The Road is Made by Walking, Chapter 1: Gonna take on the world someday.
PG-13, A Knight's Tale AU, Wille/Simon, romance/humor/drama/jousting-if-I-can-pull-it-off.
With the country at war and the King leading his troops on the battlefield, his regent, the Queen Mother, institutes a series of knightly tournaments to boost the people's morale, much to the chagrin of her younger son.
When one of the participating knights passes away, his starving, ragtag bunch of servants, led by a minstrel with the voice of an angel, impersonate him in the contest with the hope of winning some gold. Eager to write his own fate, and with the age of gallantry slowly coming to a close, this self-made knight may win not just the favor of the public, but also the heart of a prince... and the title of legend.
Note 1: If you've watched the original movie, you'll know that it was not meant to be historically accurate- quite the opposite, in fact: it is deliberately anachronistic, and that is part of its charm. So let me say from the get-go that I'm not aiming for full accuracy with this one (and also, the old-timey way of talking will probably come and go because I can't be bothered.). That said, the film was set within a particular time frame, marked by the presence of certain historical characters. So I'm going to also set mine in a definite time period, just to "set the stage," so to speak:
Because I needed this to be set after the European colonization of the Americas for Simon reasons, it doesn't take place in the Middle Ages like the original does, but rather some centuries later in the Renaissance/early Modern period, specifically around 1560-ish when Gustav I of House Vasa died. In this fic, Kristina is Gustav's daughter. The war that makes up the backdrop for the story is the Livonian War of 1558-1583, where Denmark/Norway/Poland/Lithuania/Sweden, along with some smaller allies, fought against Russia for control of Old Livonia (present-day Estonia and Latvia). Spanish colonization of mainland Venezuela started around 1522.
Note 2: The title of this story is translated from a poem by Spanish Poet Antonio Machado, which you can read in full below. The chapter titles will all be from songs in the A Knight's Tale soundtrack, which is one of the best soundtracks ever put together, imo. This chapter's title comes from Queen's "We Will Rock You."
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Caminante, son tus huellas
el camino y nada más;
caminante, no hay camino,
se hace camino al andar.
Al andar se hace camino,
y al volver la vista atrás
se ve la senda que nunca
se ha de volver a pisar.
Caminante, no hay camino,
sino estelas sobre la mar.
Traveler, your footsteps
are the road and nothing more;
traveler, there is no road,
the road is made by walking.
By walking the road is made
and when we turn to look back
we see the path that
will never be traveled again.
Traveler, there is no road,
only tracks of foam on the sea.
~Antonio Machado, poem XXIX, "Proverbios y Cantares"
("Proverbs and Songs"), Campos de Castilla (Fields of Castile).
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"I'm so sorry, boys," Mistress Lilja said, her gaze full of grief. Her husband had been getting up in age so his passing couldn't have come as a complete surprise, but that didn't make it any easier. "Now that my husband has gone to Jesus, there really is no reason for me to keep traipsing the country as we have until now. I shall go back home and tend to my lord's estate as I should've been, rather than indulging his whims of glory."
Simon looked around at his companions. Mistress Lilja and her husband Herr Ector loved each other very much but were never blessed with children of their own- which he figured was at least in part the reason why they wound up gathering such a ragtag group of servants that they treated as their own blood.
But now their master had passed away just minutes before he was due to joust, and without a knight to attend to, there was little reason to keep employing the knight's pages. He knew Mistress Lilja cared about them, but even she couldn't justify such expenses, especially now that her main provider was gone.
Walter was the first to complain. "Seriously?" he whined after a groan. "I haven't eaten in three days!"
"None of us have," Maddie chimed in from where she was perched on their cart, swinging her legs as they hung off the side.
Henry had that pensive look on his face he got whenever he was about to say something idiotic. "Are we sure he's dead?" he asked, and Simon had to hold back a sigh because yes, idiotic indeed. "Maybe he's just sleeping really deeply."
"He's not breathing," Simon deadpanned with a roll of his eyes.
Henry peeked at the body in the small cart but dared not get too close. "So? He could just be holding his breath."
"For the past twelve minutes?" Maddie intervened again, her tone amused in contrast to Simon's annoyance. "He's dead."
"How dead?" Henry kept pressing.
"Completely," Simon finally snapped, which seemed to quiet Henry well enough. He then turned to their mistress and asked, "We can't come back with you? I'm sure we could make ourselves otherwise useful at the estate."
"I can't go back to the estate," Maddie immediately objected, and of course Simon understood her situation: having run away from her home, she couldn't stay in one place for too long for fear of being recognized. That was why being the page of a traveling knight suited her so well.
"You kids can have the big cart and one of the horses," Mistress Lilja offered, apologetic, "and his armor if you so wish. I certainly have no use for it myself." She sighed. "You can hold onto them or sell them if that suits your needs better. But I must return home, and I simply cannot take you with me. I'm so sorry. I hope God guides you in your travels."
