"Fuckin' hell, what a sorry state of affairs."
"W-we are terribly sorry, milord, but-"
Raphael let out a groan in frustration.
"Don't be sorry, it's not your fault any more than it is the bloody weather's, although your lack of leadership certainly isn't helping matters either."
A ripple of murmurs spread out through the congregation, although they quieted almost instantly at the sound of shuffling feet.
From the gathered crowd stepped forward a man, clad in a frayed leather tunic and with a stocky build one would expect from a farmer or labourer. Although his hair was matted and his lined-face streaked with dirt, the man exuded a strange sense of dignity - compared to the other villagers, anyway.
What seemed to be the village's leader bowed at the waist.
"Milord, it may displease you to know this, but the Baron that owned these lands has recently passed away. Smallpox, I think it was. Of course, his ownership should have been passed down to one of his progeny, but the Baron was a… frivolous man. He sired many sons to many different women, which caused some division, I believe, regarding his will."
The man paused, as if nervous, but an encouraging look from Raphael once more got him speaking.
"T-there was a battle, just a few miles east of here. Many of the Baron's sons came to this village in order to conscript soldiers, and by the time the fighting was over most of our able-bodied men were fated never to return. It may be due to this, but soon after our village started to fall upon hard times, and coupled with the recent famine it seems as if our new Baron may have seen it prudent to… leave us. He has not visited Camelford in six months."
An uneasy silence was left in the wake of the man's revelation, the residents of the village looking at the floor with downcast features and haggard eyes. Raphael was about to speak up, to say something, anything, before thinking better of it.
What use would condolences be anyway?
No, empty words would do nothing to ease the pain of these people, this he knew far better than most. But what could he do? For all that he had lived off the land, agriculture and building were concepts entirely foreign to him - and that was not even getting into his dismal comprehension of ruling.
Not for the first time, Raphael wondered that maybe the Lands Between were better off without him as lord.
Regardless, he scoured his mind for answers, sifting through hundreds of different possible solutions that fell apart all too easily. As a foreigner to this land and their ways, it was proving impossibly difficult to attempt to solve such issues with the woefully lacking context he had been provided. How much did they rely on trade? Was he supposed to consult the Baron? What even was a Baron anyway?!
Lost in thought as he was, Raphael remained oblivious to the villager's questioning looks, although his concentration was soon broken.
*grumble*
The familiar pangs of hunger stabbed at his stomach without mercy.
'Huh, it has been a while since I last ate…'
Seeking to remedy this, the lone warrior grasped at the air in front of him in a practised fashion, and pulled. It was an action so familiar and mundane to the man that it had become almost automatic, barely any conscious thought being put towards its execution.
To those watching on, it was nothing short of a miracle.
From thin air appeared what seemed to be the pickled neck of a turtle, Raphael raising it towards his mouth, before he paused in realisation.
'Wait…'
Red orbs stared at the meal with newfound wonder.
He turned to the villagers, faces locked onto his form in awestruck reverence, and smiled.
"One of you bring me a pot - preferably something non-living - and a few logs of firewood. Dinner is about to be served!"
/
Evelyn Waterford hated many things.
She hated mornings. She hated her job. She hated the fact that she could hardly afford food, that her mother starved herself for her sake, and she especially hated that creepy old codger that liked to stare at her posterior whenever she walked past.
Evelyn Waterford hated many things, but out of all the ills that plagued world, there was one thing that she despised far above all else.
For Evelyn Waterford absolutely loathed nobles.
Sat upon lofty thrones built from the bones of common men, looking down on the world from their superior positions, and laughing. Laughing at them, who toiled in the dirt at their behest, who shed blood, sweat and tears for their leisure, who are picked up and discarded like the toys of a child, with value even lesser than that.
Many a peasant may claim umbrage with nobility, but for Evelyn, it was something more.
She would never forget how they had come to her village. Taken her father, her friends, even her little brother, and pit them against each other in a war devoid of any meaning. Into that valley they left, never to return, and she was supposed to just shrug it off? Forget about it?
Delicate features twisted into an ugly scowl.
