AGOT - AROK Homage - Kay

Three hundred knights and sworn swords made a river of gold and silver and polished steel as they poured through the castle gates. The wind tousled their hair and a shaft of sunlight gleamed off their lances and swords. A dozen scarlet banners whipped back and forth over the crowd, emblazoned with the Pendragon’s namesake in coal.

Kay knew many of the riders. There was Syr Lancelot Lockland, whose golden locks tousled by the wind made him appear almost fae—an illusion amplified by his physique and the way he rode with a loose-limbed grace. The strapping man close behind him could only be Syr Percival Warwood, as massive a man as Kay had ever seen on horseback. His armor gleamed in the sunlight, as bright and sharp as his sword. The fresh young boy behind them was surely the Alyn Weyfield, who had once been Kay's squire. He hadn't seen him in years, but he looked so much like his father that Kay doubted anyone else could look upon him without feeling homesick.

 Yet his focus was on the serious, ruddy haired man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights of the King's Steel, marked by the ashen grey cloaks of their order. He seemed lost in sober thought... until his eyes caught sight of Kay and brightened, his face cracking into a huge grin. He leapt from the back of his warhorse with a childlike abandon, and sprang toward him. “Kay! It is good to see your homely face.” The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. “I trust you've kept the city intact for me.” 

 Kay could not help but grin in return. Twenty-five years past, the enigmatic wanderer Merlyn had turned up at the gates to his father's small keep bearing a baby boy and a charge to raise him. Ten years past, Kay Robbets and his foster brother, Arthur, had trained in sword and shield and lance and bonded closer than many blood brothers. Five years past, Kay and Arthur had ridden forth to claim a throne, fresh with the knowledge of Arthur's true birth. Syr Kay Robbets had been a young man of more than six feet tall, clear-eyed and with the body of a muscular giant. He'd had the strength to match, and he’d brandished it with a two handed claymore, which could be wielded only by someone both incredibly strong and incredibly skilled. Coupled with his size, he was a match for just about anything or anyone.

 Now... now Kay's eyes were weary from reading by candlelight and his size was trending more to bulk than muscle. The weight had been growing ever harder to keep off after his injury, his lame leg no longer up to the task of rigorous use. Since that day the brothers had stood side by side as they faced Lot's outriders and their commander, Syr Anton Darrow, desperate to defend Arthur's claim before it could be snuffed out. Since that day he fell and had been unable to rise again. Kay no longer called himself a knight.

 Yet Kay still served his brother as faithfully as ever, though now as his steward. “Your Grace. Camelot rejoices at your return.” 

By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Arthur’s queen, Guinevere, alighted gracefully and embraced Kay like a long-lost brother. She looked beautiful even after the long ride. A slim tiara gleamed even amidst the golden blonde of her hair and her brilliant blue eyes sparkled with insight.  Always quick with a kind word, she was the sort of woman to capture a king’s heart, and Kay knew she had. Yet he could see the daggers hidden behind them, the queen standing ready to defend her husband with blade and with word.

"Kay, you look as if you're reading under a candle every night. I can barely see your eyes."

“That's because I was reading under a candle last night, your Grace.”

Kay turned to embrace Percival, who had become a close friend over the years. He was half a head shorter than Kay, but his size belied his skill in the tilt yard. His hair was black and cropped close to his head with a full but well trimmed beard to match. He would rather fight than read, but was just as skilled a scholar as he was a warrior. He looked far more grim than usual, though.  “I didn't think you'd be here so soon, Percival. I heard from Arthur that you had been on the road with Syr Gawain and Syr Tristan?”

Arthur had taken Percival as his squire and their bond had been a strange one. Though the king was but twenty-five, the pair had fought together for years, and Kay knew that the king had placed great trust in his old friend. “Percival and I were having a discussion about the Eleven situation when word came in about the attack.” Kay could see that the other knights had closed in. Syr Tristan, a large man with a great mane of brown hair nearly as dark as Percival's, spoke up. “What is this Eleven situation?”

Arthur answered, “It's a long story, Tristan, and one that will keep. Suffice to say that the moment that Lot found out I was coming, he sent men from the North to secure his land by force.”

“A bold move, your Grace.” Tristan said.

