Bartholomew Cook looked down at his parchment in abject boredom. It was the final day for registration now, and the once sprawling lines of people queued up at his booth had been reduced to barely a fraction of their former size, with only the odd late contestant turning up by the hour. With no one else around to talk to, it was hardly a surprise that the man's thoughts had begun to wander to other matters.

This was not the first tournament he had been to, and it certainly wouldn't be the last, but what made this stand out from all the others was the prestige of the attendees. Hundreds of knights and noblemen had travelled from every corner of Britain to take part in this event - he had seen as such with his very own eyes- each one being more lauded and decorated than the last.

One might wonder what it was that drew such a crowd in the first place, a question Bartholomew himself had also asked before being awed by the truth.

Large fingers drummed against his wooden desk in poorly-concealed excitement.

For this festival was to be hosted by none other than the Lord of the isles, King Arthur himself.

The prize was still unknown, set to be a mystery until the victor of the tournament was decided, but such a thing seemed only to encourage prospective contestants, rather than dissuade them.

Bartholomew didn't find this too surprising, in all honesty. Any boon that was granted by the King was worth its weight in gold, and for a knight, there was no higher honour than his favour. The tournament would thus be intense, for lack of a better word, and the anticipation for the coming days served only to make his current job all the more tedious. The long hours seemed to drag on and on, never an end in sight, as the man did nothing but stare out into an unchanging field of grass and flowers, stretching out into the horizon.

Lost in his daydreams as he was, the man failed to take notice of his surroundings until it was much too late.

"Hello there, good sir. Might you be the guardsman of this town?"

The voice seemed to materialise out of nowhere, startling Bartholomew as he jumped out of his seat in fright.

"W-Who goes there!?"

Stood outside his small booth were two knights, or at least that was what he presumed considering their armour. One was tall and of regal bearing, with golden hair and princely features sculpted into an amiable smile. The other was much shorter in comparison, with a more lithe figure, and was clad from head to toe in engraved steel.

Before the man's brain could properly process their appearances, the tall one spoke once more.

"I am Raphael, an errant knight hailing from a land across the fog, and this," The man said, pointing towards his companion. "Is my…erm… hey, what was I supposed to say again?"

The Knight's failed attempt at subtlety was heard by all, and Bartholomew could clearly make out the sound of an exasperated sigh from behind the silver helm of the other warrior before they chimed in.

"Your squire, sir. I am your squire."

His voice had a distinct boyish sound to it, bordering almost on femininity, although such a thing was quickly forgotten in comparison to what came next.

"Exactly right, my protege! Both she and I-"

"He."

"...He and I were hoping you might be able to provide us with directions towards Camelot. We've heard many good things about the place, and we wish to take in the… sights?"

The guardsman put on his most polite face, although on the inside the man was more than baffled. He was no stranger to odd people - his job made plenty sure of that - but these two were certainly up there with some of his weirdest encounters. They definitely seemed to be knights, at least outwardly, yet their behaviour was more akin to the common folk than anything else, and their questions were equally as absurd.

At least he hadn't been shouted at yet, or threatened by the edge of a sword. Lord only knows how many times it had already happened to him over the last few days.

Gathering himself as much as he could, Bartholomew puffed out his chest before finally answering.

"My good sirs, this is Camelot. Perchance, might you be here to register for the tournament?"

Wine-red eyes zeroed in on the guardsman with frightening speed, shining with an almost manic energy.

"A tournament? Is that what you said?"

Bartholomew gulped involuntarily, a cold chill travelling down the base of his spine. He wasn't quite sure when it had happened, but the man's previously affable aura had been replaced with a burning intensity, an invisible pressure emanating outwards from his form. It felt as if he was faced not with a knight, a noble or even a commoner, but something else, and that if he didn't answer soon he would be devoured alive by the man's hungry gaze.

"Y-yes! D-did you not wish to enter?"

A pause, and in the next second the stranger was once again all smiles. The sudden change in mood almost gave Bartholomew whiplash.

"What good fortune! Come squire, we have finally found a way to test your abilities!"

The squire stepped forward with reluctant steps, muttering under his breath. At this distance, the guardsman could see past the helmet's slanted eye holes and into his dull grey eyes.

He winced in sympathy. Clearly dealing with such an eccentric man had taken its toll on the young boy. Bartholomew tried a reassuring smile, although it came out more of a grimace.

"Just your name is required, lad, and I'll have it written in the records."

The boy fell silent for a few seconds, as if pondering something, before responding with that same lilting voice.

"It's… Gideon, sir. Gideon Waterford."

"Gideon, eh? A strong name, if I do say so myself."

For some reason, the golden man burst out into barely-concealed snickering at his statement, an action that caused the young Gideon to freeze still as a statue.

Deciding not to think any further on the subject lest he fall into madness, Bartholomew turned his attention away from the squire and towards his master.

"And your's, Milord?"

"It's Raphael, my friend! Didn't I tell you before?"

The guardsman exhaled behind closed fist. He wasn't sure if the knight was being purposefully obtuse, extremely eccentric, or derived some sadistic pleasure from tormenting poor souls such as he. Whatever the case was, his best option was just to carry like everything was normal.

"I remember, Milord. What family might you hail from?"

This question seemed to stump the man, as he rubbed at the back of his neck in a sheepish manner.