All around her, people clamoured towards the mysterious noble like he was some sort of angelic being. She could forgive the children, for the man's strange magicks were no doubt impressive to them, and they likely couldn't understand the truth of what his presence represented…
But everyone else?
Were they truly so blind? He might seem benevolent now, but once he had gotten whatever it is that he wanted, his mask would crumble. She was sure of it. Nobles like him lived in a completely different world, one full of selfish ambitions and power plays, hardly a thought given to those that live underneath. After all, what does the lion care for the mouse?
To the nobles, the peasantry wasn't human.
All that talk of Camelot was nothing but self-serving bullshit, meant to instil the downtrodden with false hope before they were exploited once more, simply by a different master.
And yet… and yet…
The sound of joyful laughter echoed throughout the village.
None of this man's actions made any sense
Maybe in feeding the populace he thought to improve the quality of his workforce, that she could somewhat understand, but the rest?
Her mother; her sweet, dearest mother, looked once more alive and healthy. A hearty bowl of stew sat beside her, and writ upon her face was the happiest smile she had seen in an age.
Instead of pushing away the children, he embraced them, releasing sparks from slender fingers purely for their amusement. He laughed and joked with the men, accepted the women's compliments with embarrassed smiles, helped rebuild the dilapidated housing, toiled with farmers in the field…
It was almost as if he had become part of their community, a sentiment that she could never accept.
'No matter how stupidly handsome he was!'
What game was he playing at? If the objective was to curry favour with the locals, then he had already achieved his goal five times over. There had to be something more nefarious at play, and if everybody else in this damned town had already been bewitched by his charm, then it fell upon her shoulders to expose the truth.
Evelyn strode towards the fields with purpose.
/
"You're doing that wrong."
Raphael got up from where he was crouched over tilled soil, and turned around to face the speaker.
A young woman stood before him; short in stature, dark haired and possessed of piercing grey eyes. Her features were significantly prettier than any other woman he had seen since arriving in England, although her posture read more like a rabbit ready to bolt. Most of the other villagers had been quite similar since he had first got here, but over the days he thought it had at least gotten a little better, although it seemed he still had some work to do.
"How would you go about doing it then?"
The warrior's relatively normal answer startled the girl for some reason. She paused, eyebrows scrunched into a frown, before responding.
"Do you not… know better than me? I am but a peasant, after all…"
Raphael noted that, despite her gritted teeth, this strange woman's voice was quite soothing upon the ears.
"I wouldn't ask otherwise, would I? I can fight pretty well, if I'm allowed to brag a bit, but agriculture? Planting seeds? Saying I know nothing would be an understatement."
"I see…"
Evelyn did, in fact, not see at all. This was not going at all how she planned! Where was the anger? Where was the indignation, that a peasant might know more about something than him? It just didn't make sense!
Heedless of her inner monologue, Raphael carried on.
"Well, can you come and show me then? I swear to the gods, I thought this shit would be easy, but apparently, getting seeds to fuckin' grow is a lot harder than it looks!"
Evelyn watched as the man, once more, sprinkled some unknown seeds on the ground before submerging them with bucketfuls of water.
Something within her cried out in agony.
"STOP! You're going to drown them if you pour that much water, and besides, you haven't even layered the seeds with soil!"
As soon as those words left her mouth, Evelyn's blood went cold. This noble may, for some reason, be a lot kinder than the others, but shouting at him - especially a woman shouting at a man- was an entirely different offence. She could beg for forgiveness, but as soon as the thought entered her head Evelyn knew she could never carry it out. Her pride had already been trampled and trod upon for far too long by nobility, so for her to grovel now infront of one… Such a thing was almost unthinkable.
If she were to be punished, at least she would be punished with her dignity intact.
Yet once again, Evelyn's expectations were shattered into a million pieces.
"Ah, really? Thanks for the help, I knew I was missing something…"
The young woman stood there frozen.
'W-Huh? He… thanked me?"
Her mind raced with myriad possibilities and justifications, but for once, she halted her thoughts before they could spiral out of control. Planning and scheming never was for her anyways, the girl always preferring a more… direct approach to things.
The man, Raphael, had seemed weirdly cordial the entire time, so maybe simply asking would yield the best results? At this point, short of attacking him, Evelyn saw no way in which she could insult him further.
