Tournament
"Of course Morgan didn't tell us you had to pick a name for your team," Percival said. "I'm astonished we were allowed to be ourselves."
Merlin replied with his sly smile, "As though I would let it go any other way. Maleagant's systems are getting better and better at resisting me, but I can still hack in to do pissy little things like make certain only the true Knights of the Round Table get to use that name."
"We are going to be mocked relentlessly, which is so unfair, because we're the real thing," Tristan said with a sigh. "Life is cruel."
Arthur looked at him in amusement. "Think positively, Tristan. Nobody is going to be mocked more ruthlessly than the stupid bastard coping by declaring himself King Arthur."
"That's true," Tristan said thoughtfully. "I doubt anybody remembers me anymore. I hope they don't, because those stupid ballads got literally everything wrong. Why were they so popular?"
"They're still popular," Merlin said. "There's a really popular web play, with an X-rated version, and—"
"And nothing, I don't want to hear it. Never tell Iseult about it. My beloved does not need to be afflicted with such terrible abuses."
"Iseult is filthier than a whole ship of pirates," Percival retorted.
Tristan shot him a look that was equal parts amusement and affection.
Lancelot had never confirmed it, but he was fairly certain there was friendly bedhopping between those four.
"Enough," he finally said. "I don't want to hear all the directions this conversation is likely to go. We're nearly there, so focus."
"Play the role, ham it up. Be yourselves as aggressively as possible. Make them call us riff so many times the word loses all meaning," Arthur said. "We want Ethelfleda to be unable to resist coming to investigate and take the opportunity to catch us, no matter how obvious the trap seems."
Tristan and Percival exchanged fistbumps. They were young, only in their early twenties, and Bran would be right there with them under normal circumstances. The age where things like tournaments were still exciting, and the adulation of a crowd more irresistible than a mountain of gold.
When this nightmare was over, Lancelot would do everything in his power to ensure they got their moment in the sun. Got to have fun. How, he didn't know. By the time they were done, they'd all be destitute, but one problem at a time.
The tournament had multiple competitions of course, but as it turned out jousting against centaurs proved to be the star of the show.
Tristan and Percival had claimed it eagerly.
They were welcome to it. Lancelot and Dred would be doing the hand-to-hand combat, and Arthur and Galahad would be doing the archery.
"Can't wait to see you get knocked on your ass," Galahad said cheerfully. "Centaur will send you flying at least ten yards."
"Fifteen, easy," Dred said.
Percival, true to form, replied, "They won't even unseat me."
"Bet," Dred replied immediately.
Lancelot rolled his eyes and tuned them out as they bickered over stakes, which were likely to be something beyond absurd.
Their last bet, just a month or so before things had gone from bad to worse and nobody had time for any but the smallest, slightest joy, had entailed one of them wearing gowns for a month.
Sadly, Lancelot had not been around to witness it, but apparently Dred had managed the look as flawlessly as Guinevere herself.
Arthur moved to ride beside him, leaving the others to their mischief. In the back, Gawain, Merlin, and Morgan continued to refine their plan for laying the wards. "They do remember that Sir Lancelot du Lac was good at stealing the show, right?"
"I do not want to talk about it," Lancelot grumbled.
He never wanted any attention. He was happy always a step back, trusted to execute the orders given to him and otherwise left to his own devices.
More than a few people had accused him of wanting to take Arthur's place, but that only proved how little they truly knew him.
People had ever been fascinated, often morbidly and obscenely, with the mysterious man with power over water who was ever at Arthur's side, his right hand dispensing justice, while Merlin, his sly left hand, worked mischief from the shadows.
So often wherever Lancelot went, he drew attention.
People whispered his name, approached him brazenly with rude questions, showed up naked in his room—that, thankfully, had stopped once Galehaut had terrified enough of them—and challenged him to duel to prove things Lancelot had never entirely figured out.
Always people wanted to challenge Sir Lancelot du Lac to a duel, put him in his place.
The only people who could best him in a duel were Arthur, Dred, and Galehaut, and he beat them nearly as often.