She walked calmly toward Maddie and laid a soft hand on her knee. "And Mads?" she said very softly, but Simon was close enough to hear. "Please be careful. It is a harsh, difficult world out there for a wo..." She cut herself off and tried again. "For people like you."
Maddie's eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. Simon was also caught aback by the gesture. He thought he was the only one in the group who was aware that Mads, the cocksure British runaway, was actually Maddie, the young daughter of an English merchant who'd fled across Europe to escape an undesirable arranged marriage. They'd both thought their mistress oblivious to the truth of her identity- Henry and Walter certainly were- but perhaps the older woman was more perceptive than they gave her credit for.
After saying her goodbyes, she got on her horse and galloped away, carrying her husband's still body in the small cart behind her and leaving the four young ones to their own devices. Walter sighed. "Alright, then. How do we sell the horse?"
"We can't sell the horse!" Maddie said, jumping down from the cart to stand beside Simon. "How are we going to get around if we do?"
"I'd much rather its worth go to sustenance than transport," Walter pointed out, always concerned about their finances as the son of a bookkeeper that he was.
Before Maddie could offer further argument, they were approached by one of the officers of the tournament. "Squire!" Simon felt the urge to correct him, because he was not a squire- that was Henry- he was just a minstrel. But the man was definitely talking to him. "Herr Ector has five minutes to report or the match will be forfeited."
"He'll be right there," Simon said before his mind fully processed the words that had just come out of his mouth. Henry and Walter must've made some kind of gesture behind him because the officer gave them, all four of them, a weird look before he departed.
Just as soon as the man was out of earshot, the other three turned on him. "What the hell are you thinking?" Walter asked, his face going red in agitation. "Herr Ector's not here- even his corpse is gone! Unless you expect his ghost to take his place..."
"We have his armor," Simon pointed out. "I'll ride in his stead."
"Wait, wait, wait," Henry intervened. "Why you? I'm the only one out of the four of us who actually is of noble birth." He was technically right. Henry was the son of a nobleman who had gambled away his fortune and estate and had been killed by his creditors when he couldn't pay them back. Walter's father had been his bookkeeper and lost his life in the same ambush. Both boys had then been taken in by Herr Ector and his wife, who were distant friends of the family. So, yes, Henry was of noble birth indeed; he just didn't have any way to prove it to the tournament officials.
Simon just stared at him unflinchingly. "I'm sorry. Would you like to volunteer to have a man on a horse smash the tip of a lance right on your face?"
Henry paled. "Nah, you're right. I'm good," he backtracked, just as Simon knew he would. Henry might've been Herr Ector's squire, but he was a coward when it came to putting himself at risk. That's why Simon was usually the one who stood in as target practice, even though officially, his job was only to sing the daily Scriptures for their master and mistress.
Well, former master and mistress.
Simon shook his head and made for the back of the cart, where the armor was. Maddie followed. "Excuse me, but have we all lost our minds?" she asked. "Simon. What's your name?"
Simon paid her no heed, busy as he was trying to grab all the pieces of Herr Ector's armor. She wouldn't be deterred. "Simon Eriksson, tell me your name."
"You just said it," he replied dismissively. He had no time for Maddie's debates at the moment; he had just a few minutes to get the armor on and join the tournament.
"Correct," Maddie said, still insistent. "I said Simon Eriksson. Not Herr Simon, or Count Simon, or Baron Simon. And now you want to play knights? You don't even like horses!"
"Yes, well, my sister used to tend to the horses at the farmstead back home-"
"Great, maybe we can get her to take Herr Ector's place, instead," Maddie shot back incisively. "You can't compete in the tournament. You're Simon from Bjärstad, and Heaven knows I love Simon from Bjärstad, but that is about as far as you can get from noble blood."
"I'm aware," he said, finally gathering everything he needed. "But I don't need noble blood this one time, and winning this tournament can get us food. Wouldn't you like to eat something, for a change?"
The question gave her pause. That's when Simon knew he'd broken through. "Just don't get yourself killed," she warned.
"Noted," he replied.
"Or caught," she added.
"I won't," Simon assured her. "Now can you please help me put this on? We're running out of time."
She sighed overdramatically but relented. "Fine. Give me the stupid armor," she said and proceeded to help get him get ready as she had with Herr Ector before every contest since she came to be in his employ.
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"I don't understand why you even want me to be there," Wilhelm complained, pointedly not eating his dinner as if that would spite his mother. "I don't even care for the joust. And even if I did, I wouldn't be allowed to participate, anyway." He picked up his cup to take a drink.
His mother, the Queen Regent, sighed like she'd given him an answer fourscore already. "It is a matter of visibility, Wilhelm," she said with a shake of her head. "If we truly want these tournaments to increase the people's morale, we must show them who to thank for it."