Gathering all of her courage, ruby lips opened in question.
"Who are you, really?"
The man turned around once more, although this time he wasn't smiling, regal features pulled into a neutral line.
"Why do you ask?"
Discarding any nervousness, Evelyn pushed forwards.
"It's just… I can't understand your intentions. You are noble in both bearing and appearance, yet despite that, you act as if you are somehow on the same level as us! What are you plotting? What is it you want from us? You already have the trust of everyone in the village- they virtually hang onto your every word, so what's stopping you from-"
Her impassioned rant was cut off rather rudely by snorting laughter.
Raphael stood there, clutching at his sides in mirth, laughing merrily as if nothing was wrong with the world.
The village-girl clenched her fists in barely-restrained anger. She supposed it was a fleeting hope, but she had almost believed the man to be different for a second.
"Hahaha! I think you're operating under a few misconceptions, lass! For all I may look like a foppy nobleman, I can assure you, my origins are about as humble as you can get. I appear to you like this now because I earned it, through my own hard work and nothing else."
The girl's eyes widened in disbelief.
"What?! You are a knight, are you not?"
"You could call me that, I guess, but what of it? What relevance does that have?"
Evelyn's teeth were gnashing together at his point, as she pointed an accusing finger at the source of all her current frustrations.
"Don't be daft! You should know this better than anyone, only a noble can become a knight!"
Raphael hummed in thought at this revelation. It seemed as much of this world was similar to his own, things were still fundamentally different.
"Huh… Is that how it is everywhere, or just in England?"
The woman opened her mouth in prepared rebuttal, before pausing as she registered the contents of his words.
"I cannot say for sure, but I believe most places to be the same."
Raphael smirked, causing her stomach to squirm with strange feelings.
"Well, I'm sorry to tell you, but what you 'believe' is flawed. Where I am from, the circumstances of your birth determine not the right to hold a sword - rather, it is your strength instead. The strength to do what is right, the strength to do what is needed, to fight for a cause larger than just yourself!"
Evelyn, meanwhile, could hardly believe the tripe he was spewing.
"And does such a place actually exist, or is it a figment of your imagination?! Where is this Utopia you speak of? If it is as grand as you say, then surely you would have remained there, rather than gallivanting around this shithole!"
The man chuckled, although it was tinged with the chill of melancholy.
"My homeland is no utopia, of that I can assure you. I did all that I could to fix it, put forth my utmost efforts, and in the end I succeeded in my mission, although it came not without a cost. For victory is never void of sacrifice."
A voice like a tolling bell rang throughout Camelford.
"I have been barred from my home across the fog, The Lands Between, never to return without some sort of divine intervention. You may call it what you will, but my intentions here are simply to live a happy life. Whether it be going on adventures, making food for the locals or even planting seeds; I do it all not because I expect a reward, but because those actions are rewarding in and of themselves."
She thought to retort, but the look on his face was far too raw for him just to be telling a made-up story, and instead fell silent. Against her better judgement, Evelyn decided that maybe, just maybe, this Raphael might actually be telling the truth.
And if it was the truth, then what did it mean for her?
A vision came to her unbidden, of battle standards raised up on high. Of her, riding on horseback amongst brothers and sisters, in defence of justice and the common man. A vision where the name ''Evelyn Waterford' meant more than just a little girl, or a tavern wench from Camelford, but a figure that people respected, someone who children could look up to and admire, and proclaim, 'I want to be like her one day!'
It had always been naught but a whimsical dream, so utterly was it removed from reality.
However…
Grey eyes followed the form of a man illumined in glimmering sunlight, clad in armour of the purest gold, as he seemed to create something from nothing.
And Evelyn realised that reality might be a bit more malleable than she thought.
AN: Sorry for the late upload, life was kicking my butt this past week, although my schedule should be better from now on.
Also, I know that it was possible for commoners to be elevated to Knights, although it was extremely rare. However, to someone who lived in the middle ages knowledge like this would be quite hard to come by. News was hardly ever anything but local, so the only way people would know such a thing occurred is if it happened to someone within the community. Add onto Evelyn's hatred towards nobility for fucking up her village and it's easy to see why she wouldn't believe such a thing.
