Knight of Avalon
Winter came to Avalon and it brought with it a much needed opportunity for Alain's household to shake off the gloom of recent months and rejoice in the Christmas festivities. The white castle soon became a hive of activity as its inhabitants prepared for the festivities that they were intent on celebrating with ardent abandon.
Amidst running errands to help with the preparations and completing their daily obligations, the three squires began to suspect that something was afoot. Secret smiles and hushed whispers began to haunt them, followed by hurried silences when the young men happened to wander within hearing range as if an undisclosed secret was being kept from them. Salazar had been especially indignant, his deeply engrained belief in propriety taking it for an insult. On one occasion, he let his growing frustrations manifest as he sharply reprimanded two tittering kitchen girls who had tried his patience.
His rebuke only increased their mirth and his bruised pride responded by threatening them with punishment. He instantly regretted it, for the doughty cook Magge happened by at that exact moment, overheard the threat and chased him from her kitchens by clouting him about the head repeatedly with a leg of mutton, loudly proclaiming that her maids were not slaves and that if he ever dared threaten them again, then she wouldn't hesitate to insert a heated spit into a part of Salazar's anatomy unaccustomed to having blazing implements thrust into it. No one doubted the seriousness behind her promise and from that day forth, Salazar had a habit of hastily giving any burden which concerned visiting Magge's kitchens to Hamon, who with his infamous appetite had voiced no complaints about fulfilling this duty.
The cause for the household's strange behaviour remained hidden, although the three friends spent what few free hours they had pondering the mystery. However, no secret can remain concealed forever and it was commonplace for rumours to stalk Avalon's halls and all of Alain's squires were attentive to anything that appeared outwardly out-of-place. Whilst helping Lambert with counting the stores stowed away in Avalon's deep cellars, Salazar had eavesdropped on Gervais informing his brother that Alain had sent a messenger hawk requesting for a wizard of importance to attend him in Avalon. Furthermore, Hamon had overheard a servant complaining bitterly about how she was frequently bloodying her fingers whilst working on gifts Morwenna intended to bestow on a lucky recipient. What these gifts were, the young men had no idea, but whilst honing his dual-wielding skills on Avalon's tiltyard, Godric had spied Hugh riding out of Avalon alone. He soon discovered that Troll-Bane was meeting with a renowned metalsmith, but when Godric inquired further he met only a tight-lipped silence from a smirking Tancred and Ancel. Hugh returned a few hours later, leading a palfrey horse heavily laden with wrapped bundles which were hidden securely away, despite Hamon's best efforts to find them.
As the days until Christmas passed by, their mounting suspicions turned into wistful predictions. None of them dared voice the tantalising hope which began to stir their hearts; a hope that the secretive behaviour was a sign of impending knighthood. It had been a distant dream for so long, but both Salazar and Hamon had now reached an age when a squire could rightfully expect to be knighted. Godric's own hopes were markedly more restrained than those of his friends. It was a fool's hope to believe that he would be knighted alongside them. He was still too young and it was rare for any man to be knighted at his age.
Godric hid his disappointment well, but eventually the day came when all was revealed. It arrived in the shape of Thibault Ollivander, who had once again braved the onset of winter to come to Avalon. Whilst they were told that the wand-maker was only there to service Alain's armoury in a time of unrest, the squires ascertained that Ollivander's presence could only mean one thing; that the time had finally come for at least one of Alain's squires to end their apprenticeship and receive the wand of a fully-fledged wizard. Hamon also expected to be knighted, for Bayard had drunkenly let slip the news whilst he shared ale with Hamon in the guardroom and only Isolde's hasty intervention stopped Hamon from prying further.
Despite his best efforts, Godric became despondent, preferring to seek solitude in Avalon's glades where he could struggle with his mounting jealousies alone. He made sure he took an axe with him and unleashed his frustrations upon a defenceless tree, hewing large splinters from the trunk which would later be used as firewood for Avalon's braziers.
'Did that tree insult you?' a voice shouted from one of the paths which led to Avalon's great keep behind him. Godric lowered the axe as he turned to find Ollivander trudging towards him, his boots crunching on the thin layer of snow and frost.
'Lord,' Godric exclaimed in surprise, before remembering his manners and bowing in respect. Ollivander ignored the pleasantry, grimacing at the remnants of the brutalised tree.
'It must have been quite an insult to warrant this butchery,' he noted, his eyes twinkling as he clapped the younger man on the shoulder, 'It's good to see you again.'
'It's good to see you, Lord,' Godric mumbled in return, not in the mood for the wandmaker's eccentricities. If Ollivander noticed Godric's hesitance, he didn't comment on it.
'I feel sorry for any poor bastard who faces you in battle,' Ollivander said, ignoring Godric's mulish behaviour to bend down and inspect the young wizard's handiwork, 'no, this is no use to me. Can't make a decent wand out of a tree which has suffered like this.'
'I'm sorry, Lord,'
'Not to worry,' the wand-maker said casually, flicking away a splinter before turning his scrutinising gaze on Godric, 'though, if gossip is to be believed, then people are more likely to lose their heads...'
Godric grimaced, not surprised by the revelation that Ollivander had heard of his duel with Killer-Bjorn.
'You weren't there, Lord?'