"If you truly wanted to increase the people's morale, you might divert the resources you are wasting on these frivolities where they actually belong: to our troops on the battlefield," Wille declared sharply. "I'm sure they would much rather their family members return home safely than spend a week watching noblemen hit each other with sticks. And then I wouldn't have to show my face at the tournament at all."
His mother's tone turned similarly incisive in return. "You must show yourself to the people because God forbid your brother shall fall in battle-"
Wilhelm slammed his cup hard against the table. "Nothing will happen to Erik," he stated, attempting to hold onto his earlier assertiveness but unable to keep the fear out of his voice. "He will lead Sweden to victory against the Tsar's army and come home, get married, have plenty of children, and finally take this accursed title away from me."
Because it would already be bad enough to lose his big brother, the person he cared for most in the world. It would completely destroy him to lose his big brother and have to take over as leader of their country.
Wilhelm couldn't be King. He couldn't.
His mother's expression softened. "Oh, darling," she murmured softly but just loud enough for Wilhelm to hear it on the opposite side of the table. "Of course, I do not wish any ill should befall your brother; he is my King and my firstborn, and I pray every day that he returns to us safe and sound and triumphant. But if it is the Lord's will that Erik return to his celestial kingdom, then we need to be prepared for that possibility."
Wilhelm just sat there picking at his food, jaw clenched, refusing to even entertain the possibility. His mother finished eating and stood up. "You may sit this one out, although I wish you would not. But I expect to see you at Linköping," she said, less with a tone of demand than a suggestion, although he held no doubt that it would become a demand were he not to heed it.
"And gubben," she added just as the servants rushed in to clear her side of the table, "try to enjoy yourself while you're there? Who knows, you might find something that captures your attention."
Wilhelm scoffed. He highly doubted that he would. But did he even have a choice?
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The group made their way to the Kalmar tournament grounds, Simon on horseback and in full armor, visor down so no one would recognize him. As they approached the grounds, they started feeling the celebratory environment. A music ensemble played an energetic tune, with people on the stands singing and clapping along and doing the wave. It was nice to see the populace getting some good, wholesome entertainment for once, rather than the rich people.
As they stood on their side of the grounds waiting for Simon's opponent to get ready to joust, he fidgeted in place; Herr Ector's armor was a bit too big on him.
"Three lances to none favoring Herr Ector," Henry reminded them how the score stood before Herr Ector called for a pause earlier. Just in case any of them had forgotten in the wake of more dramatic developments such as their master passing away.
Maddie, still somewhat new at the sport, needed the reminder. "That means he has to knock Simon off his horse to win, right?" Henry confirmed her inquiry. "Well, you better hold onto the reins, Simon. This is the only horse we have."
Simon was too nervous to do anything else but nod.
"I can't believe you, out of all people, get to be a knight, even if it is a fake one," Walter muttered, more mystified than sour. "Especially after all the rants we've had to hear about how terrible the nobles are."
"The master and mistress weren't so bad," Maddie commented, now being hit with the sadness of having said goodbye to the people who had employed her since she arrived in Sweden. Simon would miss them, too- they'd always treated him fairly and with respect- but it was hard to summon any kind of empathy for the noble class when he had a direct line of vision to the booth where the Queen Regent sat in all her finery.
"The road is made by walking," he mumbled his mother's favorite saying in response to Walter's disbelief of their current situation, as a reminder that everyone made their own path, and for better or worse, his path had led him here, even though he never would've wanted this if he had to choose.
Henry, never having met Simon's mother or knowing what the saying meant, frowned. "You're on a horse." Simon had to hold back another eye roll, but at least Henry being dense distracted him from his nerves.
Thankfully, that was when a tournament officer called out: "Count Ehrensvärd, do you stand ready?"
Simon's opponent, decked out in much better-fitting armor on the opposite side of the grounds, raised his lance in assent.
"Herr Ector," the officer called out then, "do you stand ready?"
It took Simon a beat to remember he was supposed to respond to "Herr Ector" now, at least for the day. He raised his lance in agreement.
An officer carrying the local lord's flag stepped up to the track. He held it forward.
"Don't die," Maddie said, and Simon had no time to offer any kind of reply, as that was the moment the officer waved the flag upward, signaling the start of the encounter. Simon took a fraction of a second to mentally cross himself, then squeezed the horse's flank to get it moving.
And off he went, heart thundering in his ears.
The slit in the visor made it so he could only see the other knight coming at him and none of the crowd surrounding them. It didn't help as much as Simon had hoped; the cheers from the stands were deafening, and he was focusing so hard on keeping the horse going straight that he was having trouble keeping the very heavy lance level. And if he couldn't even aim the lance at his opponent, he hadn't a prayer of winning this.
He thought he heard Henry and Walter screaming behind him: "Get it in the cradle! In the cradle!" It was only there that the recollection finally clicked in his mind and he moved to cradle his lance mid-ride. It took him a couple of precious seconds of fumbling before he got it in, just in the nick of time.
