure if I'm going to go through one entire storyline and then go back and do the other, or alternate chapters. At this point, I'm leaning towards the first option. If you have an opinion, feel free to let me know!
Also, this chapter is pretty long, but the next few are probably going to be pretty short (like, around 900 words short). I do apologize for that, but they should hopefully get up to a more decent length after the first few. But I make no promises.
As usual, I also make no promises to update regularly. I'm hoping to get this whole thing written relatively quickly, since I tend to forget about things halfway through and abandon them unintentionally. And after finals I'm going to start working for the summer, so there's that. And I have a summer class again.
Now that that absurdly long note is done, let's get to the story!
Disclaimer: I'm only going to say this once, so pay attention! I do not own Arthur, Guinevere, Gawain, Galahad, Bors, Vanora, Lucan, or the initial premise of the story. However, I do own all other characters and the idea/plot of this particular story. I am not making money off this story (unfortunately). Thank you!
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In four years, a lot can happen. In four years, a kingdom can be built. In four years, many children can be born. In four years, a town can grow into a city. In four years, people can fall in love. In four years, an army can form. In four years, a country can find freedom.
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Through a tunnel of green, four men rode along a worn earthen path. They wore light armor made primarily of thick leather, but embellished with metal scales. Three of the men had very similar armor; light chest pieces covered with the metal scales, as well as leather flaps that hung around their legs. They also wore arm bracers over gloves, and metal greaves over sturdy boots. The fourth man's armor was noticeably different, based in black leather instead of brown, with brightly polished scales across his chest and shoulders.
The biggest of the men rode a large, black warhorse. Beside him rode the man in black and silver armor; he had taken off his helmet to reveal a short topknot of silky, straight, light brown hair, and piercing grey eyes took in the scenery. Behind them, the smallest man leaned back in the saddle, hands resting on his horse's rump; brilliantly red hair poked out from under his helmet, which was more of a metal hat, and lent his pale skin a sickly cast. The fourth man's helmet covered his face, but the end of a thick dark brown braid hung between his shoulders, and deep green eyes surveyed the road around them.
"Look," the pony-tailed man said, sitting up straight and pointing forwards. The forest was falling away around them, opening into wide, rolling fields. Many of the fields were full of half-grown plants, workers weaving among them and checking the growing crops. In the distance, they could see a massive wall, stretching out as far as they could see to either side. The road they were on curved through the fields, meandering towards a walled town tucked against the wall. The town had crept out from within its walls; there were quite a few buildings that had been built between the walls and the fields outside of them.
"Is that it?" the braided man asked.
"It must be," came the reply from the man astride the black warhorse. "It's the only city we've come across, and it's next to the wall."
"That's a city?" the redhead scoffed. "I didn't realize that Britain was so small that a village like that would be the capitol."
"Come on," their leader laughed, shaking his head and spurring his horse along the road.
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Arthur looked around the great round table at which his knights were seated. To the king's sorry, many of the seats were still empty, although a few had been filled once again. Of the original twenty-seven knights who had sat at this table, only three remained: Bors, Gawain, and Galahad. Joining them at the table were several new recruits from the last five years: Kei, a fire-haired, hot-tempered Celtic warrior from the North; Bedivere, a Woad healer and the cousin of Lucan; Culhwch, the son of a Welsh noble from the South who had run away with his bride; and Dinadan, an overly-friendly British bard who had shown up in the fort two years earlier and quickly proven himself an able warrior, despite detesting fighting. The final seated knight was Cymbeline, a fierce and wild Woad woman the knights had met years earlier, and the wife of Gawain. Also seated at the table were Guinivere, Arthur's queen, and Ganis, the head of the guard of the city. Against three of the four walls of the chamber stood a motley collection of knights-in-training: Branwyr, Bors's oldest daughter, and his next five children: Dagonet, Lancelot, Tyra, Sebille, and Tristan. Also against the walls stood Lucan, a young Woad boy that Dagonet's namesake had rescued five years earlier, his older brother Griflet, and Dinadan's brother Daniel.
In the past four and a half years, Arthur and Guinevere had been relatively successful in uniting the people of Britain. The Woads and Britons hadn't been too hard to unite, nor had the Celts, Picts, or Welsh. The biggest problem they had encountered was integrating the remaining Romans on the island. Some of these had been welcomed into the fort's guard, under Ganis's command, and were begrudgingly accepted by the native citizens. The knights, new and old, showed some of the newfound diversity in the fort: besides the three Sarmatian knights, there were two Woads, a Celt, a Welshman, and a Briton. Arthur himself was half-Roman, Guinevere was another Woad, and Ganis was also Briton. The knights-in-training were all Briton or Woad, and the guard under Ganis's command was made up of Britons, Woads, and a few Romans.
But beyond the unification in the country and diversity in the city, Arthur was most proud of the equality that had already sprung up under his leadership. He felt that this table was an example of the equality: people from almost every common nationality could be found at this table and against the walls of the chamber, and Arthur had also learned to ignore the Roman bias against women—and quickly, as Guinevere would have none of that, not to mention Cymbeline.
On his left, Ganis finished what he had been saying—a report from the night watch—and Arthur refocused his attention on the meeting. He noticed Lucan and Tristan—at eleven, they were the youngest of the trainees under Cymbeline and Kei—squirming, whether from boredom or discomfort he wasn't sure. Arthur hid a smile and glanced around the table, making sure that no-one had anything else to bring up, then stood and called the meeting to a close.