'Unfortunately, no,' the wand-maker grumbled, 'I didn't linger long enough. The Wizengamot is a notoriously dull affair, full of cankerous old men snapping at each other for hours. I had far more pressing tasks to do, like seeing a man about acquiring a very magical property for the latest batch of wands I've been working on. I'm sorry I missed it. Your duel is the talk of Britain. I hope you will forgive me, but I may have embellished the tale, especially my part in it when I retold it to a travelling Venetian wand-maker. After all, I did provide you with the wand that you used to win it!'
'What did you need me for, Lord,' Godric interrupted him, for the winter chill was steadily beginning to creep past the heat generated by his exertions and his patience with the man was waning swiftly.
'Truthfully,' Ollivander said, flashing Godric a mischievous smile, 'nothing at all. Nolwenn the Fae-Whisperer has also come to Avalon and I'm determined to avoid her. She's never forgiven me for taking a holly sapling from one of her private gardens and the mad bat believes I defiled a sacred grove of that Great Mother she prays too. Having a brief triste with one of her priestesses didn't help, but I've never paid much heed to sacred customs unless a wand is involved. I deemed it best to delay our meeting for as long as possible, as I still have the scars from last time. Heed the advice of the old, young man and never pursue a priestess or anyone whose love for you is a rival of their love for a deity. How can any mortal compete with a god?'
'Is that all, Lord?' Godric asked, barely able to contain his peevishness at being disturbed from his brooding mood for such an absurd reason.
'Nope,' the wand-maker said brightly, clapping his hands together, 'I'm here to check your wand. I've just brewed the potion your friend Slytherin will drink to complete the ritual. Having already gone through it, I'll need to check whether your wand is still working perfectly. If it's as good as the day I gave it to you, then there will be no need to go through the Ritual again.'
'There's no need,' Godric grunted sourly, staring at the wand-maker in bemusement, 'I won't be knighted. I'm still too young…'
'Don't be a fool,' Ollivander laughed, 'Alain's as soft as melted butter, especially when it comes to his squires and if poor Lambert is to be believed, then you're all as thick as thieves. He even cares for that obnoxious Muggle boy and Merlin knows what he sees in him. Do you really think that Alain would knight your friends and keep you as a squire? You? Who has arguably faced trials greater than either of them? Of course, you'll be knighted boy, only a dullard would deny it you.'
Godric gaped at the older man, feeling his hope rekindle. He didn't say a word as Ollivander summoned his wand and inspected it with secret and sacred spells known only to the wand-makers guild.
'Perfect,' he finally announced, holding Godric's wand proudly, 'such a wand must have been fashioned by a masterful craftsman…'
'The best, Lord,' Godric breathed as he took the offered wand.
'You flatter me,' Ollivander smiled, 'now; you don't by any chance know where that insufferable Moor has got to? He's been hiding from me since I arrived and I feel the urge to bait him a little…'
That night, Alain summoned all three of his squires to his chamber and confirmed that they would indeed be knighted during the Christmas festivities,
'Avalon needs this,' the Lord of Avalon said, smiling at each of the young men he had mentored since childhood, 'and with storm clouds growing beyond this island, I believe that it is time for you all to join the ranks of the great fellowship of warriors who have sworn an oath as knights of Avalon.' His erstwhile charges beamed with pride at being gifted such an honour, an accolade which Alain assured them they had all earned during their service to him.
It was a tradition for a squire to be knighted by the lord they had served. The ceremony in which Alain's three squires were to be granted knighthood would be a more lavish affair than most, full of pageantry and feasting when most were simple rites of passage or were dispensed on the battlefield after a great feat of arms. However, the three young men were not expected to be mere household knights. They were raised on Avalon and it was to the island that they would owe their loyalty. Within the Lord of Avalon's domain, they were as connected to the otherworld as they were to the rest of magical Britain or the Muggle realms beyond its borders. It had always been so and Alain declared that this tradition would be maintained, for on the night before their knighting, his squires must first be blessed by bathing in Avalon's sacred pools.
The ritual could only take place at night when the moon was full and basked Avalon in a pale, ethereal light. As the sun set over the distant horizon, the three companions slipped away from the keep and ventured into the glades which surrounded it. They strode along a small furrowed path between the clawing branches, using torches to guide their way towards the place Morwenna had told them to find. They carried no weapons, for custom demanded that no mortal weapon could be carried into the Otherworld, that strange realm where it was believed the souls of the dead fled to when their lives had ended. No breeze rustled the trees about them or shifted the clouding mist, and the undergrowth by their feet lay undisturbed by the scurrying of nocturnal animals. They walked on, aware that one false step could send them hurtling to their deaths down one of the many hidden pits that led to the bowels of the caves below. The howling and shrieking calls of the creatures which inhabited the marshes that surrounded Avalon did nothing to relieve their growing dread. As if in a daze, they scaled rocks and streams until at last they came to a halt, their eyes widening at the sight before them.
It was the same mystical pool in which Godric had once witnessed Morwenna disappearing into clinging vines to bathe years before. The sacred pool was veiled with overgrown ivy and foliage untouched by the onset of winter so that it retained the deep emerald colouring of winter. Tiny magical creatures hummed as they hovered about the earthly verdure dome, shining brightly. Surveying the scene, they didn't notice how the winter's chill had miraculously disappeared, fading as a gentle warm breeze which seemed to emerge from the pool itself drove the cold away. The tranquil patter of falling water seemed to enflame their blood, enticing them to enter. They still hesitated, before finally summoning the courage to approach the veil. Approaching it cautiously, they faced it as if it the gates to the Otherworld, the spirit realm of folklore and legend.
