#serbedivere

Bedivere was fifteen when he was told what it meant to be a knight

It was a time of great stress and turmoil in Castle Bedrydant. The great King Uther Pendragon had fallen to a murderous traitor, shattering alliances and loyalties that had held for generations. The only thing stopping the hordes of barbarous warriors of Albion from marching south and destroying everything Bedivere knew, was the Lock and Key treaty, and Bedivere’s father, Lord Bedrawd, had little faith it would hold. Seemingly more important to the Lord however, was that Bedivere was nearing the end of his squire-ship, and there was no king to bestow the title of knight upon him. Even so, Bedrawd continued his son’s education as a knight.

“What is the most important thing to a Knight?” The lord called out from his seat at the edge of the training yard.

“Loyalty,” Bedivere answered, narrowly ducking under his dueling instructors sword swing.

“To whom?”

“First the gods,” Bedivere began, parrying another blow. “Second is King, and then their country.”

“Incorrect,” Bedrawd replied coldly, keeping focused on his scroll, even as the hunk of steel the instructor called a sword clanged against his sons armor.

“Keep focused squire.”

“I’m sorry father, but I do not understand my mistake,” Bedivered raised hi hield, blocking the next swing.

“You’re order was wrong,” Bedrawd answered offhandedly. “If a knight begins a task, how should he proceed?”

“He should see to its completion, even at the cost of his own life,” Bedivere answered, swinging at his instructors chest, dinging against the breastplate. “What is the correct order My Lord?”

“Corrections will be given after the lessons,” Bedrawd answered as the instructor knocked one of bedivere’s swings out of the way. “How does a knight respond when challenged by a fellow knight?”

“He accepts it!” Bedivere quipped, striking the side of his instructors leg.

“Incorrect again.” The dueling instructor lunged at Bedivere, but the young man leaned slightly out of the way, catching the blunted sword between his arm and breastplate. Bedivere raised his sword to the soft spot under his instructors chin, the looked over to his father. “Your instructions were to defend yourself until you had answered all of the questions.”

“I was also instructed to learn the code of Chivalry!” Bedivere snapped, dropping his sword to raise his visor. “And I did, so why are my answers wong!?”

The dueling instructor took this moment to free his sword, and kick Bedivere to the ground. He placed his boot on Bedivere’s chest, and pointed his sword at the squires exposed face.

Painfully slowly, Lord Bedrawd made his way over to Bedivere, kneeling beside him. “You have memorized the words, but not their meaning.”

“Their meaning seemed clear to me.”

Bedrawd sighed, closing his eyes before speaking again. “You accept a duel from you equal, buta knight will not always be your equal. You will be a Lord one day Bedivere, and few knights can claim the same. And though the code says to keep the faith once, there are two separate instances where it declares your liege Lord as an authority.” Bedrawd stood, returning to his seat.

“What if there is not King?” Bedivere asked as his instructor removed his boot from his chest.

“Without a king, their is not knight,” Bedrawd answered, returning to his scroll. “However, there is always and heir.”

“Apparently not.”

“Or so it seemed,” Bedrawd said, rolling up the scroll. “Lord Oer’s son has claim to the throne thanks to an engagement to the late king’s daughter Morgana. Lord Oer, in his wisdom, believes that there are some treacherous Lords who would challenge his claim, and has thusly summoned those loyal to Uther and his will to Rheged.”

“Was it the king’s will to put Urien on the throne?”

“Doubtful,” Bedrawd answered, a small grin spreading across his thin lips. “It is mine however.

Bedivere was seventeen when he was told he was a Knight.

Lord Bedrawd was neither the only, nor the first to swear fealty to the boy king. Still, he was the most devout in aiding his ascension. While most lords and their sons feasted and made themselves drunk at Lord Oer’s expense, Bedivere and his father brought gifts and council. As such, when they did make an appearance, they were sat at the king’s table.

“How do you advise we proceed Bedrawd?” the raspy voice of Lord Cynfarch Oer asked over the music and shouting of the hall. “The oaths have all but ceased, and the lords we have are severely outnumbered compared to the other would-be kings.”