He looked up, ready to aim, but he was too late. The tip of his opponent's spear smashed right into his visor, and then everything went dark.
When he came to, it was to the metal of his visor poking uncomfortably against his cheek, with Walter and Henry screaming "We won! We won!" in the background, and Maddie tugging at his arm while going "Simon! Are you alive? Simon!" Luckily she couldn't reach his shoulder when he was on the horse, because he would've fallen if she had pulled at his shoulder.
Wait. He was still on the horse?
"I'm still on the horse?" he asked, except it came out closer to "'Mstllnhsss" because his mind wasn't quite awake yet.
"Oh, thank God, you're alive," Maddie gasped out in relief. She turned to the other two. "He's alive, guys!" She might've been about to say someone else, but that was when Walter and Henry barrelled into her, engulfing her in their existing hug, still yelling "We won! We won!" This time she was only so glad to join in the chant.
Later, once Simon could stand on his own two feet again, the foursome made their way to the awards ceremony. If the officer thought this weird at all, he didn't comment on it. He did, however, object to Simon's visor still covering his face. "Herr Ector. Why won't you remove your helm?"
Simon mumbled something unintelligible- on purpose, not because the hit had scrambled his brains- and Maddie took it upon herself to "translate." This was the act they'd agreed on to keep Simon from being recognized as an impersonator.
"He can't really speak because that last blow bent his visor into his face," she explained.
The officer looked for one breathless second like he wasn't buying it and was going to insist, but then he shrugged. "My Lord. Queen Regent. May I present to you both your tournament champion: Herr Ector."
The crowd cheered as Lord What's-his-face, the one who put on this tournament to get in the Queen Mother's good graces, handed Simon a golden feather that probably cost more than his family's entire farm in Bjärstad. (That was an exaggeration, but it surely would keep them fed for a good while.)
The Queen Regent stood in the booth behind him, an eminently fake smile on her face, surrounded by her entourage and a couple of armed guards to keep the plebs away. Simon stared; she was shorter than he'd imagined she would be.
Simon turned around and lifted the golden feather high, presenting it to the audience. As their cheers and applause washed over him, Simon found himself experiencing a curious sensation: his heart beating along with their chants, his soul buoyed by their waves, his blood warmed by their enthusiasm.
This was the feeling he always wanted to get from his singing but was never able to access because he only sang for his family or his employers. And they were very positive about it, certainly, not shy with their smiles and affection and their "That was beautiful, Simon." But this... this kind of love from so many people... common townspeople just like him, just looking for something to bring joy to their lives after a hard day's labor... that's what it truly felt like to entertain.
It was remarkable.
Simon was still mulling this feeling in his chest as they made their exit from the tournament grounds, his three companions singing chants in cheer at their good fortune while he, because he had to stay in character, remained quiet and detached. But he was so engrossed in his thoughts that he failed to notice someone crossing his path.
"Ow!" the person- a man- said when Simon smacked into him, all fluted iron.
"I'm so sorry!" Simon rushed to say before he could catch himself; knights weren't supposed to apologize to commoners, or at least not as effusively as Simon just had. "I mean, I apologize, good sir," he tried again. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm all right," the man said, deliberately keeping his gaze low to the ground so that the heavy cowl he was wearing covered his features. Simon was immediately suspicious. Runaway? Or perhaps a thief? "It was my fault, really."
"Very well; I'll let you get on your way, then, as I shall mine." The man nodded- Simon could only tell by the movement of his cowl- and Simon picked up his pace to catch up with the other three. As he came into step alongside Maddie, he looked back over his shoulder to see the cowled man disappear into the passing populace.
"Can you check that all the plates of my armor are in place?" he asked his friend, who readily agreed. "And Walter, make sure our purse is intact. And the gold feather. Don't let it out of your sight."
"What's this about?" Walter asked.
"Nothing, just..." Simon looked back again, in vain. The man was long gone, swallowed by the merry crowds. "It's nothing." As long as all their valuables remained, he had no conflict with this person. It's not like Simon was ever going to see him again, after all.
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Wille waded into the flow of people, wonder-filled eyes unable to take in all the sights of the festival-like ambiance outside the tournament grounds. His mother wanted him to show up at the tournament grounds, but she didn't say when, did she?
He couldn't just stay inside Kalmar Castle the whole time, though. There was so much happening! There were people selling food and drinks, along with different fashions representing the different participating knights: their heraldry emblems on men's tunics and jerkins and on women's aprons, their colors on ribbon wands for the children, as well as toy lances and wooden swords and shields for them to play.
There were also games for people to play, various troupes putting on plays and reenactments, and musical ensembles performing dance pieces for the townspeople to join in. Groups of men and women, probably having come directly from the tavern, could be found in between stalls telling stories and laughing loudly.
