Chapter 22 - Celebratory Ceremonies
As the bracing morning breeze blew through the great hall, and hundreds of flags fluttered above them, Bedivere couldn't help but smile at the festive atmosphere all around him, finding it a welcome reprieve after the past few months.
It had been months since the last feast, and while Tristan may have been long gone from these halls (and he would never forgive him, despite what the King had said), the effects of his words still lingered on, like venom festering in a wound.
Three different kings and lords throughout the realm had raised their armies against Camelot, ostensibly refusing to allow their people to suffer any longer for a King who would inhumanly throw their lives away for his campaign, and while their rebellions had been swiftly put down by the Knights of the Round Table, the blow to the King's prestige and authority had already been dealt.
Moreover, those three hadn't been the only ones who'd listened to Tristan's poisonous words, just the ones who'd acted the most rashly and unsubtly, and it was the ones who quietly spread such seditious and treasonous thoughts amongst the people of Camelot that angered Bedivere the most; no matter how misguided, at least those three had had the decency to be open and direct in challenging the King, rather than skulking around dishonorably.
Did none of them remember the years of hardship before the King had drawn the Sword in the Stone?
Did none of them realize that the King was not truly emotionless, but simply repressing his emotion so as to be fair and unbiased in his decision-making?
Did none of them believe in the character of the King who'd rebuilt the Kingdom and served his people faithfully and diligently ever since, but instead trust the words of a single knight?
Despite the anger welling up within him, however, Bedivere inhaled deeply, before forcefully unclenching his fist.
No matter what he may feel, this day was a day for joy and celebration, and he would not be the one to ruin it with his foul mood, lest he have to answer to them.
After all, while squires were knighted rather often in Camelot, it was certainly a lot less common for one to ascend to the ranks of the Round Table.
But Squire Gareth did truly deserve no less, for the feat of defeating numerous knights, lords, and kings in a jousting tournament (with a single lance no less!) and so protecting the honor of the Lady Lyonesse, for her prodigious skill with her magical lance (a skill that had surely only grown under the tutelage of Sir Lancelot), and most of all for her character, her friendly and cheerful disposition and her dedication to the spirit of chivalry like her eldest brother.
Bedivere could not recall who had been the first to say it (it was likely Sir Percival), but one thing all the Knights of the Round Table, himself included, could agree upon that Gareth would one day be greatest of them all.
Admittedly, however, such lavish pomp and ceremony probably had less to do with what Squire Gareth had achieved, and more to do with who Squire Gareth knew.
And speak of the devil...
"How are you finding the ceremony so far, Sir Bedivere?" a voice boomed loudly behind him, and Bedivere just barely managed to brace himself before a large hand smacked against his back, almost sending him tumbling over.
"Sir Gawain," Bedivere politely returned the greeting with a smile as he turned around, knowing the young man meant no harm. Spotting another blonde man following Gawain, he added: "Sir Gaheris. I hope you're having luck keeping your brother restrained so far?"
"I doubt even Agravain or Mother would see any success attempting such a task, Sir Bedivere," Gaheris replied wryly.
"And why should we be restrained in our celebrations this day?" Gawain demanded rhetorically. "Today marks the day that all of us siblings, all of us who share King Arthur's blood, have been recognized as fully-fledged Knights, Knights of King Arthur's Round Table!"
Bedivere refrained from pointing out that Gareth had joined Camelot while disguised as a nameless kitchen boy specifically because she'd wanted to be recognized for her deeds and not for her bloodline; the young woman had truly earned her spot, and moreover Gawain simply treasured his family greatly.
Instead, he asked: "And speaking of your siblings... where is Sir Agravain? I haven't seen him all morning..."
"We stopped by his room before we arrived," Gaheris answered.
"Of course you did," Bedivere snorted, knowing Gawain would never have failed to check in on his other brother.
"But he insisted that he was presently occupied, and told us to simply go on first," Gaheris continued on.
"Of course he is," Bedivere sighed, knowing Agravain was, to put it mildly, addicted to finding more work for himself to do. "Any idea what he's busy with?"
Gaheris simply shrugged, a gesture echoed by Gawain as he explained: "He refused to elaborate, saying something about not being ready yet, but he told us to simply be ready for anything. Personally, I think he's just trying to deal with it before the ceremony, lest it ruin our sister's special day..."
"That does seem likely," Bedivere nodded in agreement.
He wasn't too concerned for the younger knight; Agravain was a superbly-skilled swordsman, and some of the many names the common knights called him included "Iron Agravain", and "Agravain Who Knows No Wounds".
"I almost pity any foolish enough to attempt anything on today of all days," Gaheris remarked, nudging Bedivere's side with his elbow while he jerked his chin towards his elder brother. "Gawain's been in a foul mood of late, and he'd certainly relish the chance to take it out on something deserving."