“It’s time the king began a campaign to take his throne by force. If we mo…”

“Did you not hear the outnumbered part?” Cynfarch laughed, “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of brilliant strategist.”

“If we continue waiting, our numbers will only diminish,” Bedrawd retorted couldly, taking a drink from his goblet. “Your concerns are justified, however, I see few other options.”

“Well let me hear those then!”

“They are fool hardy my liege,” Bedrawd began, his tone stiffening. “In the time it would ta…”

“Bah!” Cynfarch said, waving his hand dismissively. “Boy!”

“Me?” Bedivere asked, having been watching the two men attentively.

“Yes you!” Cynfarch barked, pointing his bony finger at Bedivere. “You’re father must discuss these plans with you!”

“Of course Lord Regent,” Bedivere answered nervously.

“What are these ‘fool-hardy’ plans your father speaks of?”

Bedivere looked over to his father for approval, but he was giving him a pointed look instead. When Bedivere returned his attention to Lord Cynfarch, he made a decision.

“Well, my father is correct my liege. Most of the plans we discussed were not feasible,” Bedivere answered, receiving a nod from his father. “However, one plan could work, though it would require a great deal of patience.”

“Please ignore the boy my lord, he si…” Bedrawd began, acid his speech.

“Quiet Bedrawd!” Cynfarch interrupted, not taking his sunken eyes off of Bedivere. “Continue boy.”

“The most important thing now is strengthening the kings claim, so we should begin searching for the Lady Morgana, as well as any survivors of the late King Uther’s court,” Bedivere started, keeping his voice low, but still audible over the crowd. “However, as my father said, the lords will grow tired of waiting, and might find themselves a new king. To avoid this, you need to make theme rely on you. Now, what do you have that few others do.”

“Control of the border,” Cynfarch answered,a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“This has gone far enough!” Bedrawd interrupted, but before he could say more, Cynfarch put one of his fingers to his mouth.

“We will send forces into Albion, carrying banners of Britanian as well as Albion houses. Have them raid villages of powerful lords as Albions, and take smaller ones as Britanians. It will incite panic, and civil war. The lords we have will gladly begin paying whatever you ask for protection, and there are bound to be Albions who will ask you for aid in their war.”

“My liege, I can not let this go further!” Bedrawd snapped, his pale blue eyes flaring in rage. “The Albions may be oafs, but they know war. The risk of them breaching the border is too high!”

“Which is why we will only strike weaker houses as Britanians, and use their banners to attack the greater lords!” Bedivere retorted, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“And what of the other border lords?” Bedrawd demanded, turning his nose up at his son.

“We will request their allegiance in person to show our dedication of course,” Cynfarch interrupted, taking both men by surprise. “Bedrawd, I will put you in charge of the raids, I expect battle plans by the end of the month. And Bedivere, pack your bags, you will be taking Urien to the Keys on the morrow.” Cynfarch clapped his hands together, his smile stretching his loose skin surprisingly tight across his face.

As Lord Cynfarch commanded, Bedivere and the young Urien began their journey west to the Keys, along with seven guards and their squires. Luckily, they never needed their weapons except for hunting food, which was rarely successful. Even so, the fortnight of travel was fairly comfortable.

“Announce yourself!” a guard called down as they approached the two towered keep that House Queis called home.

“I am Bedivere Bedrydant, escort to Urien, the True King of the Kingdom of Camelot!” Bedivere called back, raising the triple ravens. “I sent a messenger raven to inform Lord Queis of our approach!”

There was no answer, but the gates opened and the party made their way inside. They were met by the family of the keep. Lord Ector was dressed in a blue sleeveless tunic emblazoned with the two silver keys of his house, lambskin trousers, and a large belt holding his naked falchion. Bedivere made note of that last detail. Both Ector and his son had bright orange hair, and even though Bedivere knew that the boy was only seven, he would have sworn they were the same age. The Lord’s wife had sandy orange hair, and wore a simple blue dress with silver accents. In her arm was a small boy Bedivere knew to be on year old, with blonde hair and bright golden eyes. Bedivere made note of this as well.