There were also lots of cows. Wille didn't really understand why people would bring their cows to a jousting tournament, but... sure. Whatever.
He browsed through the stalls, curious but careful not to linger too long anywhere. Out of further caution, he adjusted his cowl to make sure it hid most of his face. He didn't think anybody from town would recognize him, but one never knew when there might be a noble around who had met him before. He'd already bumped into a knight earlier, after all. Better safe than sorry.
His attention was drawn to a stall where an older woman was selling bracelets and charms and all kinds of trinkets. "Anything I can get for you, dearie?" the woman asked, noticing his interest.
Wille shook his head. "Oh! No, I..." He trailed off when his gaze fell on a small charm, just a rectangular piece of wood with designs painted on it: a sheaf he recognized as his house's emblem, a crown, and a cross. "Um, excuse me, what does this mean?"
"It's a prayer charm," the woman explained, "for the safe and victorious return of our lord King. If you hold it in your hands while you pray for our armies to win the war, God will grant your earnest wish."
Wille had to smile. He highly doubted the charm would make much of a difference in God's response to his prayers, but he decided to take it, anyway.
"Oh no, this is too much!" the woman said, eyes wide as plates, when Wille handed her a silver daler as payment.
"No, please, keep it," Wille insisted politely. He didn't want to make a scene, but he also didn't have any coins of a lesser denomination. "There's nothing else in the marketplace that I'd want to purchase, and this is such lovely workmanship."
The woman still didn't seem so certain but relented nonetheless. "Very well," she said, then curtsied. "Thank you, my lord."
"Oh, no," Wille said, flustered. The woman might not have recognized him as the prince, but she had definitely clocked in on him being wealthy, and that immediately changed their dynamic in a way Wille had been trying to avoid. "That's not necessary-"
"Yes, it is," the woman said over his frantic babbling, but she said it with a smile. "I hope your prayers are heard, my lord. God be with you."
"And with you," Wille said weakly, slowly backing away from the woman's stall. What had started as a warm, positive experience had now left him unsettled and disappointed, and he hated that things had to be that way.
He didn't blame the woman, of course. What else could she have done? But it frustrated him that he could one second be seen as an equal, and the next as someone from an altogether different world, solely by virtue of his title or his wealth. He just wanted to enjoy the festivities as any other person would and get to know Kalmar and its people as they were, as they lived their lives on the daily, and not with them changing their behavior to show respect to those who were "above" them.
Wille wasn't better than anyone here. He wasn't better than that sweet woman selling charms. He wasn't better than the musicians or the dancers or the drunken men telling stories in between stalls. No one would treat him any differently if he weren't his mother's son, his brother's heir.
But he was, and short of being born again, there was nothing he could do to change that.
With a resigned sigh, he started walking away from the tournament grounds. He'd seen enough. He should return to the castle now.
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While Walter did his job and sold the gold feather for actual money, Henry made a list of all the food he wanted to eat now that they could afford some.
"...Gravlax for sure. Do you know how long it's been since I've had any fish? I can't even remember. Would love some sour cabbage, too. Maybe some fruit preserves? Oh! Lingonberry jam would be lovely. And ärtsoppa with pannkakor, can't go without that. Honestly, I'll eat anything as long as it's not turnips. I'm so sick of fucking turnips..."
Maddie snorted into Simon's ear so Henry wouldn't hear it. "I do not volunteer to be the one holding him up when he stuffs his stomach too full and everything decides to come back up."
Henry might not have heard what she said, but he sure noticed she said something. "Are you making fun of me, man? Afraid to say it to my face, I guess, because you know I'll fuck you over-"
"I do not want any fucking of any kind that involves you, thank you," Maddie said, still much more amused than intimidated by Henry's brashness.
The response clearly confounded the redhead, making him stumble on his words. He seemed both relieved that "Mads," a "man," did not want to fuck him, and also offended by it. Simon would've laughed, except he was too busy watching Walter finish bartering for the golden feather.
"Here we go. Sixteen daler," Walter said when he made his way back to them. "That's the best I could get out of him."
"Brother, this is going to keep me fed for weeks!" Henry exclaimed once he got his share of the coin.
"As long as you save a few ören for a drink at the tavern," Walter reminded him. "I am going to drink until I pass out tonight. After everything we've been through, I think we deserve a celebratory round."
"You know it!" Henry said, patting him on the shoulder. "What are you going to do with your money, Mads?"
"It'll take me to my next destination, wherever that may be," Maddie said, pocketing the four coins. "It'll be sad not to see your ugly mugs every day, but if we're not doing the championship anymore, I'll just have to find my own way." She nudged Simon's shoulder. "What are you doing with your prize money, Simme?"
Simon looked down at the silver coins in his hand. He opened his mouth to reply, knowing what he wanted to say: I'll send half of it to my mother in Bjärstad and save the rest to tide me over until I can find new employment. But instead, what came out of his mouth was: "We should do it."
