Henry Mills stared blankly at his reflection in the full-length mirror, barely recognising himself in the great armour which seemed to hang on his lanky form. His hair was cut short, in the style of the common-folk, his eyes were ice blue and his complexion was as fair as a lily though the rose of youth still bloomed on his high cheek-bones. His mothers called him handsome, as mothers are wont to do, as he had inherited the family's strong jaw and delicate nose. Despite his years as squire, learning the knightly ways, he was not yet broad enough in the chest for his own liking.
"Henry." A deep voice called through the tent-flap, snapping the young man from his reverie. "Are you ready?"
"My Lord..." Henry began, turning to see his knight-master and grandfather behind him. They were decked out in their finest apparel, their clothes bright with the hopeful shades of summer, dripping with jewels and gold. The Solstice tourney was one of the biggest events in the yearly calendar and at 16 years of age Henry was finally old enough to compete.
"I see you still wearing armour too big for you, boy." The King's face was calm and closed, as it was when dealing with politics or his wife, when suddenly a broad grin broke across it like the sun rising in the east. He chuckled while patting the boy on his back raucously. "Gawain, help me get my rogue of a grandson ready will you? Gods help me if the women-folk found out I didn't help him on with his armour." The knight and the King began tightening leather straps with practiced ease until the armour seemed to fit more snugly around Henry's gangly form.
The bells rang to signal the first joust when a man-at-arms entered the small tent carrying a large package which he placed reverently upon the long bench at one end of the tent. "What's this?" Henry asked, reaching out running curious fingers over the strings which held the rough hessian together.
"Just some finishing touches." James replied, using his belt-knife to cut through the wrappings, pulling them aside revealing the gift. It was a surcoat of the finest plum cloth embroidered with a beautiful white swan, below that was a shield of the same distinctive hue and lastly his grandfather's sword. "You remember when I first taught you how to fight with a sword?"
"Of course I do." Henry whispered warmly, his lips pulling into a slight smile of remembrance, as his mind turned back to the time not long after the curse had broken when their swords were branches gathered at the roadside and their armour was the store-bought clothes of that other world.
"It's a good job I took the boy in when I did." Sir Gawain laughed from the other side of the tent.
"You speak to your king this way, Sir Gawain? Quiet your traitorous tongue." The King spoke facetiously, still smiling at his grandson. "Let's get you into this stuff shall we?"
Minutes later, Henry was fully prepared and standing beside his horse, but he was steadily becoming more nervous by the minute, his hands clammy and shaking which was only making the mare paw the ground anxiously. "Hey" James spoke, soothing the horse and the boy, as he smiled fondly down at them from his place in the royal box. "You're gonna do me proud, you know that?"
"I know." Henry replied, grinning widely.
