Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.


Chapter 66: The Gift of Family

A knock on the door brought heads up from last minute adjustments, and Wynn strode to open it. Brinn popped his head in and smiled.

"It's almost dusk, it's time."

Cerys beckoned Brinn into the room, and for once the girls let him. He stepped in and Cerys blinked, then gasped.

The boy was in armour.

And the spitting image of a young Lancelot! Cerys blinked, and the women stilled, also taking in the sight. His long dark hair flowing down his back, perfectly oiled, twin braids in either side holding it off his face. His eys stood out from him this night, a perfect sapphire blue. Calm, yet sparkling all at once.

"My..." Guinevere admonished as she pinched his cheek. He ducked and blushed, standing un­comfortably in under the scrutiny. He had grown considerably over the winter. He was towering over the shorter women now. And he was yet to see thirteen summers!

Cerys realized that he was going to be a huge man. She had never realized how much he had grown until he put on imposing armour. He and Arthur would be able to see eye to eye soon... maybe even Arthur would have to look up.

Cerys took in greaves, vambraces, epaulettes, shoulder-plates and skirting, a fine belt, studded trews and an arming doublet of soft black leather. He twisted slightly and she could hear hob­nails on the stone floor. It was simple blackened metal plate armour, but appointed with bronze on the edges. He even had a simple black cloak fastened under the epaulette hinge.

Just like Lancelot's riding armour. She wondered if it was his first set, from when he was first given rank of equestrian. A set he would have replaced many, many years ago.

Somehow this would not surprise her.

"Brinn... where did you get this?" She said as she stepped off the wood round and over to him, brushing the burnished metal with her fingers. He blushed more and ducked his head again.

"Lancelot had it altered for me, it was his. He has sponsored me for the Spring recruit."

"Well you look very fearsome." She exclaimed. The women murmured their agreement, gath­ering up things to begin heading towards the hill. Cerys poked over the plated metal and felt something on his shoulders. She peeked up - truly he was now taller than her - and gasped.

"Lions!"

An absent hand went to his shoulder and he grinned. "Da' said I could have them."

A hand went to her mouth and her tears began again. "Oh Brinn..."

He looked concernedly at her but she waved him off, turning to find a tissue or handkerchief from one of the women.

"She's been watering all day, pay no mind." Lorina said as she passed. Cerys swatted at her shoulder with the napkin. Then she stopped, an excited look coming to her face, her tears drying as fast as they had started.

"I have something for you. I was going to wait but..." She turned and hopped over to a large chest. Nimli followed her over.

"Don't wrinkle yourself, let me, what are you looking for?" She said, lifting the lid for Cerys.

Cerys pointed.

On the top of the items in the chest, laid gently across linens and clothing, was a well worn and beaten scabbard. It was dark brown, with a cross hatching etched on it in darker dye. The belt had seen many alterations, but it was sturdy. Nimli lifted it up out of the chest carefully, the belt dangling behind it. Bronze adorned the tip in a pattern that was remarkably Roman.

"S'heavy." She said quietly, handing it to Cerys. Their eyes met and Cerys knew that Nimli was near tears herself.

Nimli had once remarked that she thought it was nice that Cerys was helping the boy out. Nimli had always had a soft spot for the orphaned boy, and Cerys knew that this meant much to her as well, to see him become the young man, flourishing under the care of both her and Lancelot.

Cerys was entering this marriage with more than just a new husband by her side. She also had a new son. And a fine one at that.

Cerys hefted it and turned to Brinn. His eyes widened, immediately recognizing what she had laid out across her palms.

Slowly, Cerys drew the sword out of the scabbard, the sound scraping the wooden reinforce­ments at the edge. It was polished to a mirror shine, and the edge was perfect. All along the hilt were patterns and what looked to be Latin etched along the blade. It was a blade not unlike Arthur's, but not quite as long or heavy. Or as decorated. Cerys turned it hilt first towards Brinn, the effort at the weight obvious.

"This was my fathers. It was his fathers before. It passed to me, since my father had no sons." She took breath and motioned for him to take it. He stepped forward and put his hand on the hilt but hesitated.

"But you will have sons with him..."

"His swords will go to them. This is for you, since you are first and foremost a son to both of us now, Brinn. Please, take it. Wear it today for me, to honour my father."