At his three companions' blank stares, he elaborated: "This. Jousting. We should go all the way."
There was also no response to that for a longer beat than Simon had hoped for, at least until Henry leaned toward Walter's ear and none-too-quietly asked, "Is he actually talking about jousting jousting, or...?"
"He's talking about the Queen's championship. Get your mind out of the gutter," Maddie said with a roll of her eyes. Then she turned back to Simon. "What do you mean 'go all the way'? You can't keep posing as Herr Ector for much longer. Sooner rather than later, someone's going to ask you to take off your helmet and refuse to take no for an answer."
Simon shook his head. "No. We do this ourselves."
Henry scoffed. "I think you misspoke with that 'our' there. Even if the tournament organizers would take my noble lineage on word alone, I am not risking this"- He gestured to his face in a circle- "It's what gets me all the ladies."
Walter snorted. "Yeah, because your other bits are not that impressive." He laughed when Henry punched his shoulder in retaliation.
Maddie shrugged. "Well, to be fair, his face isn't that great, either." She got a shove for that interjection.
"Oy!" Henry whined. "See? I'm not going anywhere with you assholes. I need to go where people appreciate me."
"Nowhere, then," Walter said with a cackle, and both he and Maddie broke into giggles, much to Henry's annoyance.
Simon huffed, frustrated. "Can you please not make everything into a joke? I'm being serious here." He pushed off the cart and started pacing in front of them. "I'll do it, Henry. You don't have to be anything except my squire. Do you know how many bowls of ärtsoppa you can buy if we win?" He turned to Walter. "We could be splitting an even bigger prize. You might even be able to buy an entire tavern by the time this is over."
"And how will you sign up?" Henry pointed out the obvious flaw in Simon's plan: "You're not a noble."
"So we lie!" Simon said like it was so easy- mostly because he wanted it to be that easy. He stopped pacing, facing the three of them with his feet planted firm on the ground. "You know how you nobles"- he emphasized the word with disdain- "got all your wealth? By force. Stealing it from others at the tip of a sword. So I'll do the same but with a lance. And when I win, no one will be able to take that away from me."
"If you win," Henry retorted.
"No, when I win." Simon was certain he was coming across as more than a little cocksure, which didn't seem very virtuous, but he'd always been very confident in his abilities, whether it be singing or anything else. And after his experience at the tournament earlier in the day, he knew this was also something he could be good at if he worked at it hard enough.
"You all know how good I am with a sword, and with physical combat," he insisted. And it wasn't just him bragging; he grew up with his mother and sister in a small house on a farmstead that was semi-independent from their noble landlord, so he'd always felt responsible for their safety, and from a very young age he'd ensured he was proficient with a sword and knew how to fight.
His father had taught him, actually. Though he didn't like to think about that too much, so partly to shake the thought from his mind, he added: "And I mean an actual sword- stop making everything into an innuendo, Henry."
"I wasn't going to say anything!" Henry lifted his hands in a sign of surrender.
"He is very good with the sword, actually," Walter muttered under his breath, leaning against the cart in a disgruntled fashion. "It's pretty unfair."
"And as for the joust," Simon continued, "most of it is just the courage to step into that track and take a blow. I think I proved today that I'm not afraid of getting hit by a lance."
"Which is ironic because you're much better looking than Henry," Maddie chimed in, prompting Henry to groan.
"Oh, come on! Really?"
"And the tournament at Linköping is in three weeks," Simon added, sidestepping the latest comedic interjection, "which means we have three weeks to get my technique up to par. But you guys helped Herr Ector with his. I believe we can do this. And we can win. Aren't you tired of being seen as nothing? Well, the road is made by walking."
"That again." Henry shook his head. "What the fuck does that even mean?"
"It means we write our own fates," Simon explained. "And we don't let anyone tell us what we can and can't do."
"Except we do," Walter intervened. "All of us, except for Henry, are commoners. You're a minstrel. Mads can't settle in one place. I carry my father's failures on my shoulders at all times. And Henry's family name is disgraced. We can't aspire to riches or glory. Food and merriment is the best we can get."
"That's not-" Simon cut himself off with a frustrated gesture. He took a steadying breath and tried a different tack. "Okay. Okay. Give me your money." He extended his hands to Henry and Walter and gestured for them to hand over their coins.
The two of them hesitated, not understanding where Simon was going with this, but to their credit, they passed the silver coins onto his expectant hands. He closed his fists around the metal. "Right. This is what we're going to do: If you can take your coins from me, you can splurge on food and drink. But if you can't, you come with me to Linköping."
He got into a fighting stance. Henry and Walter looked at him warily.
Simon smirked at them. "See? You don't want to be seen as nothing, either." He lowered his hands.
Henry and Walter exchanged a glance, then jumped him, grappling two against one for the coins.