Now, of course, he was more than ever the backstabbing bastard who had seduced Guinevere away from Arthur and helped contribute to the fall of Camelot.
Whatever asshole wrote that and made it popular better hope Lancelot never met them in a dark alley.
Even the patrol bots wouldn't stop him from that assault charge.
"I really hope this works, because if I spend a day subjecting myself to this nonsense for nothing, I'm usurping your throne after all."
Arthur gave him a reproving look and chided, "You already have a throne—you can't have two."
Lancelot rolled his eyes. "You're lucky we're on the same team, because I would gladly throw you around the ring."
"Anytime, fish boy," Arthur retorted.
"I am going to kill Dred for starting that."
"Who is killing me?" Dred asked as they came up alongside Lancelot's left side.
"You, for starting the 'fish boy' thing."
Dred grinned, wholly unrepentant. "Gotta keep you royals humble."
Before the bickering could continue, they crested a low hill, and the tournament grounds came into view.
They shifted to form pairs in a line behind Arthur leading the way.
Players and NPCs milled about. One player looked up at their flag, attached to Gawain's saddle, and jeered. "Camelot? Really. Cheap!"
"You are literally dressed as a knock-off Hobbit," Lancelot retorted. "Couldn't afford an auth skin?"
The boy sneered. "Better than a knight with a frigging katana."
"We'll see how cocky you are after I knock you around the ring, Frodo," Lancelot said dismissively, and rode off as the man was still hurtling further insults.
Dred, sympathetic as always, said, "It is pretty funny poor Arondight is meant for a samurai now."
"She works the same as ever. It's purely cosmetic," Lancelot said through gritted teeth. "If you don't quit it, I will punch you so hard you wake up in Tokyo."
"Sounds fun." Dred grinned.
"Enough," Arthur said, and then they were at the entrance and scanning into the tournament.
A few more smartasses mocked them for such a predictable name, but the group ignored them.
He wasn't going to acknowledge harassment from a group dressed like the characters from a children's show about bumblebees.
"We're going to get to work," Morgan said as they all dismounted, and she handed her horse off to Arthur with a kiss. "I assume you four are bound for our tent?"
"Going to examine the tournament grounds, see what we're in for with the competition," Dred said. "Some of these groups are rubbing me wrong."
"The ones in all red, I think harkening to that stupid old sci-fi series," Gawain said. "They like, protected the emperor or something. I only counted five, though, so I bet their sixth member is the emperor."
Galahad looked at him, scandalized. "Stupid old sci-fi series? Stupid old sci-fi series? It's called Star—"
"You're coming with me," Dred said, hauling Galahad away still ranting and raving.
Lancelot shook his head, then pointed a thumb over his shoulder. "I'm going to walk the grounds to get a hands-on feel for the layout. Meet back up at the tent at a quarter till the start?"
"Sounds good," Arthur said. He kissed Merlin and Morgan, then headed off.
"I don't recall that happening in the books," said a random voice.
Lancelot turned toward the voice, and took in the impressively garish teal and gray checkboard tunic emblazoned with black sparrows, the feathers accented in yellow and orange.
The man's nose was wrinkled like he'd smelled something foul instead of seeing a man kiss the people he loved.
Lancelot stifled a sigh. "Which books? There are a lot of them.
The earliest tales were purely spoken and never written down until well after the fact, when they'd been warped by time. "
"None of them," the man said snottily. "I am an expert—"
"You're not much of one if you didn't know Arthur was always deeply in love with Merlin and Morgan. Even back in the day, that was well known. Caused quite the ripples of shock when he married Guinevere instead of Morgan."
The man gave him a look. "You're a weirdo, talking like you were there at the time. None of that happened, and even if it did, you couldn't know. If it was true, it'd be in the records somewhere. Everyone knows Arthur loved Guinevere, and she left him for Lancelot."
"You really aren't any sort of expert at all.
Guinevere loved Elaine. Lancelot loved Galehaut.
But think what you like, it makes no difference to me.
" He smiled meanly. "See you in the arena.
" He strode off, ignoring the man's replies like he'd ignored the Hobbit, leaving Percival and Tristan to see to the horses.