The Green Knight
The legends paint Gwaine as a courageous, virtuous knight, one of valour and strength. Obviously, the legends have no idea what they are talking about.
Disclaimer: BBC Merlin inspired this fic, though stories about The Green Knight are probably public usage.
Warning: Things might get a little bloody near the end of the chapter. It's not something I think requires warning – I marked this story T, and I'm 80% sure teens handle this much gore from at least history class, if not other sources in everyday life *coughnewscough* – but better safe than sorry.
CHAPTER 1
"As the sound of the music ceased, and the first course had been fitly served, there came in at the hall door one terrible to behold, of stature greater than any on earth; from neck to loin so strong and thickly made, and with limbs so long and so great that he seemed even as a giant. And yet he was but a man, only the mightiest that might mount a steed; broad of chest and shoulders and slender of waist, and all his features of like fashion; but men marvelled much at his colour, for he rode even as a knight, yet was green all over."
The wine and swirling dresses were making Gwaine's head spin, despite years of experience with taverns and feasts. Luckily, it was a tipsy sort of spin and one that was welcome when dealing with a hall filled with nobility. This feast was better than most in that regard; it was Arthur's May Day feast, and he had invited the more prominent commoners to dine with his court. Ignoring his noble status was much easier to do with them here. Even better, this feast presented the opportunity to charm a group of women who had yet to reject him.
In fact, he decided, I think I'll hunt one down now. He set down his now-empty goblet and scanned the hall, searching for a woman who seemed in need of a devilishly handsome companion. It didn't take him long. Gwaine pushed off against the wall he had been leaning against and weaved through the fringe of the crowd, methodically making his way across the room to where he spied a brunette beauty. Just as he stopped to straighten up before introducing himself, a hand clasped his shoulder and turned him around.
It was not a pretty woman.
"Gareth," Gwaine scowled, "stop bothering me, I'm busy."
The young man standing in front of him looked almost exactly like Gwaine, albeit a younger version of him. All that was missing was Gwaine's collection of faint scars on his hands and strands of brown hair framing his face. Instead, his hands were calloused and clear and his blond hair lay short and flat against his head. He stood an inch taller than Gwaine and despite the wiry build, he hardly looked gawky. Grace infused his movements, as natural on him as revelry was on Gwaine.
"The lady you were tracking has already found company, so no, you're not," Gareth said steadily.
Gwaine looked over his shoulder and found Sir Kay flirting with his target (that arrogant bastard!). "I blame you. How could you do this to me?" Gwaine whined as he turned back towards the young man.
Gareth's lips twisted into a frown. "With great ease." A disapproving eye trailed over Gwaine's face. "I would have thought you'd grown up at least a little by now. Aren't you a lord of some manor?"
Gwaine ignored the anxious twist in his stomach at the thought of his villagers. "Don't pull that responsibility speech out now, you ungrateful brat. I'm the older brother; I should be the one lecturing you! What would you have been doing now if I hadn't gone with Tristan to Castle Dore and recognized you working in the kitchens?"
"Happily getting along with my life, no doubt. King Mark is a very kind ruler," Gareth said as if he hadn't had this conversation every day since he'd come to Camelot with them a week ago.
Gwaine raised an eyebrow. "Keep talking like that, and I'll start to think you don't want me around."
Gareth froze. "Whether I do or do not seems to have no effect on whether you stay or go," he said quietly. Gwaine winced, and averted his eyes from his brother's hard gaze.
"I didn't mean to-"
"Never mind," Gareth interrupted, "this isn't the time or place to talk about it." They fell silent as they looked out across the hall, gazes falling onto King Arthur and Merlin whispering at each other. Merlin nodded once before discretely exiting the hall through a servant's corridor. The king began subtly prodding his guests to take their seats.
"So," Gwaine prompted, turning back to his younger brother.
"I…" Gareth's voice faltered. "I'll talk to you later. It seems the feast proper is about to start." Gareth turned on his heel and hurried back into the crowd before Gwaine could grab his arm.
Another stilted conversation with my brother, Gwaine sighed. Why did I convince him to come to Camelot? He trailed his fingers along the walls, hoping to pass his disappointment into the cool stone. He shouldn't have been able to recognize me; I certainly didn't recognize him. It'd been years since I left them on their own. Arthur caught his eye and motioned him over. Well, the past is past and I can't do anything about it now, he thought decisively, and went to see what Arthur wanted.
At his seat on the dais along the back of the room, Gwaine was wondering where in Albion Merlin had gone. In the Court Sorcerer's absence, Gwaine was given the seat at Arthur's right hand. He would have chalked it up to Merlin and Arthur playing some lame joke at his expense (they both knew how much he hated being touted as a "model" knight, and the curse of the right hand seat was the ultimate recognition), but Merlin would have stayed in the room to watch Gwaine's growing discomfort.