A howl suddenly punctured the air, jolting them from their stupors. Hands searched in vain for wands or daggers but found nothing in which to defend themselves against the foul beast which had uttered the abnormal call. The young men hesitated, momentarily unnerved before Godric had reacted first. Exchanging a look with his companions, he shared his silent assurance that neither Alain nor Morwenna would risk their lives on an ancient ritual. Then he reached out with a steady hand and tried to draw the curtain aside.
Just as his fingers brushed against the ivory, the veil burst open. Startled, Godric stumbled backwards, his eyes widening as a creature from myth strode from the ghostly realm. It had the limbs and torso of a woman, naked with skin shining with spilt blood and tattooed with blue woad. But it was no human head which sat upon the creature's shoulders, but that of an eyeless stag. Clumps of sodden moss hung from the mighty antlers which adorned its crown and a cloak of dark carrion feathers was draped about its shoulders. The bones of small birds and wild fowl were tied to its beastly apparel, rattling unnervingly with every shift of its wretched body.
Recovering from their astonishment, the three friends remained wide-eyed, uncertain what trial they had to complete. Were they supposed to fight this creature of the otherworld to prove their worth, as they stood without any weapon to aid them other than the strength of their bodies? After all, they had encountered dark creatures in Avalon before, left to dwell in the island's shadows and waiting for an unfortunate victim to stumble past. Salazar and Hamon glanced at Godric, waiting for his cue to attack, for in a fight it was Godric that led and his friends were content to follow the younger wizards lead whenever violence threatened.
Yet, before Godric could even shift into a fighting stance, the beastly figure held up a hand adorned with long, wraith-like nails which resembled blood-stained claws.
'Halt,' the creature commanded vehemently. It spoke with the voice of a woman, yet one which was distorted beyond all mortal recognition, as if the creature spoke with divine authority. The three friend's instantly obeyed, as if the strength of the blood-drenched beast's voice alone was enough to render their muscles powerless.
'What is this?' Godric heard Hamon whisper to Salazar. The Muggle was ignorant of the customs and traditions of magical Britain, so he naively believed that his friend's had a better understanding of this outdated ritual than he did.
'Silence!' The creature's wrathful order instantly robbed Salazar of any reply the wizard had been about to muster. The eyeless mask scrutinised each of them in turn, before waving a clawed hand, slick with gore, as if gesturing someone forward from the ethereal gloom behind it, 'before you enter the kingdom of the Fae, you must first drink the blood of the fallen…'
As the beast spoke, the veil was drawn back to reveal six young women, although in appearance they barely resembled any women that the three squires had ever met before. Their faces were hidden behind masks of bark and rushes and their long hair fell loose and wild about their shoulders. The beast's minions had pale skin, where oozing amber sap had trickled intricately down their bodies, staining their simple dresses and making their skin glow in the flickering light. The women filed past the creature and Godric noticed that the first three bore crudely fashioned wooden goblets clasped in their small hands. The women came to a stop before the young men and held out their offerings for each squire to take. Godric grimaced and his stomach blanched in revulsion as he took the goblet the offered goblet and beheld the thick, dark brew that rested within it. It was blood, but from what creature it had been drained remained a mystery to Godric. If the beast was to be believed, then it was the blood of those fallen in bygone battles. Whether this was true or not, it was obvious that the horrifying figure had been responsible for the killing. But for honour and a magical blessing to be bestowed upon them, they were required to drink the unholy concoction. Godric raised it to his lips, hesitated at the brink as his willpower wavered, before persevering and consuming the goblet's contents, resisting the urge to wretch until the cup was empty and his throat burned with the bitter taste. A glance told him that both Salazar and Hamon had followed his lead, drinking the vile brew until nothing but the blood staining their lips remained.
The masked women made no move to retake the empty vessels and the three squires merely let them slip from their fingers, barely registering the dull thud of the goblets landing in the undergrowth. Their vision had suddenly become blurred and their minds overcome with a hazy mist that clouded their thoughts and could not be shifted.
Without warning, Godric felt the tender caress of delicate fingers upon his body. Blinking to clear his vision, he discovered that two of the masked figures had stepped silently forward and were in the process of unclothing him. Godric tried to muster a protest as his raven brooch was unbuckled and his cloak removed from his shoulders. Yet it died on his lips as the rest of his attire closely followed until he stood naked before them. He made no attempt to hide his nakedness. Many emotions rampaged through his body, but neither lust nor shame stirred there. Instead, he felt both lightheaded and content as the women who had undressed him stepped back and withdrew into the shadows behind the veil. Godric didn't have to look to his friends to know that they too had been undressed.
Standing naked before a beast, which to their drug-addled minds seemed to hail from the Otherworld, was a discomforting experience. However, the stillness which abruptly descended upon them did not last. Singing began to rise from the murky gloom behind the nightmarish figure, a gentle soothing melody that calmed their frayed nerves. As if it was driven by the music, the creature stepped forwards and in turn, pressed its hand against their chests and smeared their chests with blood with such wild abandon that it also splattered their faces and limbs. Whatever herbs and drugs had been added to the blood they had drunk must have been potent, for not even the fastidious Salazar felt repulsed by the gore his skin was coated with. After decorating their chests, the beast reached out with a clawed nail to trace a swirling symbol into the blood. Godric didn't look down, for he had eyes only for the mystical figure that, once it had completed its task, stepped back and bowed to them.