“Welcome young lords,” Lord Ector said, extending his hand to help down Urien who gladly accepted the assistance. “I hope the journey wasn’t t’ hard on ye.”

“It was long, but no bandits dared accost us,” Urien answered, the words sounding almost humorous in his unbroken voice. He looked beyond out of place in the courtyard, being short, even for a fourteen year old, and the only person he was taller than was the baby. Still, he stood with pride as he dusted off his black velvet tunic. “We will begin business in the evening, in the meantime, point me toward you physician.”

Lord Ector was taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Kay, take our guest t’ Myrrdin.” Ector’s son nodded, giving Urien a shallow bow before leading him into the keep.

“I apologize for my liege’s behavior,” Bedivere said, bowing deeply. “He has spent the last year having Lords try to attain favor with him. It has made teaching him courtesy difficult for his father.”

“Ah,” Ector said, slowly nodding. “I guess nothin’ can be dun until the evenin’ then. I’ll ‘ave yer men a place in my barracks, an’ my stable will ‘ave yer horses fed.”

“You have my thanks Lord Queis,” Bedivere said, bowing once more. “I should attend to my liege, would you mind guiding me to your physician so we may lay the ground works for this evenings business?”

“O’ course, though ye might not like what I ‘ave t’ say.”

Lord Ector was right, Bedivere did not like what he had to say. The lord of the Keys had no desire to swear fealty to Urien, saying that Uther’s true heir was out there somewhere. Still, Bedivere did his best to remain calm and polite, saying that Urien was to marry Uther’s eldest daughter upon her discovery. Still, Lord Queis would not be swayed in the time it took them to reach the physician’s study.

“I hope you reconsider my lord,” Bedivere said, bowing his head

“I won’t,” he said simply, but somehow politely before bowing himself and continuing down the stone corridor.

Bedivere opened the door to see and old man with a long white beard wearing a green robe and a tall pointed green hat. The old man was holding Urien down on a stone table, forcing the contents of a bottle down the boy’s mouth. Bedivere wasted no time closing the door behind him and drawing his long sword.

“What are you dong?!” Bedivere snapped, the old man looking up as Urien went limp

“Woah lad,” the man said in a Britanian accent, raising his hands as if to defend himself. “It’s just a sleeping potion.”

“Prove it!” Bedivere ordered after a notable pause, heat growing behind his pale purple eyes.

“You can check his heart,” the old man said, gesturing to the boy when Bedivere’s sword cut his cheek.

“No!” Bedivere hissed, keeping his sword next to the mans face. “Drink it.”

The old man seemed shocked for a moment before a smile spread across his face. He placed the half empty bottle to his lips and quickly downed before walking over to a chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes, you won’t mind waiting, I’m sure.”

As he finished his sentence, he drifted into unconsciousness. Bedivere quickly placed his head against Urien’s chest. The young kings heart was beating normally, and his breathing was slow but present. Bedivere was relieved, and he sheathed his sword. He spent the fifteen minutes examining the room. The shelves and table were full of salves, herbs, as well as potions Bedivere had never seen before. There were also stacks of books scattered throughout the room, most of which were covered in dust. It was when he began reading one of the books that he realised who the old man was.

“Well that was a lovely nap.” the old man said, stretching out his limbs. “Are you satisfied now Bedivere?”

“You’re the wizard,” Bedivere said, awestruck as he put the book down. “You’re Merlin.”

“I’m more of a sorcerer really,” Merlin replied, standing from his seat. “Not unlike yourself.”

“What?” Bedivere asked, staring at the seemingly unfazed man. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“I’m a sorcerer, keep up now,” he replied, waving his hand over Urien, blue and red lights coalescing around his body before fading away. “Now let me look at you.”

Merlin grabbed Bedivere’s face, turning it so he could have a better view of him.

“What are you doing?”