Gwaine scanned the room once more. There were four rows of three tables, two rows to each side to create a wide space in the middle, one that was currently filled with a troupe of mummers. He'd spotted most of the other knights and their families scattered across the tables. Leon was attempting to hold back his son from joining the entertainment near the middle of the second row as Percival and his wife watched on in amusement. Meanwhile, Kay was in the corner of the furthest row, glaring at a young man chatting with his younger sister. Galahad and Bedivere were arguing about something, gesticulating so violently that their neighbours were ducking for cover. Gareth, small smile on his face, was one of them. Gwaine hastily pulled his eyes to his plate.
Next to him, Arthur stood, and every head in the hall turned to him. "Before we proceed any further, I would like to say a few things. First, thank you all for coming to celebrate this joyous May Day with Guinevere and I," he said, gesturing to the smiling Queen on his left. "The nobility in this room have all requested that I mention what an honour it is to protect so hardworking and loyal a city as Camelot. I fully agree that the farmhands and merchants alike deserve this day of rest and festivity to celebrate all that you have accomplished, and the bright future we are creating even as I speak. Furthermore-"
The doors burst open with an echoing thud.
Warm, summer air spilled into the room, the glow of the moon splashed upon the stone floor. The night outside framed a silhouette hulking in the doorway.
The figure loomed, nearly seven feet tall. His arms were laced with bulging muscles, nearly grotesque if not for the fact every limb was as broad and thick. Carried in his right hand was an axe, made for a man his size. And as he stepped into the light, he revealed the strangest thing of all. The man – his skin, his hair, the colour of his eyes, every thread of fabric – was as green as the summer leaves outside. The only other colour was in a thin, golden circlet around his head and a golden belt around his waist, both adorned with emeralds.
His booming laugh filled the hall as Gwaine and the other knights rose from their seats. Arthur motioned them to halt. "A merry May Day to you. What brings you to Camelot?"
The man smiled at the rows of terrified people, too many green teeth showing to be comforting. "I have heard many a traveller speak of the great Camelot, home to King Arthur and his knights of the round table. They speak of their loyalty, their bravery." The grin turned to Arthur. "I wanted to see if it was true."
Gwaine knew then that the man was trouble. Of all the times Merlin decides to go… Arthur nodded, as if the man was perfectly reasonable. "I hold all of my men to those ideals and hope they have been acting as such."
"I can hardly take your word for it, sire," he mocked, coming closer to the dais one step at a time. "After all, you must be biased. They're your men." He paused not two metres away, absently swinging his axe at his side.
"Then I'm afraid I don't know what I can offer you," Arthur said.
The man set down his axe and raised his right hand high for all to see. He slowly peeled off a green leather glove, looked straight in Gwaine's eyes, and tossed it in front of Arthur.
"This," the Greek Knight replied.
The knights leapt from their seats rushing to fill the space between Arthur and the man. Gwaine, however, saw Arthur, his stupid, stupid King, reaching for the glove. He knocked Arthur's outstretched hand to the side and grabbed the glove for himself.
"I accept the challenge, I, Sir Gwaine, accept your challenge!" he yelled, and the crowd quieted, worry and a hint of pride reflected in their faces.
The giant hardly looked upset. "It seems that your knights may deserve their reputations after all."
The man pushed with his hand and the knights in front of him were knocked to side, giving Gwaine a clear view of the green knight. "Of course he shows off his magic. If he hurt any of the men…" Arthur muttered next to him. Gwaine silently agreed, though with less exasperation Arthur had, oddly enough, used. The Green Knight began speaking again, his low voice thundering across the stone.
"Sir Gwaine, you have accepted my challenge and it shall go as thus: I will give you my axe tonight, and, should you kill me with one swing of it, I will tell you my name and the name of my house and home, and you will gain ownership of it and my people. But should you fail, in ten days' time, you will meet me at the Green Chapel where I will have the opportunity to strike you as strike me now. If I succeed, then your holdings and people will turn to me. And if you fail to keep your word at any point, I will unleash my terror across Camelot, Court Sorcerer or no.
"So, Sir Gwaine the Gallant, I will give you this opportunity to forfeit with your life, if not your land. Do you accept my challenge?"
Gwaine stepped down from his seat and rounded the table. His footsteps clacked loudly in the unnatural silence. "How do I know you will not go against your promise?"
The King slammed his hands against the table. "Gwaine," he protested.
"Sire, let me do this." Gwen pulled Arthur back with a tug.
"You have my word as the Green Knight of the Green Chapel. A knight does not renege on his word."