"Ow!" Simon exclaimed after a few seconds of the three of them rolling around on the dirt. Henry had bit him. "Seriously?!" He brought the stinging side of his thumb into his mouth. "I know you're hungry, but I'm not a fucking pannkaka, man!"
"That's what you get for getting between me and my food," Henry sentenced, his four coins now firmly back in hand.
Walter laughed, teasingly waving his own coins back at Simon. "Well lookie here, Herr Master Fighter."
"You caught me by surprise. That doesn't count," Simon muttered under his breath, almost a pout.
He glared at them briefly, then turned to look at Maddie, who was shaking her head. "Boys..." she said in a resigned tone, like all they did all the time was horse around and get into blows.
"He says that like he's not one of us," Henry complained with a scoff. Simon skipped right over that one, as he usually did when Henry unwittingly got too close to the topic of Maddie's disguised gender.
"Mads," he said in a pleading tone. Maddie just stared impassively at him. "Mads. Come on."
She tried to remain aloof, but it didn't take long for a small smile to break through her composure. Simon felt the hope start bubbling up inside him. "All right. You know I'm always up for doing something crazy... as long as-"
"As long as I don't get myself killed or caught. Yeah, I get it." With a bright grin, he moved to grab Maddie's face in his hands and plant a loud, smacking kiss on her cheek. "You're the best!"
"So I suppose this is goodbye, then?" Walter chimed in from behind, silver coins clinking in his hand.
Maddie gave him a look. "Please. No one else is going to let you handle their money, and being a squire is literally the only thing Henry's good at. Where is he ever going to find another knight to hire him?"
Henry opened his mouth to object, but closed it with a clack a second later, seemingly at a loss. He exchanged a sheepish glance with Walter. "I mean... it pains me to admit it, but he does have a point."
"I guess we're going, then," Walter said with a shrug.
"Excellent!" Simon said, rubbing his hands together. "Now buckle up. We've got three weeks to make this happen."
.
.
.
While Henry and Walter set up the rig, Simon sat on the boat, full armor in place, reading a letter from home he'd picked up on their way out of Kalmar.
Eventually, we did find the miscreants. And after the tongue lashing Rosh gave them, they will think twice before stealing hay from anyone ever again, Ayub wrote. He always wrote letters from home, because Simon's mother wanted him to practice his writing. She had taught Ayub and all other youths around Simon's age and younger whose parents lived and worked at the farmstead to read and write. Ayub wasn't great at it- Simon could see from the scratched-out words in the letter where his mother had corrected him- but he tried as best he could.
They are just kids; not dangerous at all, the letter continued. So do not even think to feel guilty for not being here. Your mother is all right, Rosh and I have everything under control, and we even got new farmhands out of this situation, as the boys have to pay off their debt somehow.
Simon chuckled as he imagined the hay thieves- twelve, thirteen years of age at most- mucking out the stables and hauling bags of manure for fertilizer.
God smite you if you breathe a word of this to Rosh, but I am actually a little jealous of you, Ayub continued. Do not get me wrong: I am very happy with my life here at the farmstead and would not trade it for anything. But you must be having the time of your life out there, seeing new places and meeting all sorts of people.
Simon's smile softened into something more nostalgic, perhaps a tad bittersweet. He did love his hometown and the farm, and he missed his family and his best friends, but he knew from a very young age that he did not want to live there forever. He liked Bjärstad, but it had always been too small for him.
Speaking of your travels, Ayub added, now near the end of the missive, Linda wants to know if you'll stop by the farm on the way to Linköping. She misses you, and also she would love to see Herr Ector and Mistress Anette again. So if you have time to visit for a couple of days on your way north, I assure you, that will make her very happy.
That extinguished Simon's smile right there. He did want to see his mamá- of course he did. He missed her terribly. But she wouldn't approve of his crazy plan to win the championship, and if he wanted to keep her none the wiser, he couldn't just show up without Herr Ector and his wife. So the best solution was just to bypass Bjärstad entirely. It would hurt to purposefully avoid visiting his mother, but he didn't want to worry her. He would have to forgo seeing her, at least this one time.
Just let us know if you can make it, and we will have lodging ready for all of you. If you cannot, that is all right- we all understand that free time is limited for a knight during a championship such as this, Ayub concluded. But we still miss you. Please write more often if you can. And enjoy this adventure. Safe travels. -Your (only, but do not tell Rosh) best friend Ayub.
Simon lowered the piece of paper, feeling like the worst son and friend in all of history. He'd have to respond, of course, and sooner rather than later, but he hated lying to his mother and his (one of two, in fairness) best friend. How was he ever going to pull this off? Was he even doing the right thing if, in the course of reaching for glory, he left his loved ones behind?
"Oy! Stop moping and throw me the rope!" Henry's voice pulled him out of his musings. He was standing on the opposite bank of the river, hands on his hips.
