The Squire & The Ceremony

Author's note: This is a bit of a slow one, by design. I fell in love with these characters as I was writing them, and I wanted to give them the chance to flirt in the way that only young lovers can. If you really want to jump straight to the sex, however, that starts towards the tail end of page 3.

###

Sir Bryan, Knight of the Realm, was at a loss.

Bryan had returned to Brelech Castle to take another squire under his tutelage, as was his sworn duty-- and, as one of the more senior knights, he would have one of the first choices of student. The Trial of the Squires-- as much pageantry as they were an evaluation-- proceeded as they always did. Tall, strong youths dueled and jousted, preened and answered. Impressive and perfect to the last.

Bryan, however, was apprehensive. He preferred to appraise the candidates on instinct, and he had felt immediately drawn to all of his previous squires. But this year, the most successful duelists or interviewees were all just so... identical. It was as though they were the same teenager magically copied over and over. Good squires all, and maybe someday good knights-- but Sir Bryan was looking for something that, even if he was asked about it, he could not truly describe.

The penultimate day of the Trial was the Grand Assembly. It was a highly formal affair. With all of the knights and dignitaries seated in shaded boxes overlooking the short-cropped green of the parade ground, the candidates would enter in hand-polished full armor and stand before the crowd. One of the knight commanders would bluster on about something, then a civil leader about something else, and finally a minister about yet another thing.

Bryan did not attach great importance to the Assembly in his evaluations.

For the people of Brelech Town, however, the Assembly represented the culmination of a week of festivities. The Trials were an annual cause of major celebration, and the townspeople packed the streets lining the route the squires took from their quarters to the parade ground. The very luckiest were even able to pack in around the parade ground itself. They lined up against the stone wall which separated the ground from the rest of Brelech, and which served as part of the structure of the raised stands the knights sat upon. It was there, against that wall, that Bryan first took notice of one boy in particular.

Two columns of candidates filed in at a perfect march. As a pair entered shoulder-to-shoulder, each individual would separate and march to the identical but opposite point on each end of the field-- never for a moment losing the rhythm of the march or the now-opposite position of their erstwhile partner. What were once two columns fanned out and filled the oblong parade ground. At this distance, with all of the candidates in matching armor and following each other precisely, it was next to impossible to tell any one person apart. As they flowed smoothly to fill the space, they looked more like drops of quicksilver than people. This was, Bryan thought, one of the things that made the Assembly a fruitless exercise. For a boy to stand out, they would need to do the unimaginable-- break the rigid uniformity of the ceremony.

As the entrance finished, Bryan saw a small flash of motion off to his left, in the rounded corner of the arena. The lowest stone walls around the ground were still five feet high, meaning any child who wanted to see the ceremony would need to be hoisted onto a parent's shoulders as they leaned over the barrier. One little girl had leaned too far and lost her grip on a doll of some kind, and it had fallen into the parade ground itself-- landing just a long stride from the nearest candidate, one of the last to enter. Bryan flinched reflexively as he saw the boy turn his head from its attentive forward position to glance, for just a moment, at the toy creature. He turned back forward, but then a second later turned again to look at the little girl who was by now in hysterics.

"Oh, by Llanfawr, kid, don't do it," said a knight to Bryan's left. Bryan could only clench his teeth in a sympathetic pain as the boy knelt down, collected the toy, and took a stride to the wall to repatriate it. The whole exchange must have lasted less than five seconds before he returned to his spot. To the instructors, though, standing back at attention would be like dumping water on a house after it had burned down.

"Well, I suppose that's one less to consider," grunted the same knight. Bryan watched the boy for any kind of emotion, any kind of thought-- did he know what he had just done to himself? At least at this distance, though, he was impossible to read.

"Do you recognize him?" Bryan asked. His mind churned over the dozens of faces, trying to place this one.

"Yeah, that's Gareth-- not that I blame you for not remembering, he hasn't exactly been high on my list. Sweet lad, though."

"Ah, yes," Bryan said with recognition. Gareth had fought hard at all of the events, but scored middling to poor in all of them. His frame was so small that he was battered off of his horse in the jousts, and so painfully shy that his interview was nothing short of a catastrophe.