Gwaine weighed his choices. He could decline, but that would mean failing to protect his people and would no doubt spread word of his cowardice. One subtle look at the man dispelled any thoughts of a surprise attack. And Gwaine would not let another man take his place. That left one option. Acceptance. He'd have to win, but it wasn't so much his life he was worried about. It was his villagers. He wasn't sure how they put up with him handling his estate's affairs, but he could hardly pawn them off to this… man. The Green Knight was probably one of the few lords in Albion who could do a worse job managing land than Gwaine.
There was no real choice. "I accept. Axe," he prompted, reaching a hand out.
The axe was heavy, though not as much as he had expected. It would take some precision to swing it perfectly on the first try, but with a tool as bulky and imperfect as an axe, it wouldn't be as necessary as with another weapon. The wood was smooth beneath his fingers; the sharp metal blade balanced across the shaft like glinting metal wings. Gwaine picked at the handle, seeing if the green was painted on. It wasn't.
"Are you ready, Sir Gwaine?"
Gwaine took a deep breath and nodded. "Yes, I am." He hesitated before deciding to chance the request. "Will you at least do me the courtesy of kneeling?"
"Can you not reach me so high up?" he chuckled with no small amount of maliciousness. Gwaine didn't react. "Alright, Sir Gwaine, since you asked so kindly."
One knee on the ground, the other upright, the Green Knight met Gwaine's gaze with assurance and said, "Whenever you are ready."
And if that didn't make it obvious there was something off about this entire deal, nothing would. But Gwaine just hefted the axe up, shifting his hands to a comfortable position on the handle. He glanced at his friends, his fellow knights, most of whom looked furious with their hands clenched white around the pommels of their swords. Gareth stood behind Kay, worry lines creased deep in his forehead.
I won't fail in my responsibilities, Gareth. Not again. The rest of the people stood silent except for some sobbing children hidden from view deep in the crowd. Arthur held a blank expression. "Here goes nothing," he muttered.
Gwaine heaved the axe high into the air, the torchlight reflecting off the iron when it reached its peak. Then, with a whistling rush, the blade sliced the air, crunching through the bones of the man in front of him, and passed through to the other side of the knight's neck. The head tumbled to the stone floor, ragged flesh oozing blood from both stumps. The axe clanged to the ground, and Gwaine went with it, thankful that there weren't any complications like he'd predicted and that for once, things went his way.
The body reached out to grab its head.
The cheers of the people turned to screams as the other knights pulled out their swords, vigilant for treachery. "Impressive swing, Sir Gwaine," the head said, blood leaking from its mouth as it spoke. "Unfortunately, it's not enough."
Gwaine sputtered, "Not even magic can do that-"
"You'll find many impossible things can occur, Sir Gwaine. This happens to be one of them." The body picked itself up, holding the paling green head with one hand and fixing the bloodied axe to his belt with the other. A piercing whistle filled the hall, the knight calling his steed, and the body mounted the green horse. "I will see you at sundown in ten days' time, Sir Gwaine. Do not forget, or you will find the consequences worse than your simple death," he warned. The green knight trotted back into the night, splotches of blood marking his path.
Gwaine knelt in the pool of blood, leggings soaking up the liquid. Somewhere, he felt arms pulling him up, people peppering him with questions and worried looks. The knights were herding the city-dwellers out, leaving the castle staff to pick up the hall. Finally, Gwaine focussed on a face before him. Arthur's. "What am I going to do?" he whispered.
"We'll figure something out," Arthur said firmly, but for the first time in years, his king could not assuage Gwaine's fear. "First, let's get you clean."
The sound of skidding feet grew loud until Merlin burst through the open doors, blue robes billowing out behind him. He bent over, recovering his breath as his wide eyes took in the scene. He winced at the blood dripping off of Gwaine and the bruises on some of the knights' faces. "Um." He coughed his throat clear and straightened up. "…Did I miss anything?"
A/N: Finally updated. I'll leave it at: it's been an eventful year. Thank you to everyone who reviewed! I'm sorry if I never personally replied to anyone; I really tried to be good about it!
Reason for story: I'm unhappy that the peasant knights easily assimilated into Camelot's nobility. Especially Gwaine. He may be friends with nobility now, but feudalism still exists (practically, if not technically). Gwaine should NOT just get over power-hungry nobles! This story is my reconciliation.
(Also. We're going to pretend like Camelot is built in a way it makes sense with what I'm describing. It just does. Shhh.) (Also. Go look up "A point about double-bitted battle axes" on YouTube. I think they look perfect for this story :P)
Let me know what you think; I've been especially cognizant of my dialogue tags and descriptions, hint hint. Of course, any small review would be nice, even if it's just, "I hate this," "It's okay," or "Good job!"
And always remember to give me your ideas, comments, questions, concerns, criticisms, witticisms, and/or limericks!