"Oh?" Bedivere raised an eyebrow.
"Gaheris is exaggerating as always," Gawain interjected with a roll of his eyes, though his next words didn't help his case: "Besides, it's only natural for an elder brother to worry about his baby sister, right, Bedivere?"
"... while it is certainly normal, I'm certain that Gareth can take care of herself, Gawain," Bedivere pointed out reassuringly, unsure of where this was going.
"He's referring to Mordred's new squire," Gaheris helpfully explained, before turning back to Gawain. "And I keep telling you, Jaune doesn't seem to be that bad. Gareth really seems to like him..."
"Gareth would befriend a Pict or a Saxon," Gawain retorted with a growl. "I don't like him; we don't know anything about him, where he's from, or what he's done! He doesn't even talk to any of us!"
Bedivere merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of the whole subject. That wasn't a slight against Mordred's squire (he honestly didn't know what to think about him, having only seen him a few times), but rather had more to do with the fact that everybody seemed to have a strong opinion about him, and was more than happy to share it with Bedivere, regardless of whether he was interested in listening or not.
Meanwhile, unaware of Bedivere's thoughts, Gaheris continued: "Mordred certainly seems to have changed for the better around him, Lancelot was willing to vouch for him too, and even the King seems to have been taken by him..."
"Hmmm..." Gawain relented just the slightest bit, though rather than admit that Gaheris might have had a point he instead changed the subject: "What do you think the King wants with him, anyway?"
"Who even knows?" Gaheris mused. "There's got to be a thousand rumors flying around the castle about him by now, from his place of origin to his supposed ability to heal with a touch; maybe the King's interest in him has to do with one of them?"
"Somehow, I doubt the King needs a healer, considering he still bears Avalon," Bedivere couldn't help but chime in.
"Well, I'd certainly trust your word on matters of the King's health over anyone else's," Gawain nodded, acknowledging Bedivere's service as his uncle's steward and care-taker. "By the way, how has the King been of late, Bedivere? I haven't had time to talk to him since returning from Listenoise."
"He has been... distant, as of late," Bedivere admitted reluctantly. "I do not know much more, but I fear that what Tristan said at the feast still bothers him."
There was an awkward pause after that, as Gawain and Gaheris shared looks, before Gawain finally spoke: "... well, the King told us to honor the memory of his good deeds, regardless of what he said at the end."
"Indeed," Bedivere agreed, while Gaheris nodded where he stood. "Though, were it so easy..."
Sensing (and rightly fearing) Bedivere's anger, Gaheris quickly changed the subject: "Anyway, so, Bedivere... do you think you could take the squire in a duel?"
"Wait, do you mean Gareth or Jaune?" Gawain inquired.
"It doesn't matter, I'm reasonably certain I'd lose to either one of them," Bedivere sighed, successfully distracted from the topic of Tristan.
"Oh, don't be too modest, Bedivere," Gawain planted a massive hand on his back as he tried to cheer him up. "You're also a Knight of the Round Table!"
"I'm a Knight of the Round Table in name only at this point," Bedivere wryly replied. "Squire Gareth's skills and feats already far outshine mine, and Squire Jaune has the dubious honor of surviving Mordred's training."
And those were only the things that they could confirm without a shadow of doubt; something had happened last week, which had almost collapsed an entire wing of the fairy-built castle, and while none knew the details (or at least, none who were willing to talk), it was obvious that that "something" had likely involved Sir Mordred and Squire Jaune, considering the nature of the howls and the fact that the former hadn't been spotted for days after that, while the latter had only been seen the day after the incident, looking like he'd decided to fist-fight a Saxon while riding a rabid bear.
"Ah, don't worry, Bedivere, you've still got time to become a proper knight," Gaheris teased good-naturedly.
"If you'd like, you are always free to join me and Gaheris for a quick training session, Bedivere," Gawain offered sincerely.
"I doubt I'd survive, but I appreciate the thought," Bedivere rebuffed their efforts bluntly, knowing their characters well enough to know they'd take no offense at his words (nor did they mean any harm with theirs, such was their nature).
But he was also more than aware that of the limits of his abilities; he lacked even have the natural talent that most other knights around him possessed, let alone the blessings of the spirits or the sun. In the end, however, as long as he could serve the King in his own way, he would be satisfied.
Before Gawain or Gaheris could give any more training suggestions (which would be more akin to creative and painful ways to commit suicide if attempted by one like him), Bedivere quickly changed the subject: "By the way, I forgot to ask, but did you manage to find Sir Percival and Sir Bors in Listenoise? I haven't heard news of him for a long time.)