'You are now one with the Ancients,' the creature growled, 'and have been found worthy of entering their domain. Come!' It then turned stridently and disappeared into the mist.
The squires followed, drawing back the hanging ivy and stepping into the mystical realm. The mist cleared about them, revealing the nine forlorn stone maidens who bathed for eternity within the pool and who, legend said had once guarded the Cauldron of Rebirth. Winters did not touch them, for the enclosed pool was infused with unseasonal warmth. The only light came from the glow of the moon. Moths fluttered in the spectral rays, only to be chased by the native fairies who danced amongst the foliage above them. Surprisingly, on passing beyond the veil, the horned beast vanished, taking with it the masked women who had undressed them. This was a world removed from any Godric had seen. He truly felt like he had wandered into the realm of the Fae.
Godric blinked, thinking that maybe he had entirely imagined the creature and its ungodly entourage. Without being ordered, the three young men seemed aware of what was expected of them and strode wordlessly to the rugged stone steps that sank into the water and lowered themselves into the pool. They swam and bathed in silence, content to let the refreshing magically enthused water physically and spiritually cleanse their bodies. This was a memory of Britain as it had once been, before the magic of the druids had even reached its shores. A mist-shrouded place lost in its own world of magic and mystery, and as far removed from the petty squabbles of wizards or the ambition of kings as any that could be found in during the dark times.
'Bloody hell…' Godric's eyes sprang open at Hamon's stunned exclamation, only to be rendered speechless. Salazar's gasp joined their own, for perched at the pool's edge and wrapped in a thick cloak stood Morwenna. She watched them noiselessly, her hair hanging loose and free of the braid she usually shackled it in. None of them could tell how long she had stood there watching them warmly.
She began to sing a mournful tune not unlike the one he had heard the Auguary sing. From somewhere in the cloaking mist, a harp joined its music to Morwenna's voice as she reached up and unbuckled the mantle from her shoulders. The cloak fell in a heap at her feet, revealing a simple woollen shift. All three squires spluttered, for facing them was a woman untouched by mortal age. Watching her with wide-eyes, a creature born from the earth and waters of Avalon, Godric could finally understand how his uncle had fallen in love with this otherworldly being. The three squires blushed, suddenly aware of their nakedness as the Lady of Avalon slipped elegantly into the pool's depths and seemingly melted into the sacred waters.
Morwenna glided across the pool until she joined them at its centre. She faced each in turn, no gentle smile softening her features. Instead, her violet gaze was distant and she began to speak in an ancient language, one which had long been lost to wizards and that none could understand. It was as if Morwenna had been possessed by some greater being, so uncharacteristic was her behaviour. She chanted the blessing slowly, evoking the spirits of the Ancient Ones to grant the young men power in their exploits and protect their bodies from mortal threats.
She slowly reached out and traced a pattern over their faces and torso, before resting the palm of her delicate hand over their hearts. As Morwenna whispered an incantation, Godric felt a sudden rush of power stir from his breast to spread like fire through his veins that he almost laughed in exhilaration. It soon turned to shock as the Lady of Avalon leant forward and kissed him lightly on the mouth. It was the briefest of touches, but in that time Godric thought he tasted the bitter tang of ale on Morwenna's breath. Later, an amused Alain would confess to Godric that it had taken three jugs of Ella's strongest ale for Morwenna to summon the courage to perform this blessed ritual with three naked young men she had come to see as her own children. Yet, Avalon demanded that all the young warriors who hailed from the Sacred Isle and who wished to join the ranks of the mighty must first be blessed by this ancient coming of age ritual and so Morwenna had no choice but to bend to Avalon's will.
She repeated the blessing with his companions. Then, the chaste tradition complete, a smile finally reached her lips as she pulled away. Gone was the matron the young men had come to see her as, replaced by a being who shone with youthful beauty, unburdened by the rigours of age. Taking a deep breath, Morwenna plunged into the pool's depths, leaving the water undisturbed behind her. The Lady of Avalon dived deep beneath where the squires floated at pool's surface until she reached the pebble-strewn bed. A shining bronze knife awaited her, shimmering with a golden hue. She clasped the knife and surged upwards with the grace of a creature born in these very waters. As she gracefully resurfaced, the squires stilled as they noticed that she was armed. Godric had always assumed that any weapon would look out of place in his gentle aunt's hands, but this was quickly displaced as he watched on in amazement. Small drops of water glistened as they trickled down the bronze blade before returning to the water from whence it came. No mark blemished the dagger and it showed no sign of age, even though it must have lain on the pool's bed for over a thousand years.
Morwenna began to swim around them, returning to the song she had been singing when she had first appeared from the mists which shrouded the pool's banks. The three men reddened as her body, the shift clinging to her so that she appeared nude, brushed past and stroked their skin. Magic crackled about them, as if enticed to life by the song and Godric was adamant that he'd never again bear witness to such an otherworldly ritual, or one as imbued with an ancient magic long thought lost to wizards. One day Godric would come to suspect that the blood he had drunk had been laced with herbal drugs, which gave the ritual its ethereal quality and allowed his mind to wander. But at this moment, it was of no consequence, for Godric's heart swelled with pride that these three alone had been chosen to be blessed with such ancient spiritualism.