“The dark hair and gaunt face are definitely from your father,” the sorcerer said, completely avoiding the question. “The slightly pointed ears, those hooked eyebrows, and those purple eyes though. You’re mother’s grandmother was a Pendragon if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, she was,” Bedivere answered, escaping the sorcerer’s grasp. “I do not see why you are so focused on me.”

“Yes, of course, you’re here about Urien,” Merlin said, waving his hand dismissively as he walked to one of the tables.

“Exactly!” Bedivere exclaimed, excitement entering his voice. “I know you are working for the Queis, but if you swear allegiance to Urien, then you will serve a king again.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, mumbling something about bees before returning back to Bedivere. “I’ll consider it.”

This was enough for Bedivere, and was that kept him going as his young king failed to gain the allegiance of either of the other Border Lords. His hope slowly began to fade when Merlin finally arrived to serve as Urien’s official advisor.

Bedivere was knighted before his father finished his battle plans for the raids. Bedivere was disallowed from using his family's crest, but Bedivere didn’t mind, he took his king’s sigil as loyalty to the king was more important than anything else.

“I promise to you my sword so that I may cut down your enemies, and I give you my hand so that you may raise up your allies.”

Bedivere was thirty five when he learned what it meant to be a knight.

It had been a week since Queen Morgana and her sisters went missing. The court were left with two grim options to consider. Either they had been caught up in one of the battles that now raged across Albion, or, they were being held for ransom by one of the many warlords. Hoping for the best, Bedivere and his squire Lucan Bedrydant, to the camp of the warlord the people called King of Knights. Bedivere cald himself in the heavy black armor that was common among his king knights, while his brother wore simple chain and a padded yellow shirt witha red Alphyn stitched into the breast. As they approached the camp there was a guard blocking the road. He wore heavily battle scarred armor, a longsword at his hip, a helmet that obscured all but his golden eyes, and a blue tabberd with the crest of house Queis emblazoned on it.

“Hail and well met!” The Knight called out, surprisingly in a Britanian accent. “What is your business here?”

We seek an audience with the so called King of Knights!” Bedivere answered, pulling his horse to a stop.

“And who are you to seek such a thing?” The knight asked, his voice light and humorous.

“I am Ser Bedivere the Raven, knight of the True King Urien Oer of Rheged,” Bedivere began, keeping his voice level yet commanding. “And this is my squire, Lucan Bedrydant.”

The knight gave the two brothers a shallow bow. “I am afraid I have two more questions for you good knight.”

“On with them then.”

“Why does a knight of Urien seek an audience with the King of Knights?”

“We have reason to believe that your king has custody of our queen, and if this is the fact of the matter, we intend to retrieve her.”

“A good answere Ser Bedivere,” the knight replied cheerfully. “And my last question, I was under the impression that the title the people used for Urien was the Bandit King, not the True King.”

Bedivere drew his sword, pointing it at the gap between armor and helmet. “Never insult my king ever again you filthy mong…” Before Bedivere could finish, the knight lunged forward, letting Bedivere’s sword deflect off his breastplate. The knight grabbed Bedivere by the arm and pulled him off his horse, disarming him in the process.

Bedivere feared that the fight would be over before he had the chance to get off the ground when his sword landed next to him. He stared at it for a split second before grabbing the hilt and standing to his feet. The knight had drawn his own sword, and had positioned himself so his shield was toward Lucan, but his blade was still trained on Bedivere.

“Stay back Lucan!” Bedivere called out as he swung at the knight. Their blades clashed together for an instant as the knight deftly parried Bedivere’s strike. Bedivere barely had time to center himself when the knights lunge came towards him, denting his breastplate. Bedivere leaned into the blow, twisting to his right, taking another swing, but the knight quickly moved his shield to deflect the blow. The two knights danced like this for several minutes, twisting around each other, at one point Bedivere positioned his opponent between him and his squire. Lucan took this opportunity to ride up behind the knight, swinging his sword down at the gap between his pauldron and his helmet. The knight was not surprised however. He leaned slightly to the right, letting the blad hit his pauldron, and grabbing his arm and throwing him off his horse between Bediver and himself.