Simon sighed, handing the paper to Maddie, who safely stashed it with the rest of their belongings. Then he did as Henry asked, thankful they'd found a narrow stretch of the Ljungby to attempt this. Henry and Maddie pulled the boat to the middle of the river while Walter watched from the side, biting his nails, and Simon held on for dear life so he wouldn't fall off. He'd never had a chance to develop his sea legs.
"So how do we do this, then?" he asked, a little wary now that he was actually standing on the boat with a heavy lance in his hands. Maybe this wasn't a great idea. Maybe they should just go back to trying this on a horse.
"You put the tip of the lance through the ring," Henry said with a shrug. "Easy as pie."
"Easy for you to say from the riverbank," Simon muttered, not quietly enough for the redhead not to hear it.
"Yeah, yeah," Henry said, unaffected by Simon doubting his experience as a squire. "Are you ready or what?"
Simon affirmed his grip on the lance, took a deep breath, and nodded. Henry and Maddie started running. It took a couple of seconds until the boat started moving. Slow at first. Then faster and faster. The movement nearly made Simon stumble.
"Stay steady!" Maddie shouted when she saw him teeter.
"I'm trying!" Simon replied, jaw clenched because he feared if he moved too much, he would tip over.
"Aim for the ring!" Henry called out, more worried about Simon losing focus of the target than he was about Simon's safety.
"I'm trying!"
As the boat made its way closer and closer to the ring, he was able to align it better to the tip of his lance. "I think I got it!" he exclaimed, his pulse booming in his ears in a thrilling frenzy. "I think I got it!"
Finally, the boat got close enough for the ring, tied to an overhanging tree branch, to come within reach of his lance. Simon narrowed his eyes for a clearer target and aimed the tip at the center of the ring.
It went in.
"I did it!" he hollered with an ecstatic smile, pumping one of his hands, the non-dominant one, up in the air in a triumphant gesture. "Look, guys! I did it!" He saw Maddie and Henry stop running and let go of the ropes. The boat kept its forward momentum, but the pair started to turn around, presumably to cheer with him.
He couldn't be certain what they were about to say, though, as he forgot his lance, the lance he was still holding onto, was still hooked through the ring. The unmoving ring.
The boat under his feet kept going while he stumbled backward, falling into the water in full armor. As the weight of the metal pulled him down to the bottom of the river, he thought he heard his companions laughing from above. He couldn't blame them, really, but he also prayed at least one of them knew how to swim.
This had definitely not been a great idea.
.
.
Author's notes!—
Welcome to my new adventure! I know I said I wasn't going for full accuracy in this fic, but the keyword there is "full" because I can't help my nerd self. xD So, notes:
The "How dead?"/"Completely" bit is an homage to the first Pink Panther movie with Steve Martin because I still find it bloody hilarious to this day. In medieval/early Renaissance Europe, "dinner" was eaten closer to midday, as there was no electricity and the sun set quite early in the winter. "Fourscore" means 80 times. Kalmar is a city in southeast Sweden, by the Baltic Sea, which was important during this period as it was close to the border with Denmark. Ehrensvärd is a real Swedish noble family, so who knows, there might be a real Count Ehrensvärd walking around somewhere. Kalmar Castle is a real castle in the city of Kalmar, built in the 13th century. A sheaf (a bundle of stalks and ears of grain bound together) was the heraldic symbol of the House of Vasa.
The daler (later known as the riksdaler) was a Swedish currency in this time period, and was divided into 4 marks, with 8 öre per mark and 24 pennings per öre. Gravlax is a dish consisting of salmon cured in salt, sugar, and dill. "Sour cabbage" is just sauerkraut, which the Swedish apparently used to eat a lot in medieval times. Ärtsoppa is a yellow pea soup. Pannkakor are thin pancakes (similar to crêpes, with pannkaka being the singular) served with jam and whipped cream, but they are also served with ärtsoppa on Thursdays. Turnips, especially rutabaga, were the Swedish poor man's potato. The Ljungby river is a river near Kalmar that runs through Småland.
Herr means "Mr." (or, one could argue, "sir") and was the way Swedish knights (riddar) were addressed- and still are to this day, except their knighthood is more symbolic than anything (like the members of the Order of the Seraphim). Gubben (lit. "old man") is a Swedish term of endearment that we hear Kristina use for Wille on the show.
Next up: So Wille and Simon didn't get to meet in this chapter (although they kinda did), but they will in the next one, I promise! Among with some more additions to our wacky crew of misfits.
So get in, losers, we're going jousting! ;) I hope you'll enjoy my YR version of this beloved classic as much as I've enjoyed planning it. In the meantime, you can contact me on any of my social media: on Tumblr (girls-are-weird), Mastodon (cpinillad at creativewriting social), Post (cpinillad), Spoutible (cpinillad), Discord (cpinillad), Bluesky (cpinillad at bsky social), and even on Threads (cpinillad). See you in the next one!