He felt Morwenna take his hand and quickly sliced the blade across his palm, releasing a small rush of blood. Strangely, Godric didn't cry out, for no pain came assaulted him. Morwenna's smile widened before she returned his hand to the water.
'You're are one with Avalon,' she told him in a hushed whisper as Godric felt a tingling sensation seize his hand so vehemently that it caused a small ripple in the water, 'you have been blessed by the Sacred Isle and your heart will forever feel sense its pull, whether as a place to take rest or to defend it when Avalon calls for aid.'
She lifted his hand from the water and Godric saw that there was no sign of the wound other than a thin pale scar that throbbed with every beat of his heart. Avalon had marked him as its servant and now he was obligated to answer its call for as long as its power remained unbroken. Seeing as the Isle of Apples had stood as a beacon of magical power for many millennia, Godric expected the oath to last an entire lifetime.
Once both Salazar and Hamon had also been blessed, Morwenna sighed wearily before swimming towards the bank and ascending the stone staircase with the grace of a maiden. The squires averted their eyes respectably as Morwenna stepped onto the bank so that they avoided seeing her near nakedness. The Lady of Avalon looked both young and vibrant, her skin now untouched by the marks of age as if the sacred pool had acted as a balm against the blemishes of time. Bending low to pick up her fallen cloak, she wrapped it about her shoulders and flashed them a small smile. Then she was gone, vanishing into the mists.
They were not alone for long, for Morwenna's absence was quickly replaced by the six masked women. The silent figures glided to the pool's banks and beckoned for the three men to come to them. Loathed as they were to leave the sanctuary of Avalon's sacred waters, the squires obeyed the command without complaint. The masked women helped dry their bodies before indicating that they should lay prostrate upon the grass. Soothing whispers and entrancing singing filled their ears as the masked women bid them to drink another bitter tonic, which cast the three men into a deep, enchanted sleep. It was not dissimilar to the dream state Godric had embarked upon when he completed the ritual to choose a wand.
Once again he was filled with the exhilarating feeling of soaring free above the land, having transformed into a mystical creature with a beak, claws and great wings. Yet, unlike his first drug-induced sleep, this time other images assaulted his mind. He saw two raging dragons entwined in battle, too engrossed in their struggle to notice how a dark cloud closed in around them. He saw again the prancing creature who had confronted them at the beginning of this very ritual, bleeding from a dozen wounds and hunted through a thick forest by mounted knights bearing the Christian cross on their shields. He witnessed the clash of armies and a great city drenched in blood and flame, before the vision reformed into a great castle rising above a lake as the deafening roar of a rampant lion set his blood ablaze and jolted him from his sleep.
When Godric woke, he discovered that the mist had seeped away in the night, replacing the unnatural warmth with the chill of a winter's morning. There was no sign of the bloodied creature or its masked followers. The three squires were completely alone and once his companions had regained consciousness, they did not linger, too unnerved by their experience. When the stupor of sleep finally wore off, Godric had little memory of what he had dreamt. Morwenna, now dressed appropriately as befitted her status and displaying no outward indication that the ritual she had participated in the night before had ever taken place, sought him out and asked about contents of his dreams. He tried his best to describe what visions he could remember and Morwenna was not angered by his forgetfulness. Indeed, she reacted sympathetically, knowing all too well disturbing nature of such dreams.
'Do not be troubled by what you saw,' she reassured him gently, 'dreams like these have deeper meanings that it is a forlorn hope for even the most skilled seers to understand them. Now cast it from your mind Godric, you have more important duties to consider today than wallowing in these uncertainties. Give me your wand, you will not need it until tonight.' Surprised, he nevertheless obeyed by handing over the magical object. Morwenna took it carefully as if she handled a priceless treasure and then left him to his thoughts. She had many preparations to oversee before the knighting ceremony could begin.
There was a stark contrast between the knighting ceremony presided over by the Lord of Avalon in his keep's great hall and the mysterious, otherworldly nature of the ritual they had participated in the previous night. The whole household was crammed into the hall, seated at three long tables which were laden with a bountiful feast provided by Magge's ceaseless efforts in the kitchens. Great tapestries hung down from the walls, depicting tales of hunts, romances and feats of arms.
Many esteemed guests had also come to bask in Avalon's hospitality. Thibault Ollivander was a notable attendee, for the eccentric wand-maker was garbed in the most flamboyant and garish garments he could find. A mischievous grin was never far away, whilst he committed most of his energy to his favourite pastime by provoking Yusuf into an argument. Nolwen the Fae-Whisperer sat beside him. She had changed little in the months since Godric had seen the prophetess on Ynys Mon, who appeared as distant and fae-like as ever. However, she did bestow a knowing smile upon Godric when she caught the young wizard frowning at her. The twinkling look led Godric to suspect that it was he who had presided over the previous night's ritual, although it was still hard to imagine that such a seemingly fragile witch like Nolwenn could appear as a towering, blood-soaked creature adorned with an antlered crown and who spoke with the voice of the Ancient Ones. She was garbed in a modest robe, free of any symbol of wealth. Six young women attended her, all dressed in similar simple garments and who Godric assumed were priestesses to the Great Mother.