“You should teach your squire not to attack from behind,” The knight said, the jovial tone gone from his voice.

Bedivere spat a string of Arcane words that Merlin had taught him, swinging directly for his opponents sword, shattering the blade. Wasting no time, Bedivere lunged at his opponent, but before the tip of his blade could reach its mark, an iron bar twisted around his joints, locking him in place.

“That’ll be enough!” a familiar female voice shouted from behind him.

“You’re kind of undermining my point Morgana,” the knight said, walking out of Bedivere’s reach, moving Lucan’s horse out of the way as well.

“I’m not a knight, I have no devotion to honor,” The woman replied, walking into Bedivere’s view. It was indeed his queen, her loyal knight Lanval by her side, and an iron rod awash in purple light in her hand. “And neither should you with your life on the line.”

The knight laughed, lifting his helm from his head, two toned golden hair falling onto his breastplate.

“You’re Arthur Queis…” Bedivere said, still unable to move.

“The King of Knights?” Lucan asked, still sprawled out on the dirt.

“The one and only,” Arthur agreed, giving an overly grand bow. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, I simply enjoy seeing how I am viewed when people think I’m a knight and not a king.”

“What are your findings?” Bedivere asked, the acid clear in his voice.

“Today specifically?” Arthur asked, smirking at Morgana, then turning his attention back to Bedivere. “I get to see honor and loyalty in its full extent. I understand your mission, but I’d like you to stay for a while, and see the only person Morgana is in the custody of is herself.”

“Excuse me?” Bedivere asked, befuddled by his enemy’s words.

“Yes, excuse me?” Lanval echoed. “He just tried to kill you!”

“Because I insulted his king,” Arthur said, a soft smile painting his expression. “That kind of loyalty should rewarded. Morgana, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Morgana eyed the king of knights for a moment, and then sighed. “Ser Lanval, could you disarm them for me?”

“Of course.” Lanval started by taking Lucan’s sword and scabbard, promising to take care of it, and the moved on to Bedivere, struggling to pry the sword from his grasp.

“Traitor,” Bedivere spat under his breath.

“My oath was to my queen,” Lanval replied as he resorted to pulling of Bedivere’s gauntlet to free the sword from his grasp. “Finished m’lady!”

The rod in Morgana’s hand ceased glowing, and Bedivere regained control over his body.

“Thank you my Queen,” Bedivere said politely, bowing to Morgana before helping his brother to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine brother,” Lucan answered in the same hushed tone.

“Lanval, would you ask Kay to find a tent up for Urien’s emissaries?” Arthur asked as he gathered up the two horses leads. “And tell him not to give him the smallest one possible if he could be so kind.”

Bedivere and Lucan followed their former fellow through the camp, passing soldiers, smiths, and peasant folk alike until they came upon the behemoth that was Ser Kay. He was a boisterous man, and Bedivere immediately disliked him, and it seemed the feeling was mutual as he placed Bedivere and his brother in what he described as the second smallest tent possible.

When evening fell a messenger came to invite the brothers to sup with the king, but they declined as they did not want their rations to spoil, or, that was their excuse at least.

It was late into the night, after Lucan had gone to bed, when he arrived, clad in those green robes, and that ridiculous pointed hat atop his head.

“There you are!” Merlin said, his voice calm and energetic as ever. “I never expected to find you here.”

“Nor I you,” Bedivere replied, staring incredulously up at the fellow sorcerer. “What are you doing here? How did you sneak past the guards?”

“I didn’t,” Merlin answered matter of factly. “I serve their king after all.”

“You’re a traitor as well then!?”

“Never, the only oaths I swore were to house Pendragon,” the sorcerer replied as he sat down on Bedivere’s co. “And now, all six heir are together. I guess I’ll have to bet on one horse now.”

Bedivere turned, holding himself back from striking his aged mentor, but when he turned back to question him, he was gone.

“Damn old man and his cryptic shit.”

Bedivere was thirty six when he became a knight.