"Ah, I believe they were planning to search for the Fisher King and the Holy Grail again," Gawain seized the bait. "We didn't run into them, mind you, or we would have made sure they were present for Gareth's knighting, but last we heard they picked up an additional companion to aid them in their quest, a young page of exceptional justice and selflessness."
"Well, I hope he manages to ask the Fisher King the right question this time," Bedivere solemnly wished him luck, knowing that Percival's failure to heal the crippled man had weighed on his conscience for a while.
Before the three men could continue their discussion, however, a minor change in the room's mood caught their attention, and they turned to find two more figures entering the hall, a tall blonde and a horned suit of armor.
"... I can't say I was expecting Sir Mordred to attend the ceremony," Bedivere admitted, watching the crowd part for the duo as they casually walked towards the front, seemingly unknowing or uncaring of the crowd's reaction to them.
"Perhaps the rumors of Squire Jaune having an influence of Sir Mordred were true," Gaheris guessed, watching the two as they remained next at each other's side, talking amongst each other whilst being isolated amongst the sea of people.
"Perhaps..." Gawain conceded, before sniffing: "But I still don't trust him."
Fortunately, just as Gaheris and Bedivere shared commiserating looks and long-suffering sighs, a herald stepped into the room, and blew on a horn.
Immediately, the room fell silent, before falling to their knees as one as the King walked in, followed closely behind by Sir Lancelot, First of the Round Table and Knight of the Lake.
As the people rose, they took their places of honor at the front of the hall, before the herald walked into the room once more and blew on his horn once again.
This time, a diminutive blonde girl walked into the hall, clad in a simple white vestment and covered in a red robe, her gait steady and confident, though those who'd known her long enough might have been able to notice the little things that betrayed her unease, from the way her fists were balled more tightly than necessary to the way her gaze flickered away every now and then.
Regardless, though, nothing noteworthy happened, and Gareth reached her own spot in front of the King and her mentor, and promptly knelt.
Then King Arthur stepped forward, and his voice echoed throughout the chamber as he began: "Sir Lancelot."
"Yes, my liege," the knight in question stepped forward in response, and Bedivere couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he got a good look at Lancelot's features.
While far from dishevelled, his hair was noticeably unkempt as compared to his usual impeccable grooming, and the bags under his eyes were far from usual, but what really caught his attention was the undercurrent of nervousness that laced his tone, as well as how his eyes seemed to be missing their usual spark even as they failed to remain meeting the King's gaze.
Certainly, that wasn't expected for someone who was presenting his squire to be knighted, and by the way he saw Gaheris shifting he doubted he was the only one who'd noticed it.
Was Lancelot unwell?
Was he having some personal issues?
Bedivere hadn't really asked how he'd been doing recently, trusting that the best knight of the Round Table would have had his affairs in order, but perhaps he should have made more of an effort to check in on Lancelot's good health.
Regardless, any actions could only be taken in the future; the solemn ceremony was in the midst of proceeding, and none dared to disturb it.
"Having taken Squire Gareth under your care, Sir Lancelot, do you swear before God that you have done your duty as her mentor in preparing her for a life upholding the Code of Chivalry?"
"I do."
"And having borne witness to the preparations Squire Gareth has taken under your charge, Sir Lancelot, do you vouch that she is ready to ascend from squiredom, and join our ranks as one of the Knights of the Round Table?"
"I do."
"Squire Gareth," King Arthur turned his attention towards the kneeling girl.
"Yes, Your Majesty," Gareth kept her head bowed low.
"Do you once again renew your vows, on your name and honor, to hold fealty to the Rightful King of England, and to serve the realm of Camelot faithfully and loyally?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to develop your life for the greater good, and to place character above riches, and concern for others above personal wealth?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to cherish humility, to speak the truth at all times, and to forever keep your word?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and to uphold justice by being fair to all?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to never commit outrage or murder, to always to flee treason, and to give mercy to those who ask for mercy?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to never take up a battle in a wrongful quarrel, not for love, nor for any worldly goods?"
"I do."
"And do you swear to always be faithful in love and loyal in friendship, to be generous to the poor and to those who need help, to forgive when asked, and to live your life with courtesy and honor from this day on, forever more?"
"I do."
"Then, Squire Gareth, if you will raise your hands towards the altar," King Arthur gently asked, concluding the oath-taking segment of the investiture.
As Gareth complied, Lancelot approached her and knelt down, girding a sword around her thin waist.
At the same time, a sword was presented to King Arthur on a cushion, and as Lancelot stepped back, his task fulfilled, King Arthur lifted Clarent, the Sword of Peace, before placing the flat of the blade on Squire Gareth's shoulder, declaring: "Then, from this day forth, I, King Arthur Pendragon, dub thee Sir Gareth, Knight of the Round Table."
