Honor By Knight – Fredrick: Soldier No More
Sir Fredrick Dumont was honored serving as a trusted member of the royal party as Gwen's personal guard. With access to court and council meetings, he was privy to information from the ridiculously mundane to the most vital and secretive. During the formal and informal gatherings, he also had to endure standing still for long periods of time.
He'd had decades of training and experience to master his fatigue. But withstanding social niceties and political intrigue was harder to endure than any bleak night on the battlements or on guard duty in the dead of winter.
Sensing his growing unease in today's royal receptions, the queen assigned it to him, though any page could have run this errand. He maneuvered through the stream of visitors steadily arriving and filling the already teeming castle. Taking the steps leading out of the citadel three at a time, he breathed in the welcomed fresh air, restoring his vigor.
Traversing the courtyard, he wove through horses and carriages, dodged servants and nobles, skittish mounts and guards before ever reaching the gates that led to the towns. His infernal cloak would have caught on something and ripped by now had he been ordered to wear it.
His gaze washed over the hustle of activity in the upper town as he made his way toward the lower town's chapel, bumping shoulders and pardoning himself every step or so. Few structures were destroyed or damaged in the upper-class area, so more people filled the lanes, buzzing about high-end shops and merchant stalls, searching for the perfect trinkets.
As he wove through the crowd, the aroma of freshly baked bread made his stomach rumble. Children's laughter floated on the air above the steady creak of carts. Nobles adorned in embroidered finery stood conversing with musicians plucking lively tunes. Colorful flags and flower garlands crisscrossed above the streets from building tops and the sweet aromas from food vendors wafted on warm breezes.
Celebrations were on full display in the city, the doors of taverns propped open and welcoming patrons inside. For the first time since becoming a knight, he wished he could be in there with them. He sighed, something he found difficult to cease lately as he pressed forward.
The crowd thinned only slightly as he neared the merchant area between both towns and Fredrick took a left turn down a lane that led directly to his destination. Still, he collided shoulders with a Camelot knight.
"I beg your par—" he began, but the other knight kept going his way without asking for or giving an apology.
Fredrick watched the back of the man as he disappeared in the crowd, ignoring the slight tinge from the shoulder bump and resuming his own small mission. The unfamiliar sigil gave no hint to the rude knight's origin, but there have been many new recruits and visitors, and he was so far removed from them now that it didn't surprise him. Still, the honor of knights begged a pardon for the physical contact.
His ten-minute walk was taking twice as long having slowed his pace to move through people, animals, piles of debris and other construction things. He heard workmen shouting a few shops ahead and two guards he did recognize passed and called him "sir." His lips thinned with displeasure though he nodded respectfully.
Fredrick sensed a growing divide between himself and his kinsmen, patrols and fellowship with the regular guards a thing of the past. The warrior fire in him seemed dying upon smoldering ash. Soldiering was all he'd known until he met Gwen and his heart ached for its rigorous duties.
The lower town had more destruction since the structures were primarily erected with inferior materials or whatever the peasants could get their hands on. Straw and thatch roofs or wooden buildings caught fire easily and many were severely damaged or destroyed completely.
Teams of workmen and soldiers had cleared the remaining debris a few days ago and new buildings with much of the same readily-available material they had been built with before were being erected, though accentuated by flags and garland as final touches.
Women and children brought food and water throughout the day to the men and everyone stopped at one time or another to enjoy the festivities going around them. Still, there was an air of celebration in the poorer town and Fredrick wished he could join in.
The church came into view up ahead, workmen and women buzzing about a near finished repair of the roof and wooden archway. Several knights and guards patrolled along the way and it wasn't long before Fredrick saw Sir Elyan's dark hair and red cloak near a cart, and Sir Gwaine across the lane from him trading awkward glances.
Arthur's personal knights were as close to each other as brothers can be, and to see the pair appearing at odds with one another was disconcerting. He knew how important it was to the king to always display outward unity even if strife stirred within from time to time and work through their contentions as men.
"Sir Elyan! A word!" Fredrick called, the queen's brother craning his neck to see who had beckoned before acknowledging. The sullen look in the man's eyes faded.
Elyan rarely smiled when there was so much to be thankful. The trauma Gwen had suffered had affected her brother, and Fredrick figured Elyan was evaluating his part in those misfortunes as well as the sum of his actions and character. He would, if he were in Elyan's shoes.
Sir Gwaine crossed the lane and approached just as Fredrick and Elyan met up, a swagger to his step and cloak billowing behind him. Fredrick admitted that the cloaks were favorable on the knights at times and if the attention it gave them lifted their spirits or inspired hope in others, then who was he to buck at tradition. He straightened his simple tunic, eschewing the ostentatious garb knights flaunted.
"Sir Fredrick," Sir Gwaine said, his smile wide as he joined them. "Camelot's newest knight. What's the word?"
Sir Gwaine was one of the most complex men. The knight was the best swordsman Fredrick had ever seen, as good as or better than Arthur and Tristan. His stride was sure and confident – some may say with arrogance. He also had a tendency for swearing, bristling Fredrick. Yet, when required, Sir Gwaine executed proper protocols and etiquette like he was born to it. There had been times when Fredrick wondered about Sir Gwaine's common breeding.
"Sir Leon has arrived," Fredrick reported, and then addressed Elyan. "Your sister requests your presence."
"Thank you, Sir Fredrick," Elyan said, his voice disengaged, indifferent.
"'Fredrick' would do fine, Sir Elyan," he responded, shifting to dodge a few women carrying water buckets.
"Nah," insisted Gwaine, smacking him on the shoulder with the palm of his good arm. "You're one of us now. We don't want you to feel left out."
Fredrick rolled his eyes. Sometimes, Sir Gwaine also grated against his nerves. "The king and queen awaits, my lords," he said, sweeping an arm forward as a gesture for them to proceed ahead of him.
The two knights took the lead and made their way through the streets, clearing the path for him. Fredrick hid his displeasure as he walked behind them, frowning at the backs of their heads.
These lads, the king's private guard, had pulled him into their circle and made him one of their own and deep down. He was a soldier, a warrior just as much as them, but his call to duty now laid behind the queen, not with them.