The woman had all stopped, most of them with hands over their mouths, Guinevere sniffling, Wynn with her arm about Dory, Nimli still smiling behind Cerys and sniffling. Lorina was standing at the door with her arms full of cloth, clearing her throat, trying not to cry, looking straight at the wall. It was quite emotional in the room, and Brinn looked on the verge of tears, but was valiantly trying to hold them in check. Cerys had not, and the tears were coursing down her cheeks. Again.

"I..." He started. He picked the blade out of her hands and hefted it. His eyes travelled up the blade slowly, his fingers from his other hand reaching out to caress the lettering. He flipped it a couple of times and broke into a grin that was near heart-stopping. Cerys saw Arthur in him again. More and more he was reminding her of him when young. Strong, smart, capable, and above all else, this light shining from him that had no equal.

She may be biased, she realized, but she knew he would be a great leader of men someday. His influences from the knights were molding him thus. And he was growing up quickly. It seemed only a short time ago he was the young boy on the side of the road telling her he had no family.

"I cannot embrace you in your wedding dress, but..."

Cerys put her hand on his arm, and held out the scabbard. "No need Brinn. Wear it with pride. That is all I could ask for."

Brinn slid the sword home in the scabbard and buckled it around his waist. It hit his hip at an angle, and he adjusted it quickly to let the sword hang off the front. He swallowed.

"Today has been a most... eventful day." He said slowly. "And with more to come. You look very beautiful...Mother."

The women, coming out of the moment between Cerys and Brinn, began moving towards the door again. Cerys nodded to them and put her hand out to Brinn.

"You must hurry to take your place beside the men...Son." She said, her voice thick.

He stood a bit straighter, his pride of soon being counted as one of the men, and not just a boy squire giving him a stature that she knew would be one of his most remarked traits. Straight up as an arrow, his head held with his chin up. She was very proud of him then. She reached up, kissing his cheek, standing on her tip-toes.

"Go. I will see you soon."

He nodded and strode out the door, his boots grinding against the stone, the scabbard swinging. Cerys knew it would not be long before he wore it over his back. Just like his new father.

"Cerys." Nimli said as she closed the trunk. "You are going to have to think about who you will marry him to soon, you know. He's devastating in armour with that long black hair and those piercing eyes."

Cerys smiled at that thought, linked her arm with Nimli and they joined the ladies outside the room.

"I think I may just let him decide for himself. I mean, look how long it's taken some of our knights to do so, eh?"

vvvvvvvvvvvvvvvv

Brinn, just out of sight, heard the remark and wiped away the tears he had let fall as soon as he rounded the corner. He stopped and leaned against the wall of a building, his fingers coming down to touch the hilt of the sword. She had given him her father's sword. He was still absorbing this great gifting.

A priceless item that he knew should be at the head of his grave in the cemetery, not adorning his hip. He felt a bit unworthy. And he also felt that no matter what, he would strive very hard to make himself worthy of it. And worthy of the man that had worn it before him. He had never known him, but somehow felt the presence of a great warrior walking beside him. One he need­ed to look up to in every way. The way he looked up to Arthur and his knights.

He composed himself and continued on his way up towards the hill, a new purpose in his stride. He had read the Latin inscription on the blade when Cerys had given it to him. And it had filled him with a wonder.

"Equality, Justice, Valour." He repeated the words out loud as he walked. Such large duties to uphold.

He was going to do his best to always uphold them. For both of them. Truly tonight he had not been gifted with new armour and sword, he had been gifted with a new family.

It was time he let go of his first mother, let her rest in peace. Cerys was the one he wished to call that, and he hoped she was pleased with it.

He crested the hill some moments later, the knights all gathered, the torches giving off enough light to see everyone clearly, glinting off metal, creaking and jingling as they moved about. The roar of the larger torches wafting in the breeze filling in where laughter and talk left spaces. Some fabric hung over a bower with flowers weaved into it, and it was lazily drifting in the breeze. Rhia was already seated underneath it, Dafydd beside her, his hand over hers on her lap. They were talking quietly, Rhia seemed very happy.

Lancelot was jesting with Jols over something, they were laughing, Jols in his own armour, which he seldom wore. Brinn stopped just in front of him and Arthur, who had ambled over.

Brinn felt as if he belonged here with the men on this night. It felt comfortable and right. He straightened again as his King and, really, soon to be commander stopped beside him.

"I see you have a sword." Lancelot said happily. "Where did you find one? Let's see it."