The room exploded with cheers as Sir Gareth got up, the smile on her face rivalling the midday sun shining through the stained glass window with its brightness, and even Mordred could be heard joining in, her metal gauntlets clanging off of each other, though of course none could rival the sheer volume of Gawain's applause.
Just as Artoria was about to invite Gawain up to join Lancelot in putting spurs on Gareth, however (a small favor to her nephew, knowing how much it would mean to him), so that they could prepare to parade the newly-knighted Sir Gareth throughout the rest of the city, the doors to the hall were thrown open once more, revealing an armored Agravain, flanked by a half-dozen fully-armored enforcement knights.
"Sir Agravain?" Artoria couldn't help but ask incredulously, as the applause immediately died, and all heads turned around towards the sudden commotion.
"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty," Agravain quickly lowered his head before raising it back up unprompted. "I fear that the situation is direly urgent."
And before any could react, he turned towards a figure in the crowd, and proclaimed: "Jaune Arc! You stand accused of high treason against the King! Seize him!"
Author's Notes: As I said in the last chapter, this chapter would not come soon, though I definitely did not expect the reason for that to be because the plot fairy demanded I write out something else, and I had to sacrifice nigh on 5000 words to it before it finally stopped bugging me and actually let me write this.
Anyway, regarding the Big Reveal... yes, indeed, Jaune was the target of Agravain's suspicions, and not Lancelot. Look, if I'd really wanted to keep it a secret twist, I wouldn't have included the Agravain section at the end of the last chapter, and I wouldn't have thrown in that line about his "sisters" (since Lancelot's adultery wouldn't affect Mordred in the slightest).
But when I thought about it, I felt that, if I hadn't included that, it would have really come out of nowhere, especially since the only hint would've been Jaune off-handedly mentioning that Agravain had been prying into what he'd been talking about with the King, as well as fishing for more details about his home, and so... well... I'm glad most of you picked up on it. I'll be frank, it was difficult, trying to hit the right balance of ambiguity where enough crumbs were in place to connect the dots while also having enough red herrings regarding Lancelot to make people doubt themselves, and I can only hope it succeeded.
Getting back to the story... I know people have been clamouring for the POV of an outsider for a long time, and so I hope y'all enjoyed the beginning of the end from the perspective of Sir Bedivere, one of the first members of the Round Table, and Steward and Caretaker of the King. Admittedly, most of what he mentions has already been mentioned in previous chapters, but eh, what can you really do? I wasn't exactly planning on having a different POV chapter until I actually sat down to write this one.
Also, frankly, when you think about it, Jaune is pretty much the Bedivere of Remnant, albeit without an Artoria to serve (at least in canon); they're both normal men surrounded by people of exceptional talent or blessing, who know they are lacking but still try to do their best, they're both extremely loyal, they both fail to save a girl (Bedivere specifically failed to save Princess Helena of Brittany, nor could he do anything when Artoria was killed by Mordred)...
Man, that's depressing.
But anyway, all those similarities make the differences between Bedivere and Jaune all the more obvious. Bedivere worked hard to become the King's royal guard, and successfully figured out that her feigned indifference and emotionless façade was her trying to be as fair and unbiased as possible, but no matter how much he wanted, no matter how hard he tried, even when he became her Imperial Guard, he was never able to see the King's true face, her true expressions, a genuine smile on her face.
Where Pyrrha was happy to let Jaune get to know the real her, despite her great trust in Bedivere (enough that she trusted him to throw Excalibur back into the lake, when she was dying) Artoria apparently never had any interest in letting that final guard down around him.
Additionally, in this story, Artoria went to Jaune specifically because he was Mordred's friend, and then because she could trust him to not interfere regarding the Lancelot Situation; even if Bedivere somehow managed to befriend Mordred, I don't see him telling Artoria that she handled the Bastard Child Situation poorly, and while he would probably have agreed to keep the affair a secret, I just can't see Artoria willingly talking about the whole issue with him (or anyone else, to be perfectly honest).
Getting back to some of the other things that were discussed... look, once again, I feel the need to emphasize this, but there are just so many gaps in the FATE retelling of Artoria's legend that I have to go to... other retellings, to fill in the blanks. And there are so, so, so many different retellings, that this is far more of a bastardization of multiple different stories, than based on any single source. Even the bloody knighting and the oaths (it's based on the Pentecostal oath despite it not being the Pentecost Feast) are just bastardizations of a few centuries of chivalric tradition, since there's no period-accurate lore for me to use (since chivalry was only really a thing in the Middle Ages, and definitely not in 6th century England).
I would go into more detail, but my sanity is already frayed, and I really don't want to go back to having author's notes almost as long as the whole damn chapter, so I'll just leave it there.
Instead, I'll apologize for the short length of both this chapter and the next pre-emptively; I did consider combining the two, but, well... I'm pretty sure I can't continue a chapter right after dropping that bombshell, right?