Alain had not cared for such an outdated ritual, but his wife had insisted that his three squires be given every advantage against the dangers that threatened them in life, and there was little that Alain would deny Morwenna. To placate her, he had given his permission for the ritual to go ahead to placate her, but it was the knighting ceremony which in Alain's eyes symbolised their passage into manhood. In Avalon's great hall, the squires he had guided from boyhood and fashioned into men would be proclaimed knights. Unless they swore loyalty to him, his role as their master would come to an end and they would be expected to seek their own fortunes. They had served him well and now Alain was determined to celebrate their service to him.
Honoured with a seat at the high table and excused from their duties, Alain's three squires found that they had no appetite for the lavish meal laid out before them. Excitement warred with apprehension in Godric's heart and their struggle for supremacy sent tremors of nausea cascading through him. He was overcome with fear. He had dreamed of this moment for so long that he had thought it would forever remain a distant desire. Yet, it had finally arrived and he was assaulted with the fear that he would somehow humiliate himself and make a mockery of the whole ceremony. Godric still couldn't quite believe what was happening. In the eyes of many, he would be considered too young to be receiving such an accolade, but when he had voiced his protests, his friends had dismissed his concerns immediately and told him that he was more worthy of knighthood than many grown men.
The longer the feast continued the more Godric's discomfort increased to almost rival the nerves which had consumed him before his battle with Killer-Bjorn. However, time stands still for no man and Godric's heart skipped when he finally saw Alain rise from his seat and stride to the edge of the raised dais. The clamour slowly seeped from the hall as its inhabitants ceased their talking and even the bounding hounds stopped thrashing in the rushes, all turning to watch Alain call his squires to him. Taking a deep breath, Godric rose from his bench and joined his friends on the dais.
'Nervous?' Salazar whispered gently,
'Yes,' Godric grunted honestly, unable to say more as his stomach twisted painfully. They both glanced at Hamon, who smiled sheepishly before he nodded in agreement.
'Been cooped up in the privy all day,' he blanched and shifted uncomfortably, his bowels churning, 'but that could be due that bloody potion we drank last night rather than nerves…'
Hamon's humour provoked a chuckle from Godric and Salazar, before they all fell silent. Like Godric, his friends were dressed in their finest cloaks and he saw the same nerves which assailed him reflected in Hamon's stiff stance and Salazar's rapidly paling skin. All three were very conscious of every gaze in the hall being fixed upon them.
'Welcome,' Alain said in a loud and clear voice, 'friends and kinsmen. As Lord of Avalon, you have been invited to my hall to rejoice in the winter festivities and to bear witness to this joyful event as these three young men are honoured with knighthood.'
A flurry of applause and whistles broke out until Alain raised a hand to quell it. The Lord of Avalon appeared uncharacteristically solemn as he beckoned Hugh forward and Godric saw that the castellan held a sheathed sword in his hands. He held it out in offering to Alain, who clasped a hand about the hilt and drew it in one swift motion. The blade shone as it caught the flickering torchlight.
'Kneel,' Alain commanded with the same tone he used on the battlefield, which urged his squires to obey him instantly. He shifted his position until he loomed above Hamon, the blade held steady over the Muggle's bowed head.
'You have many qualities, son of Hugh,' Alain said resolutely, 'that befit a knight. You have a grounded mind, a stout heart and unbreakable loyalty. You may not have been born with magical blood, but what you lack in magic you make up for in bravery and a skill at arms that is the envy of many your age. Truly, there are few men who can wield a lance better than you. Hamon, you are a worthy heir to your father, which is the greatest compliment I can give you. Hugh has been an invaluable shield and loyal friend for more than twenty years; I hope you will one day bear the same responsibilities for your own friends, for any lord would be privileged to count you amongst the knights of their household.'
Alain lowered the sword and swiftly touched it against Hamon's shoulders, dubbing him with the flat of the blade, before gesturing for Hamon to stand. But just as the tawny-haired man had regained his feet, a clenched fist struck him hard across the face. Hamon stumbled slightly at Alain's unexpected punch, but recovered before anyone noticed. Impressively, he didn't make a sound, although Godric heard most of their onlookers gasp at the sudden violence of the unfamiliar custom.
'Let that blow be a lesson, Hamon FitzHugh,' Alain told him sternly, 'to remind you of your duties as a knight.' Hamon met Alain's gaze squarely and nodded, his face reddening from a mix of his bruising skin and humble embarrassment at Alain's praise.
Alain moved on to Salazar, who knelt beside Hamon and kept his head bowed as decorum demanded. Godric thought he heard Salazar gulp nervously as he sensed the sword hovering above him.
'Salazar,' Alain finally broke the silence, 'When we first met in London, you showed only a glimmer of promise, like the trickle of water down a hillside. Yet, since coming to Avalon, this potential has become a flood, nurtured until a man now kneels before me. When I saw you stand before the might of Britain and fearlessly defend your friend's life, I saw a wizard standing before me who could reshape and guide our world out of the encroaching darkness. You have always said that mastering your magic counted as a greater achievement to you than acquiring knighthood. Yet, a knight's status will prove to be an advantage when you delve into politics and may lead to unlooked for allies whose support can aid you in your ventures. The fates have blessed you with a mind as fast as your wand-hand; make sure you use such talents well…'
Alain dubbed Salazar, the blade barely touching the younger man's shoulders. Once the sword lifted away, Salazar rose to his feet to face Alain's strike. When it came, Salazar barely flinched. Only then would he meet Alain's gaze, indicating that he had understood the meaning behind the Lord of Avalon's words.