Brinn popped it up out of the scabbard and then slid it as slowly as possible into the moonlight now cresting over the horizon. He relished the way it felt, releasing slowly from the leather and wood, the strength of it coursing through his veins. He wondered if it would always feel that way, to pull one's weapon out to show naked and glinting in the moonlight and torches. He heard Arthur take a breath in, and turned to the man.

"Cerys has asked me to wear it for her this evening, to honour her father." He said quietly, hand­ing it hilt first, as was the proper thing to do, to Arthur.

Arthur grasped the sword and Brinn could see him blinking slowly, reading the blade, hefting it.

"This was her father's spatha. I recognize it."

Brinn nodded, and out of the corner of his eye, saw the shocked look quickly masked by Lance­lot, but replaced with a soft one. He wondered if he would be upset that she had not waited to let them give it to their sons. He worried a bit at that.

"Da', if you wish, I will carry one of your swords as well..."

Lancelot shook his head vehemently and leaned over to inspect the blade. He ran his hands over the lettering slowly, then looked right into Brinn's eyes, causing the young boy to stop dead and stare back. There was an intensity he had only ever seen a few times. He realized it was the first time he had called Lancelot father in front of any of the knights.

"You will carry my lions into battle, and Cerys' sword." He said firmly, quietly, the emotion clearly evident under his breath. "You are our son, and she is honoured to have you as such, as am I."

Brinn stood completely still and dared a breath in. This was truly a night he would remember forever.

Arthur nodded silently and handed the sword back to Brinn, who sheathed it. Jols took the op­portunity to pat Brinns's shoulder and grin from ear to ear.

Lancelot cleared his throat and swallowed.

"Must see to something..." he muttered, and walked off towards the gathering throng of ar­moured men and people from the fort. Brinn had never seen him quite that emotional, but he knew this was a momentous occasion for him, and did not follow. He needed his own time too. Despite that, Brinn wished nothing more than a hug from him right then.

He was really and officially their son now.

Again he thought on his real parents. He knew they were long dead and buried, and he would never replace them, as he had always felt. And he had thought of Lancelot as a father for some time. But now... Now he really was their family. In every way. He again thought of the evenings gifts as so much more than items. He shook ever so slightly as he adjusted his cloak. He was thirteen summers soon. Almost a man. He must control himself and act accordingly.

It did not matter to him that they shared no common blood. He wore his father's armour, and carried his mother's sword. He was silent a moment with the men, his thoughts far off and came to as Jols was congratulating him, telling him it was a fine blade, a worthy blade for killing Sax­ons. He smiled at the man, really more like an uncle, and he too reached out and clasped a shoul­der.

What an evening this was becoming. He was almost overwhelmed with the events of the past year. He felt a culmination of sorts coming to this hill, like a start of a new era. Perhaps it was just the energy sweeping him away and he settled his mind, bringing himself back to the present. It was Cerys and Lancelot's night this night, not his.

"Do you know what the inscription says?" Arthur asked as they began moving towards the top of the hill. Brinn fell into step between Jols and Arthur, Jols arm across Brinn.

"Yes." He responded and squared his shoulders. "I will do my best Sir."

Arthur patted his other shoulder. "Of that Brinn, I have no doubt." and strode away towards the bower.


Dear Reader:

More tissues please... --SNORT HONK--

Ahh... happy tears are so therapeutic, no?

One of the ideas I had from the inception of Brinn and Cerys' relationship was that she would give him a sword, since he did not have family to do so. But I also realized that Lancelot may want to do so as well. Then I realized that Lancelot would want to keep swords for his blood-sons, and perhaps he would have something else of value to give to Brinn as he stepped from being a boy to being a young man. And it hit me... lions.

So to have Cerys give Brinn her father's sword was a bit of closure on the relationship they have. Brinn is now ready to take on his training, and he has the backing of loving foster parents to do so with honour. I am glad it turned out the way it did, just as I hoped it would when we met the young boy, helping Cerys. He's not so young, which is a testament to what proper parenting can do for a young man. He shot up over the winter, no? I have two friends who's sons are growing so fast, and this reminded me of that fact. One day, they went from young-faced sweetboys to deep-voiced young men... the time has flown... as it does for Brinn.

Please do let me know what you think, and if I caught what Brinn would feel well.

Thanks for your patience as it took me so long to update. Thank you for reading.

Cardeia