Hosting banquets and dinners was part of daily life in any court. The nobility loved them, because they offered free food, gossip, and an excuse to flaunt the most ridiculous and expensive clothing. King Arthur's banquets were the best, of course, because a king always had to throw the best parties, the most savory dinners, the most enjoyable banquets. Still, holding a banquet and having to hold a banquet were two very different realities. There were plenty of annual celebrations, such as Christmas and Harvestfest, that Arthur genuinely enjoyed hosting. They were the most open, welcoming, and generous of all the celebrations. But then, there were other matters, such as state dinners.
It was customary for a king to treat incoming lords at court to a dinner upon their arrival. It was good hospitality, good for relations, and gave Arthur and his inner counsel a chance to catch up with news brought in from the far reaches of the kingdom, and personal affairs of England's dukes and barons. Since the rule applied universally to the lords of Arthur's kingdom, he often got the treat of hosting people like his nephew, Sir Gawain, when he returned from Orkney or from another one of his quests. Perhaps Parsifal would visit from Belrepeire, and of course, Sir Parsifal was about as polite and honest of company as a king could ask for.
But then, there were plenty of other lords of Britain that came to Camelot day in and day out, and no matter how dull or unlikable they were, they all merited their own dinners with the king, per protocol. Such dinners were chores for everyone involved: the kitchens, the waiting staff, the inner circle of the Round Table that attended to support their king. No one enjoyed them, but somehow, knowing that Arthur disliked them just as much as anyone made them bearable for everyone else through the strangely bond-building phenomenon of unified distaste.
Gawain had taken part in many a distasteful state dinner for many a distasteful lord over the years, but as he sipped on his wine and tried to look unquestionably interested in whatever half-arsed conversation was floating around the table, he thought he'd never attended a dinner for a lord so distasteful as this one.
Sir Turdoc had come to Camelot from his home in Rutland earlier in the week. Although neither Arthur nor Gawain nor anyone else in a hundred leagues had ever heard of him before he appeared on the front porch, he was, apparently, of the most famous of knights in all of England. Well, that is if his personal minstrel was to be believed. He did have a personal minstrel, whom he'd brought along in addition to two squires, a page, six horses, (two of which were stallion chargers) a carriage, two suits of armor (a tourney suit and a war suit), no less than twenty suitcases and enough opinionated conversation to fill all of them.
"It's a wonder Rutland has room for it all," Kai had muttered as he'd stood watching the procession of the lord's arrival. Gawain had been there too, and had added,
"I don't suppose Rutland would be willing to take it all back, please and thank you?" Terence, standing slightly behind both of them, had snorted loudly, but neither Seneschal nor knight cared to admonish him.
After the poor castle staff was panting and sweaty from hauling Sir Turdoc's things up three flights of stairs, half a dozen of Arthur's knights, Arthur himself, and Sir Turdoc convened in the king's private banquet hall for dinner. The room was smaller than the grand hall, made especially for official dinners such as this one. Gawaine's squire Terence was one of only two squires in attendance. (The second was a young lad named Arys, who was still learning the ropes and insisted on doing everything. He had a horrible habit of watching Terence like a hawk in order to learn from him. Terence didn't have the heart to explain what a wretched example he was.) The other six or so knights relied on the services of the kitchen staff throughout the meal, which was neither here nor there to anyone involved, because the dinner was so small.
Terence didn't think that Sir Turdoc actually realized how small the dinner was, but of course he couldn't have known that the actually popular knights like Gawain or Sir Kai attracted attendance of twenty or thirty at the least. Even if he did know, Terence was beginning to think that the man wouldn't have noticed if no one had showed up at all, because he talked enough to fill an entire dinner's worth of conversation on his own. From across the table, Sir Tor sent Terence a desperate look, and the squire gave a returning look of equal exasperation: believe me, I know.
He shifted on his feet for the umpteenth time that night, and out of the corner of his eye saw Arthur glance at him from Gawain's left. Terence was generally good about standing still, and Arthur about looking engaged. The fact that both of them had broken character spoke volumes about the quality of the conversation.
"And of course, as you must know, your majesty, women can be such troubling creatures, but when you try to explain the matters of questing and battle, they really become downright intolerable…"
Gawain especially was happy when that topic faded from the conversation, so he could stop clenching his napkin in order to restrain himself. The other knights would come in occasionally with a comment, and course Arthur tried valiantly to find a way to sound interested, but Terence knew all of them and could see that they were just as bored as he was. They were probably having an even harder time at keeping their eyes open than Terence was because, unlike the squire who was required to stand, they all had temptingly soft cushions to sink into. For once, Terence was glad for his feet to hurt. At very least, it kept him awake.
Terence didn't pay attention to the conversation. He wasn't required to do anything but attend to Gawain's drink and food, and largely, his job was stillness and silence. Not that he minded at the moment. But then, somehow, the conversation turned, causing Terence's ears to perk up and his eyes to focus.
"There are some knights here at Camelot who have reported to be in the company of faeries themselves," Arthur was saying. He seemed to be responding to something Sir Turdoc had said.