The ceremony began and ended without further event. The candidates filed out in the same order they had entered, such that the first boy in was also the first to leave. Bryan watched as Gareth took his place in line. As soon as he was clear of the gate to the parade ground, however, Bryan saw a waiting instructor seize him by the arm and drag him off.

###

That night was a grand feast, held in one of the castle's vast courtyards. The next morning would mark the knights each formally selecting a candidate as squire, and they would begin their new lives. For some knights, however, the feast marked one last opportunity for evaluation. As Bryan made his way through the rows of long tables, he noticed the most attractive candidates had gathered large crowds around them. Candidates and knights talked and laughed conspiratorially, and for many of these boys it was less a question of if they would be chosen so much as which knight would have the privilege of selecting them. There was an air of joy about the whole affair.

Bryan glided past them silently, willing no one catch his eye or call for him. He scanned the crowd, mind slowly turning over the afternoon's events. How strange that, after days of watching candidates succeed, the moment he most remembered was a stupid mistake. An arrogant mistake.

Perhaps a brave one.

Just as Bryan was about to give up-- would they really have forbidden him to even attend the feast?-- he found Gareth at the far end of the courtyard, seated with one side leaning against the stone wall of the castle itself. He was alone. He did not acknowledge Bryan as he sat across from him, instead looking darkly at a spot miles underneath the table. His long, brown hair obscured his face.

"You are Gareth, yes?"

"Aye, sir, I am."

"My name is Sir Bryan."

"And you're here to tell me what a mistake I made."

"No," Bryan said simply, without anger. At this, Gareth looked up. The dark blue eyes, still red with the embers of tears, were confused. "I just wanted to hear-- from you-- why you did it."

"I..." Gareth began, and then stopped. As Bryan had hoped, the question had caught him off guard. He hadn't had time to think of a proper, rehearsed, squirely, damage-control sort of response. "I thought about what it would be like to be that little girl. To want help, for an order of helpers to be just feet away, and for them to refuse that help. What would she think of us, and of me? How could she think of us as protectors, if we couldn't even spare the smallest moment for her-- at no cost to ourselves? But I know that I was wrong, and for what it's worth I am sorry. I know this is the end of the Path for me."

For a time, the two sat in silence. Bryan eventually rose, walked around to Gareth's side, and placed a hand on his shoulder.

"I want you to have your bags ready to go after the ceremony tomorrow, Squire Gareth."

Gareth looked up in shock. Without another word, Bryan turned and walked away.

###

That had been six years ago now, and-- just as Bryan knew-- Gareth was growing into a great knight. His body had filled out, built of lean muscle, and-- coupled with his avid practice of his martial disciplines-- he had become a more than capable warrior. He studied voraciously, and his supple and capacious mind made him Bryan's trusted advisor and confidant. He had become sometimes quicker than the experienced knight himself, quickly understanding problems and proposing unique solutions.

And the character which had so distinguished him during his Trials had never diminished. He was kind to every person and animal they came across, and over the years they had often been late in returning to Brelech because the squire had come across some sorry creature who he could not bear to leave behind without helping on its way. It was the easiest apprenticeship Bryan had ever led. Letters of recognition and thanks to the squire flowed to Brelech from wherever the two had been assigned. For a boy no one would even bother to sit with, there were strangely many knights at Brelech who said that they had always believed in Gareth.

"I would have chosen him had you not swindled him away, Sir Bryan", said one.

"How brave it was to stop the Assembly and help someone!" said another.

"I can't wait to see what he's going to do as a knight."

Bryan simply bit his tongue and nodded along.

Gareth was now twenty, and in the last few years Bryan had noticed that his squire was garnering a lot of... attention. People from every town where they were stationed seemed to make a habit of stopping by in person, and he had noticed many wandering eyes when Gareth would enter a room.

Sitting atop their horses and preparing to leave the hamlet they had stayed in for the past three weeks, they were stopped by a group of girls from the village. Each blushing furiously, a quick wordless argument between them resulted in one of their number being pushed forward.

"For, ah, for you! Sir Gareth! Squire Gareth, I mean!" a freckled blonde girl stammered unevenly as she presented him a rose.