'Rise, Salazar Slytherin,' Alain said, 'and remember that it is your ancestors who would be honoured to have such an accomplished heir share their name.'
Salazar blinked, tears of pride threatening to spill from his grey eyes as Alain turned aside and finally came to his nephew. Godric could feel his heart hammering against his chest, but he kept his head bowed as Alain's boots stepped into view.
'So we come to my sister's son,' said Alain, 'you left me greatly troubled when first we met, Godric. I remember wondering how this boy could be related to me by blood, this sickly child who cowered and flinched when he should have stood tall, and who shirked away from all attention like a wraith from light. I despaired, thinking that I had left you for too long in your father's hands and feared that the harm done to you would prove irreversible. Yet, even then I sensed that your heart had courage, and a desire to succeed. I was content to wait for the time when you would unfold your wings and soar…
'Truthfully, I did not expect it to come so soon. The man stood before me, the very embodiment of the heroism of your bloodline, bears no resemblance to the timid boy who first crossed Avalon's threshold. You have already faced trials which have endangered your life and crossed swords with deadly enemies. Still, you survived, exceeding all our expectations. Believe me when I say that you have done more to deserve this accolade than many knights I know. Hugh once told me that you had the makings of a great paladin. I must agree with him, for I could not have hoped to dream of a more valiant and virtuous nephew.'
Godric felt the weight of the sword against his shoulders, before being lifted free. He rose to his feet and instinctively braced for the blow to come. When Alain delivered it, Godric took it as bravely as his companions and the fist left a bruising welt which burned fiercely. Yet, Godric paid no heed to the stinging pain, for all he could think of was the lesson his uncle had imparted with the blow. His nights were still sometimes disturbed by the haunting memory of the forester lying dead, his mutilated body discarded carelessly in the same woods the man he had stalked for years, were still fresh in his mind. Godric was determined to protect those innocents, like the forester's murdered daughter, who were unable to defend themselves against the wickedness of evil men. Alain's jarring blow reinforced the message.
Alain paused and a small smile finally displaced the solemn expression he had worn since the ceremony began.
'A knight deserves a byname,' Alain said loudly, 'and your companions each bear the name of their bloodlines. You cannot be known as Godric of Avalon forever, long after you have left this island to win honour and renown. We must settle on a byname that does you justice, wouldn't you agree?'
'If you say so, Lord,' Godric answered solemnly,
'Good,' Alain's smile widened, 'do you remember the ritual you completed when our friend Ollivander the Wandmaker fashioned you the wand you wield?'
'Yes, Lord,'
'So you remember,' Alain continued, fully aware that the crowd were listening attentively to their discussion, 'that during the dream-state you envisioned taking the form of a great gryffin and that your wand shares its core with the mystical beast. You have the heart of a lion, Godric, and the device of your father's family suits you well. Loyal, bold, honourable and strong; these are virtues that you share with the gryffin and your byname should reflect it. By your will, from this day hence you shall be known to all as Godric Gryffindor.'
Godric eyes were bright as his uncle turned away from him and sheathed the great sword. Gryffindor. He liked the name and thought that his uncle had chosen well. It was a name fit for a hero and Godric grinned at the realisation that it was in his power to make sure that the name of Godric Gryffindor resounded in halls and songs for a thousand years.
Alain raised a hand and gestured for three servants to attend him. They slipped from their places, approaching the dais with arms laden with thick bundles of wrapped wool. Upon reaching the waiting men, they revealed the gifts that the Lord of Avalon bestow on the trio, unwrapping the layers of cloth to reveal the regalia of a knight. Custom dictated that a lord should invest a newly dubbed knight with their arms and Alain had not shirked from this duty.
Godric could only gawp as he beheld the gifts Alain wished to bequeath to them. The bundled cloth concealed a great shield, the wooden boards painted red. Laid upon it were a coat of mail polished to a glistening shine and a colourful tabard. Both Godric's shield and the tabard were emblazoned with the gold lion of his father's family, rampant and roaring on a field of blood. Godric stared at the device, a tempest of emotions whirling within him.
Then his gaze turned to the gilded scabbard and the newly fashioned sword stored within it, forged by the finest human swordsmiths. Godric held his breath as Alain picked up each blade in turn and held them out for each man to take. Godric seized the scabbard and immediately drew it in one fluid motion. The sword glimmered in the torchlight, casting into sharp relief the twirling symbols expertly engraved into the blade. It was as well made as any sword forged by men, but in Godric's awed opinion it was the greatest weapon ever crafted.
With considerable effort, he eventually managed to draw his attention away from the sword in his hand to see Alain fulfilling his duty as a wizarding master and handing Salazar a new wand. This was a custom which symbolised the conclusion of a wizard's apprenticeship and the sleek wooden instrument had been masterfully crafted. It suited his friend well, eliciting a warm glow from the wand's tip as its rightful master grasped it for the first time. Salazar's gaze was mesmerised by the wand and the satisfied smile on his lips was as genuine as any Godric had seen. When Alain turned to Godric and passed him his wand, the young wizard felt the familiar bond of companionship he had felt when he was eleven and knew that his wand delighted in being returned to its master's hand.
The ceremony was not yet done. Alain stepped back to scrutinise the young knights standing before him, his solemn façade momentarily returning as he prepared to conclude the knighting.