"Indeed," Sir Tor put in, "And while I know of no… particular accounts of knights visiting the Other World, one does hear things." He glanced for a second at Gawain, and Terence couldn't tell if he'd meant to or not.
"The Other World…" Sir Sagramore put it, "do not some call it 'Avalon'?"
"Yes, I believe they do," Said Sir Gawain all too casually, and Terence smirked to himself. Gawain had been slouching against the arm of his chair in a most un-knightly fashion for most of the night (he was just high-ranking enough to get away with it and just low-ranking enough for no one to really care) but now he straightened up in interest. He reached for his goblet to wet his unused throat, but found it empty. Quietly, he glanced back at Terence. Happy for an excuse to move, Terence took a pitcher from the serving table and stepped forward to refill Gawain's cup.
"I've read some about this 'Avalon'," said Sir Lionel, "some say it is ruled by a benevolent enchanter."
"Aye," Sir Kai cut in, "but a faery enchanter, he'd have to be," Gawain stole a subtle glance up at his squire as Terence poured his drink, and the two shared a smile through their eyes. As Terence was stepping away, Sir Turdoc caught his eye and nodded.
"Squire," he called curtly, and tapped the bottom of his goblet as Gawain might when asking for more wine. Terence blinked at him, not sure whether he was allowed to be affronted. Of course the rest of the room sensed the breach in protocol, to and silently stiffened in annoyance. Amongst the Round Table, at least, it was rude to the utmost to use another knight's squire without permission, especially when you were not familiar with the knight or his squire. Still, unwilling to cause a stir, Terence walked as calmly as he could to the other side of the table to tend to Sir Turdoc's cup.
"I do wonder sometimes what it is that makes faeries so different from humans," Sir Tor said engagingly, obviously trying to draw away from the sudden tension. "I can't say I've ever met one myself – or, if I have, I never noticed. Are they really so different from us?"
"Oh, aye," Said Sir Rynel, sounding confident of himself, "mysterious creatures, faeries. My brother came across one not a year ago while out near Cheshire, will tell you he's never met a body so unsettling." Terence came up beside Sir Turdoc and took hold of his glass just in time for the lord to say haughtily,
"All this talk of meeting faeries is rubbish, you know," his nasally voice made it sound even worse. "Every sensible man I've ever spoken with on the matter is of the same mind; there is no such thing as faeries."
CLANG!
Terence's hand had slipped and the pewter pitcher rang against the rim of the goblet loud enough to make the entire room turn and stare at him. He was blushing from his neck to his ears, and trained his eyes on the goblet as he determined himself to fishing refilling it. He would not look up at Arthur's surprised face, and definitely not at that smile that Gawain was trying and failing miserably to conceal. He didn't manage to unsee Turdoc's annoyed eye-roll, however.
"Would we be able to regale any convincing tales to you, Sir Turdoc," Arthur said, tone diplomatic as ever, "or are you so adamant in your suppositions?"
"No," Turdoc said snootily, "I've heard quite enough, Your Majesty. If you please, I grew tired to faery tales long ago if only because they are all so unbelievably predictable."
"And what of all the reputable men, scholars and warriors alike, who attest to the existence of a faery realm?" Inquired Sir Sagramore. Behind Turdoc, Terence was proud of himself for refilling the glass without spilling anything. Turdoc laughed.
"I beg your pardon, Sir Sagramore, but there is no man and no argument that will ever convince me of such an unbelievable possibility," he said, just as Terence was replacing his glass on the table.
"I see," said Sir Gawain, peering across the table and just over Turdoc's shoulder, "not even if a faery were to come up behind you and knock you upside the head?"
Terence's whole body jerked as he bent over, and ruined his careful efforts by knocking Turdoc's goblet and spilling half of the wine on the white tablecloth. His eyes went wide. "I.. I am so sorry, milord," He managed, and Turdoc wheeled his head around to glare at Terence as if the squire speaking aloud was more offensive than the spilt wine itself. "I'll just…" He darted to the serving table as gracefully as it is possible to dart, and came back with a clean napkin. He set it under the goblet and topped off the glass. He was vaguely aware that the entire room was watching him again, Tor and Sagramore and others in confusion because Terence was normally so in control of himself. Gawain, on the other hand, was fighting to contain his mirth so hard that Terence thought he looked constipated. Resisting the urge to glare daggers, he muttered a few more apologies to Turdoc and went back around to stand behind his master, where he could glare at a mass of neat golden hair silently for the rest of the dinner. The subject of faeries died out in favor of other, duller topics, but Terence did not forget. Just near the end of the meal, as the kitchen staff was picking up dishes and cleaned platters, Terence stepped up under the pretense of taking Gawain's plate and hissed,
"You are horrible," before jerking the plate from underneath Gawain's nose. The knight snorted lightly in humor as he left. Arthur heard the exchange, and glanced questioningly at his nephew, but the knight only shook his head with a smile and looked away, expression far too smug for it to be nothing. Arthur let it pass, but mulled on it for a few minutes afterward, mind drifting between Turdoc's comments and Terence's peculiarly elfish face.
Arthur eventually decided that he actually wouldn't mind seeing Terence knock Turdoc upside the head from behind. Absently, he wondered if it would change the lord's opinion on faeries.
…Probably not.