"Erm… I must admit, my memory fails me at this current moment. What does this have to do with my name anyways?"

Bartholomew had to bite back a groan of irritation, instead choosing an increasingly shaky smile.

"You're surname, sir. What is it?"

"Ah, you should have just asked that in the first place!"

Trembling hands clenched into fists, as the guardsman tried to remind his body that punching nobles was probably not the best of ideas.

"I don't have one."

"...Huh?"

"I have no surname, it's just Raphael. Now, if you would excuse us, I believe we have a tournament to get to!"

He nodded, too dumbstruck to do much of anything else. The duo entered the gates, disappearing from his purview, although their impression stuck with him long after their departure. Bartholomew looked down at his parchment, at the two newest entries at the bottom, as realisation began to dawn upon his mind.

'It couldn't be… could it?'

Strange behaviour, a lack of surname, crimson eyes and features almost too perfect to be human. He was hardly a man well-versed with the inner machinations of the world, but the stranger possessed far too many mystic qualities to be ignored. Bartholomew knew not what kind of creature he had let into the town, although, after taking a few calming breaths, the man decided that it would probably be fine.

With the festival underway, there was nowhere else in England more protected from monsters than Camelot.

He attempted to content himself with this thought, although a niggling at the back of his mind left him unable to fully forget about the incident.

Sadly, such things seemed destined only to worsen, as the guardsman spied another figure approaching his booth.

Elaborate wrought-iron covered the knight's frame, highlighted with streaks of vibrant red, all topped off with an imposing helm decorated with wicked horns. It certainly seemed an intimidating visage, and it would be - if you were to forgo his rather lacklustre height, that is.

The warrior stepped up with the clank of steel, and spoke in an eerily familiar tone of voice.

"My name is Mordred, and I'm here to participate in the tournament."

"I see… and surname?"

The knight shrugged nonchalantly, before tensing up ever so slightly.

"Don't have one. Is that gonna be a problem?!"

Bartholomew Cook fought the urge to claw his eyes out.

/

"That was awful, you know. I didn't think it was possible for one person to be that bad at acting."

"Hey, I thought I did pretty well for myself! I'm not so good at those kinds of things…"

Evelyn made to retort, before thinking better of it. For all of the man's many talents, stealth and subtlety seemed to be far out of his repertoire, which was both a blessing and a curse.

A blessing in the sense that he was absolutely awful at lying or trying to conceal things, and a curse because… well… he was absolutely awful at lying or trying to conceal things.

What happened at the gate was better off forgotten, for her own peace of mind if nothing else.

"Nevermind that now, just be thankful that he even let us in. It's a miracle in and of itself."

Raphael fell silent for a moment, eyebrows furrowed together, before responding.

"Why even bother with the disguise? That guardsman seemed like a friendly fellow, I'm sure he would have let you through whether he knew you were a woman or not."

The girl in question sighed. She had been travelling with Raphael for a while now, and one thing that had become apparent rather quickly was his attitude towards women - or rather, how he thought everyone else's attitude should be.

His belief in her ability as a warrior was touching, that she could admit, but he seemed to be under the impression that this was the norm rather than the exception. She had spoken to him about it many times before, but he never seemed to take her words on the matter seriously, instead preferring to bulldoze through people's preconceptions with all the subtlety of a battering ram.

"He was only friendly because of the disguise. If he knew me to be a woman, or even worse - a commoner, I doubt he would be so cordial. We are not allowed to compete in such prestigious events."

"And how is that going to change if you keep hiding your identity? You can't wear a helmet forever, Evelyn, or should I say… Gideon!"

Just saying that name brought the man a beaming smile, a smile that came at the expense of Evelyn's dignity.

"I panicked, okay! I just picked something out at random!"

"Sure, sure, I believe you. Funny story though; I'm not sure what it was, but last night I swear I could hear someone claiming to be 'Evelyn the All Knowing' outside my tent. Quite strange, don't you think?"

Under her helmet, previously pale cheeks flushed a healthy shade of red.

"Y-yes, that is very weird…It was probably j-just the wind though, y'know? Hahaha…"

Her awkward chuckle did nothing to sway the lone warrior, crimson eyes glinting with mirth.

"A rather passionate and incensed wind, if I remember correctly. It did seem rather into its performance…"

If anyone were to ask, then Evelyn would certainly deny whining, no matter how similar her current tone sounded.

"Why don't we both just agree that nothing happened today, alright?! Let's just worry about our lodging first before anything else."

Raphael gave her a thumbs up, although his grin showed no signs of abating.

"Whatever you say, squire Gideon. Lead the way!"

The sound of grinding teeth could be heard as the duo made their way through cobbled streets, winding roads that all ultimately lead to the same final destination.

'So this is Camelot, huh?'

Sat upon a hill, high above all else, illumined in golden hues by the radiant sun; a castle stood in eternal vigil, a gargantuan stone sentinel looking out into the horizon.

'How interesting…'

Within the back of Raphael's mind, something pulsed.

AN: Update schedule rn is a bit wonky since setting up everything I need for uni has been a bit of a hassle. Hopefully once I start my course I can have a more stable schedule, but right now things are all over the place.

In other news, we are finally past the prologue! Took me a lot longer than I initially imagined, but I'm not upset with how the story has been going so far.

Anyways, hope you guys enjoy!