"Perhaps, but it's not the first of his kind. Lot has never been a forgiving man."

Tristan turned as Lancelot approached. “We heard that the men were sent back in disarray. Do you have any idea who took them out?” The other knights murmured their agreement. Arthur smiled, his steely eyes alight with life. “A lady.”

Kay raised an eyebrow as Arthur continued. “They say she's a sorceress, and rides a silver steed.”

Percival frowned. “There was no word of this sorceress. We were only told of disarray.”

Arthur continued, “The reports came in last night. She and a band of men attacked the northern forces as they were crossing the river. We don't know how she got there or where she came from.” For some reason the knights fell silent at that, their faces growing dark. Kay sensed something else, too. These men were not just Arthur's companions. They were his friends and brothers, men who had followed him into battle at his behest. He could not help but wonder what Arthur was not telling them.

Kay had seen Arthur grow from the lanky, awkward teen to the powerful, thoughtful ruler of Camelot. Many were the times he had watched Arthur, that adolescent boy with the silver sword and the bright golden hair, ready to step in when the other pages and squires were more cruel than playful. Many were the number of petty crimes he had seen the king put down. He had seen the young man grow into the regal king that lead the Knights of the Round Table. He had seen Arthur's fair, just rule and the peace that Camelot and the neighboring lands brought. Arthur had been a good king. Arthur had been able to see the good in his people when their own sight had failed them. Kay trusted Arthur. But something more was going on.

Kay's train of through was interrupted as Guinevere spoke up. “I have a feeling we will meet this lady in person before too long.” She continued, “Any word from the coast?”

The knights became silent. Kay saw Percival glance at Arthur, who nodded in his direction. Now he knew. "Our spies in the courts of The Eleven say that the lady's handiwork came at the hands of a man. A sailor."

“A sailor?” Syr Lancelot turned to face Arthur. “He must have come from the coast!” He shook his head. “No doubt a spy sent by our good brother Lot. The northern men say he is the lady's manservant. They call him the Brown Man.”

Merriment rippled through the knights and Percival spoke up again. “You mean the Brown Man with the Brown Beard?”

Kay couldn't help but chuckle along with the rest at the joke. “If we're lucky he'll have a brown nose.”

Arthur silenced the laughter, his voice was serious now. “The reports say that the lady and the Brown Man turned the tide of the battle and sent Lot's forces back to their keep in near disarray.”

Syr Lancelot stepped forward, his armor glimmering in the morning sun. “Yes, but Lot knows that this is his last chance to seize control of the kingdom. If he fails this time, the men of Camelot will be marching north. His men will not be so eager to fight after they've seen the lady's handiwork.”

Kay could hear the doubt in Lancelot’s voice and could not help but agree. The other knights must have heard it as well, for Percival spoke up again. “Lot has a good army at his disposal.”

Arthur’s expression grew grim. “Better than our scouts realize. What we really need is a solid understanding of what Lot is doing, and we need Morgana’s spies.”

There was silence in the yard as the knights absorbed his answer. Kay still remembered the look on Morgana’s face when Arthur had banished her. It had been a look of betrayal, and he had not been able to face her since. He remembered the way she had hugged her knees to her chest and the look of fear in her eyes. He had tried not to think of her since.

Arthur nodded slowly, his expression betraying nothing of his feeling. “She will be here within the week.”

The knights of the table shifted. He had never seen them do so before, and he knew that this was not a good sign. They had been there when Arthur had sent Morgana away. She had never been a friend of Camelot, but she had been a friend of Arthur's. She had been a friend to all these men.

“Will she come willingly?” Lancelot's dark eyes gazed into the distance at the gathering clouds. “Will she come at all?”

A chilling air passed through the yard, and the hair on Kay's arms stood on end. They all felt it. Kay looked from face to face and could tell that each one felt the same. It was as if someone was watching them. Kay felt his blood go cold and a wave of dread and claustrophobia passed through the yard. No one spoke for a long moment, and then Percival spoke up. “Perhaps we should discuss this more in the great hall?”

As the group began to move towards the hall, a loud clap of thunder broke the silence and the grey skies above them brightened. The wind picked up and a light drizzle began to fall. Kay looked up at the sky. He could not help but think, though, that the storm had not been natural.