"This is very kind, thank you so much. I'll always remember you, and this village, for your hospitality", he said with grace. If he was aware of the discomfort of the girl or her companions, he didn't show it.

"And for you, Sir Bryan!" she said, presenting him a smaller flower, not yet fully opened and clearly selected with haste on their way out the door in a last-moment consideration. He smiled so as not to laugh, thanking her as well. As they resumed their ride out of town, Bryan heard the girls giggling behind them. Once they were well clear of the village's borders, Gareth sighed.

"Are you all right, Gareth?"

"Yes, I just... don't really know why they were laughing at me."

"Gareth, I truly do not believe they were." The squire made a noncommittal noise, not wishing to press the issue further. He was quiet on the ride back to Brelech, seemingly alone with his thoughts.

Their stay at the castle was to be brief, however-- even briefer than usual. No sooner had they dismounted than a knight commander summoned Bryan.

"A page from Lark's Hollow arrived this morning. Demons have been attacking traders in the woods, and their town guard isn't enough to fight them. I am sorry to do this to you, but I need you and your squire to mount and depart as soon as your horses are watered. Supplies are already attached to a train of horses."

"Aye, sir", Bryan said with a salute, the practiced move etched into his muscles from decades of use like the finger grooves worn into an old wooden ladle.

"Grace of the gods", the commander said, returning the salute. A recollection seemed to flicker behind his eyes and, after a moment's pause, he spoke again.

"Have you been quested to Lark's Hollow before? It sounds familiar."

"Aye, sir. Some years ago. Perhaps I'll have some time to catch up with old friends." The commander nodded at this, and Bryan turned to leave.

As he began his search for his squire, he sighed involuntarily.

Lark's Hollow, he thought.

###

"And this is where you'll be staying," Thaddeus said as he unlocked the door to the cottage and pushed it open. The rooms were sparse to almost any other eye, but to Gareth they looked palatial. For a knight and squire who had just spent an assignment making camp on a village common, four wooden walls were a luxury.

"You've my thanks, old friend," Bryan said. Thaddeus owned a vast farm tract on the edge of Lark's Hollow, and had tended it-- with a number of hands, of course-- since before Bryan's original assignment to the village. The two had become friends then, and when Bryan learned that he would be going back he sent a messenger bird ahead to ask a favor.

"You've my thanks, Sir Bryan. Grisly stuff, what those things are doing. I'm happy to help. And besides, this house has been empty since-- well, not all the way back to your last visit, but probably not much later either." He turned to Gareth, who was looking out of the cottage's lone window to the rich wheat fields beyond.

"The cottage is at the edge of my farm," he said to the squire, "but as you can see, I did plant all the way out to it. I'll try to be sure that the farmhands leave you be, though, let you do your work."

"Unless, of course, you want to make any friends while you're here," came a new voice. Surprised, the men turned.

The first thing Gareth noticed was the hair. It was a vibrant orange, a curly bonfire tied up into a quick ponytail which reached her shoulder blades. The young woman stood in the doorway, dressed in what appeared to be a sturdy, slightly baggy set of work clothes. Her eyes were the sort of blue that seemed to carry their own internal light, the color readily discernible even when she was illuminated from behind through the open door. Those eyes evaluated each of the newcomers in turn, and Gareth shifted uncomfortably as she bored a hole through him.

"Ah, this is Rose, one of the hands here, who I believe is supposed to be weeding the carrots?"

"And indeed it is done, Thaddeus, fret not. Your carrots shall live another day under the aegis of their valiant defender."

"Rose, this is Sir Bryan," the two shook hands, "and his squire, Gareth."

As she took his hand, Gareth's skin felt hot where she touched him. Rose was very pretty, and Gareth worried that she could read that thought from his mind just as easily as if he had said it aloud. He kept his eyes resolutely on hers, afraid that if he so much as blushed he and Bryan would be evicted from the cottage.

If she was aware of his fear, her bright smile did not belie it. She repeated his name twice, playing with the sound of it and committing its contours to memory.

"I had been wondering", she said to Thaddeus, "if I might show our new guests around Lark's Hollow?"