'Do you swear to let fate guide these wands and swords to only do good, and to be used to protect the innocent who cannot defend themselves…'
'I swear,' all three knights replied firmly,
'Do you swear to observe the laws of the realm and uphold the honour of your forbears, the fellowship of warriors who now stand in stone within the walls of Avalon?'
'I swear,' they repeated soberly, all three men aware of the great lineage of warriors and heroes who had sworn these same oaths and to whose fellowship they stood on the brink of joining.
'I will not force you to swear an oath to me,' Alain confessed with a smile, 'the days when I could demand your obedience are now over. From this day forth, you are free to do as your own heart wishes. Any lord would be fortunate…'
Alain was interrupted by Salazar, who suddenly stepped forward and swiftly knelt at the Lord of Avalon's feet.
'Lord Alain,' he cried in the eloquent voice he had used to address the Wizengamot. Tears were streaming unchecked down Salazar's face, 'I am only here because of your intervention. I kneel to you now, as a knight and wizard, because your hand has guided me to this point. I owe you and Avalon a debt that I can never repay. Lord, you may not ask for my oath, but I give it to you freely. What is mine is yours, Lord, and may I always serve you loyally and put your life before my own…'
Salazar's elegant speech appeared to have rendered a dumbstruck Alain speechless. But before his stunned expression could fade, Godric followed his friend's lead and fell to one knee. He smiled as his uncle's gaze turned to him.
'These are dangerous times, Lord, and it would be dishonourable to abandon you now. You've protected me and armed me with the tools to defend myself. Tonight, you have made me a knight. Now, it is time I do for you what you have done since I was a child. If I can defend you I will. I'm also told that I'm good in a fight…' Godric added in a rare glimpse of arrogance, provoking a knowing chuckle from his friend's in Alain's retinue, 'and if there are battles to come, then I will be honoured to stand by your side. You have my oath, Lord. May my life be forfeit if I fail you...'
Not to be outdone, Hamon knelt beside his companions and grinned roguishly,
'You can't trust a wizard to do anything right,' the Muggle said cheekily, shattering the ceremonial decorum with his good-humour, 'you asked me to be a shield, Lord, so I guess I'll have to make sure that these two don't hurt themselves. Lord, my oath was always yours, like my father before me.'
For a moment, Alain was so overcome with emotion that he could not speak. Tears glistened in his eyes at their show of loyalty and his steely eyes blazed with both pride and affection. Godric noticed how his hands shook slightly and when he spoke, his voice was choked.
'So be it,' he said softly, regaining a semblance of control, 'then arise, knights of Avalon. May Merlin and the gods of all men grant you a long and prosperous life.' Alain helped each of them to their feet and embraced them warmly, before encouraging them to face the household. They were met with a great clamour of cheers as Avalon's inhabitants surged to their feet and applauded them.
It all came as a blur to Godric. Stood at the shoulder of his two oldest friends, he felt pride finally overcome his lingering disbelief. In the weeks to come, he remembered most clearly the reactions of all those who had played such a prominent part in helping him achieve this long held goal.
Gone was Lambert's disgruntled glower, to be replaced by a wry smile. Belin laughed heartily, Ella smirked and Yusuf applauded politely, pleased for his erstwhile students but looking bored and eager to return to his scrolls so he could escape Thibault's infuriating company. The Fae-Whisperer and her priestesses were smiling serenely, whilst a grin even cracked Hugh's impenetrable scowl and the members of Alain's retinue whistled loudly and cheered the loudest of all. The Lady of Avalon remained seated, beaming proudly at the three knights she had mothered since they were boys, tears streaming unchecked down her pale face and relief that their swords and wands would still be there to defend Alain against his mustering enemies.
Godric remembered little else of that night and the festivities which followed. Godric Gryffindor was a fae-knight. He had finally ascended to the title he had dreamed of since before he had first lifted a sword which had been discarded on his father's tiltyard. Godric remembered his mother's assurances that he wished to do in life was his choice alone and he wondered what Alys would have thought of her little cub, now grown into a knight who bears the rampant lion of his family.
As the night progressed, Godric cared little for how foolish Godric's unshakable grin made him look or how uproariously drunk Hamon got. He even overlooked Salazar's decision to sit slightly apart, his joy tempered with regret that his first love had not lived to see this moment. All Godric could focus on was the bright future which had now been unveiled. As soon as the winter snows had melted, he would return to Black-Hollow and confront his father. Godric had not seen the man for many years, but when next they met, the second son who had always been ignored would return as a knight who wore a well-earned sword at his hip. Then he'd face Sir Edmund as an equal, with his head held high; for maybe now Godric would have finally done enough to earn his father's respect.
The euphoria which blossomed in Avalon that night did not die for many days…
Hey everyone. Sorry for the ridiculously long wait for these chapters. I've had a lot going on recently, so this had to wait.
Godric has finally achieved his goal to become a knight. Less action in the last few chapters but I promise the final part of the story will make up for it. However, 'Heart of a Lion' is far from done. I'll be working on the final part over the next few months, so there will be a long wait before I upload another chapter. Hopefully, with war and many more confrontations on the horizon for Godric and Salazar, it will be worth it.
As ever, thanks to everyone who has reviewed, favourited and followed the story. It means a lot and feel free to keep on letting me know your thoughts.
All the best for the new year.