Gawain stood and stretched, stiff and impatient from sitting still for so long.
"Is it just me, or was that especially boring?" Galahad grumbled from the other side of Cymbeline, who sat between the two men.
"Just you," the girl shrugged, shaking her long curls.
Galahad rolled his eyes, then made his way out of the chamber. Gawain and Cymbeline followed him and the rest of the knights out through the villa and into the cool, damp spring air. "Let's go, pebbles," Kei bellowed, chasing the straggling knights-in-training out of Arthur and Guinevere's seat of government. "We've got two hours' worth o' work to do in less than one, so get moving!"
The teenagers jumped into action, jogging along behind Kei in the direction of the training fields. "I'm off as well," Cymbeline laughed, moving to follow the odd little group.
Gawain nodded after her in farewell, then headed for the stables with Galahad. The two had patrol, Gawain with Dinadan and Galahad with Culhwch. They found the newer knights already at the stables and preparing their horses, and followed suit.
"Stay safe!" Galahad called as he and Culhwch headed out of the stables with their horses.
Gawain grunted an acknowledgement as he tightened the girth straps on his horse's saddle. He watch Dinadan move slowly to get his horse ready and sighed. "Bear in mind that we do need to leave on patrol today," he prompted the Briton.
"Right," the man nodded. "Almost ready."
Gawain led his horse out of its stall and into the center arena of the stable, performing a final check of the straps and buckles while he waited for Dinadan.
"Ready," the younger man called as he led his horse out of its stable.
Gawain nodded and led the way out of the stables. They rode slowly through the city; it was teeming with pedestrians, each on their own business. Outside the gates, they broke into a trot, heading for the wall. Their job for the day was to ride to the next watch point along the wall, checking for evidence of guerrilla parties or rogue Roman soldiers in the forest. Fortunately, the patrol was uneventful, and they soon turned back for the fort. When they returned to the stable, Jols was there and took their horses for them.
"Hello, Jols," Gawain smiled at the stablemaster.
"Gawain, Dinadan," the man nodded at them. "I trust your patrol was uneventful?"
"Fortunately," Gawain nodded. "Are Galahad and Culhwch back yet?"
"No," Jols shook his head, handing off the horses' reigns to a stable boy.
"Thank you," Gawain smiled. Dinadan had disappeared during the short exchange, not to Gawain's surprise, and he headed for the training grounds. Cymbeline and Kei were hard at work with the trainees, having returned from a chore break. In addition to weapons training, the teenagers learned how to care for their weapons and horses, and did some other work around the city and in the armory. Lucan was apprenticed as a healer to Bedivere, and spent most of his free time in the infirmary, while Branwyr, Lancelot, and Tyra were learning how to make bows and arrows.
Gawain found Bedivere also watching the training. Cymbeline was taking the youngest of the trainees—Tyra, Sebille, Tristan, and Lucan—through simple drills, while Kei was supervising sparring bouts between the older teens—Branwyr, Daniel, Dagonet, Lancelot, and Griflet.
"Watch this," Bedivere nodded towards the bout Kei was setting up, between Branwyr and Dagonet. The match looked entirely unfair: Branwyr was small and slender, while Dagonet was brawny, built like his father. However, Gawain and Bedivere both knew that Branwyr had done a great deal of extra training with Cymbeline to compensate for her smaller size and lower level of strength in comparison to the boys.
Kei signaled the start of the bout, and Dagonet charged straight for his older sister, bellowing loudly. Branwyr easily dodged the charge and swung the flat of her training sword to smack the small of Dagonet's back.
"They try that on her every time, and every time she dodges," Bedivere chuckled and shook his head.
They watched as Dagonet turned to face Branwyr again, brandishing his sword. She swung hers around into a reverse grip and dropped into a crouch, waiting for his next move. Instead of charging her again, Dagonet began to circle her slowly, rotating his wrist to swing his sword in circles. He had done a three-quarter rotation around her when she jumped into action; her training sword flashed towards his wrist and there was a sharp smack as it hit his flesh. Dagonet yelped and dropped his sword, and the next thing anyone knew, the tip of Branwyr's sword was resting against his collarbone.
"Done!" Kei called. "Good job, Bran. Dag, we need to work on your technique."
"What's wrong with my technique?" the boy grumbled.
"You're too predictable," Kei shook his head
"He's right," Dinadan observed, materializing at Gawain's elbow. It took everything the bronze-haired knight had not to jump at the sound.
"Hello!" a voice called from behind them. The three knights turned to find a young man, dressed in light armor and leading a hulking black warhorse, standing behind them. Behind him were three more men, each astride their own horse and also wearing light armor.
"Hello," Dinadan replied cheerfully. "Who are you?"
"I'm looking for someone," the man explained.
"Aren't we all?" Dinadan teased.
The man frowned and glared at the fair-haired bard. Gawain laughed and shook his head; turning, he began to walk away.
"I'm searching for a brother whom I no longer know," the boy called after the knights. "I don't remember his face or anything about him, save his name. A name I have struggled and fought every day for nearly twenty years to remember."
Gawain, who had frozen at the man's call, turned slowly to face him. His breath caught in his throat as the man removed his helmet. Bright sunlight, so rare in Britain, glinted off bronze curls so like Gawain's as deep blue eyes met their match in the knight's own. The held breath left the Gawain's lungs in a rush, accompanied by a whispered name so long unuttered by the knight: "Aggravaine."