"Respectfully, Miss Rose," Bryan said, "I must beg your forgiveness. I have spent the last three days in my saddle, and that saddle seems to hurt a little bit more with each passing year. I was assigned to your village once before, I suspect before you were even born. I look forward to seeing how it has grown and changed, but I trust I recall my way around its bones.

"My squire, on the other hand," he added, pushing Gareth forward, "has never seen this place. I am certain he would greatly appreciate your hospitality."

Gareth felt the trap close around him. He was afraid of humiliating himself in front of this girl he had just met, but it would be unthinkable to defy Bryan's clear request so openly. And, besides, it would be uncharitable to refuse Rose's kindness. And so, with a nod, he stepped forward.

Not helping his discomfort, Rose seized his hand to lead him outside and up towards the village proper.

"So, Squire Gareth, what do you know already about our village?"

"To be honest, miss, not much. Just what we were told when given our mission, and that was about five minutes. That, and that Sir Bryan has been here before. But he hadn't mentioned it until now, so we haven't discussed it.

"He told me that you're a very friendly town, miss", he added.

"We are, and that's why I'd like for you to call me Rose." Noticing his hesitation she added, "I'll call you Gareth, too, not Squire Gareth. Friends can dispense with the formalities."

"As you wish... Rose." He was acutely aware that she had not released his hand.

"Now, begging your pardon, but could you tell me what it's like to be a squire? How long do you do that before you become a knight?"

"Well, there's no schedule. We apprentice under a knight until they and the commanders at Brelech agree that you can take your own oath. It's always several years, though, never until you're at least twenty."

"And how old are you, then?"

"Twenty, as it would happen. And you?"

Yes, good. Ask about her. That's what normal people do.

"Twenty-one, actually, as of two weeks ago."

"Oh, congratulations. And what's life like on the wheat? The farm. Sorry."

Rose laughed. Excellent work, he scolded himself.

"Life is well on the wheat. The carrots, too. Really, all of the crops except perhaps the apples."

"Why not the apples?"

"They're very fussy this season. And they talk back, too."

"The apples...?" Gareth began, confused, before he noticed the exaggerated smile on Rose's face. She raised her eyebrows, somewhat incredulous. He smiled back sheepishly, and didn't need to look to know that he was redder than... the first thing he could think of was her hair.

How many possible ways are there to feel like a fool?

"Thaddeus pays better than the other farmers in Lark's Hollow, so in some ways I'm quite lucky. That building there is our town hall. The mayor does his work there, but it also has a large space where the whole town gathers for celebrations or meetings. There's even some lodging upstairs. It must be occupied, though, since you and your knight get to grace me with your presence during this assignment."

As he followed her indication and looked up at the building, the practiced swordsman was startled by how easily she stepped inside of his guard and slipped her arm through his. Now linked at the elbow, Rose led him down one of the many small streets stretching radially from the town hall.

Gareth was at total disadvantage.

The pair continued until they passed a small shop.

"And this is Kathryn's," Rose explained, "She's the finest tailor in Lark's Hollow.

"Any repair work you need, any little tears on these fine chivalrous tunics of yours," she added with a playful tug on his collar, "and Kathryn should be your first call."

A woman inside the shop saw them from behind the counter and swept outside.

"Good evening, Kathryn!" Rose called, "I was just showing our new friend here around town, and telling him about how the single greatest seamstress in all the annals of history just so happens to ply her trade here."

"Hush, you," Kathryn said, although her admonition reached neither her voice nor the smile in her eyes.

Kathryn was very tall, nearly Gareth's height. She was middle-aged, her dark hair showing the faintest incunabula of gray. She carried herself with a great but quiet confidence, and she effused friendliness. She seemed like the sort of person one could immediately trust and, especially by the rapport Rose clearly had with her, Gareth found himself taking a liking to her.

"So, you're Bryan's protégé?"

"Yes, ma'am. Begging your pardon, but how did you know--"

"Oh, Bryan and I got to be very good friends when he was first assigned here. And, well, as you know, rumor travels faster than even a knight's charger. That, and Thaddeus can't keep a secret and told me immediately. Told me that my old friend was coming to town, and bringing a capable young squire with him."