Bedivere and Morgana had spent the last few months traveling, delaying the return to Rheged as long as possible. It was Bedivere’s idea, but Morgana ended up urging him forward as much as he did her. Now that they had finally arrived, they both sat on their horses, paralyzed, staring up at the black iron portcullis.

“Ready?” Morgana asked, giving her friend a nervous smile.

“As I’ll ever be,” Bedivere answered, steeling himself before calling out. “Hail Rheged! I, Bedivere the Raven, have returned with Queen Morgana La Fey, as requested by King Urien Oer!”

There was a long pause, that must have only been a minute or so, but felt like years to Bedivere. Finally, without a word from the guards, the portcullis was raised. Bedivere looked to Morgana who gave him a nod and urged her horse forward. Bedivere drew his sword, following close behind her as they entered the gray, dusty courtyard. Luckily, Bedivere’s sword was not necessary, as two stable hands greeted them instead of knights. As their horses were taken away to the stables, they were escorted through the grim hallways to a large sparsely decorated study.

Sitting behind a white wooden desk at the back of the room was Urien, his pale brow furrowed as he glared across at his two former subortinates.

“You look well my lord,” Bedivere lied, kneeling before him.

“Shut up Raven!” Urien snapped, starring rays of ice into Bedivere’s head. “Don’t think I don’t know of your betrayal! Both of you!”

“I admit that I betrayed you as my king,” Morgana began, stepping closer to him. “But I have not betrayed you as my husband, or your pure intentions.” She continued, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away, abruptly standing from his seat.

“I don’t give a damn about that! I want a crown, and you were supposed to give it to me!”

“The circumstances were out of her control Lord Oer!” Bedivere called, rising to his feet. “When the Lady Morgana heard that her brother survived, she had to run to his side and…”

“Quiet Raven!” Urien snapped, cutting Bedivere off. “You swore your oaths to me! You are a knight because of ME!”

“I have a title because of you!” Bedivere snapped back. “I am a knight through my own actions!”

“How dare you speak to the True King in such a manner?!”

“You are no true king!” Morgana interjected, advancing around the table to Urien, who shrank back into his seat. “You claimed the throne through deception! Now that my brother is the heir apparent, all but the most stubborn will stay loyal to you. If you value your people, you will denounce your claim to the throne, and return Rheged to guardian of the Eastern Lock, and not at all the capital!”

“I see no reason to make this easy for you,” Urien whined, trying to straighten up in his chair. “I gave you my trust, and you ran it through the mores like a pack mule.”

“As I said Urien, I did not betray the oath I made you,” Morgana answered, maintaining

her position above Urien, but lightening her voice as she lied through her teeth. “And I would like nothing more than to continue being your wife.”

“And what of the treacherous knight?” Urien proclaimed as he rose back to eye level with Morgana.

“You shall have everything that I promised you,” Bedivere answered, drawing his sword, and holding it out to Urien. “My sword, to slay your enemies.”

Urien eyed the hilt of the blade before tentatively taking it in his hand. “There is still one more promise you have to fulfill,” Urien chuckled, a large grin spreading across his face, and he turned to Morgana, as if to say he’d won, but she refused to meet his gaze, and when he looked back Bedivere was kneeling, his left hand placed on the desk, and his purple eyes glaring up at Urien.

“You will have to figure out how to raise up your allies with it, but my hand is yours.”

Bedivere was sixty six when he ceased being a knight.

The battle was long and bloody, and there had been no victors, but that was behind them. Now, Bedivere was riding as fast as he could, his king bleeding out on the back of his horse. He pushed through the thick forest underbrush, barely able to see by the dim light his false hand was giving off, and he almost gave up hope when he suddenly broke through the treeline onto the rocky shore.

“Morgana! Morgana!” Bedivere called, jumping from his steed and grabbing Excalibur. “Morgana, where are you!?”

“I’m here Bedivere!” She answered, coming out from the darkness surrounding the water. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine,” Bedivere responded, walking to the back of his horse, trying to pull his still fully armored king off. “Please help me.”

“Of course,” she said, walking to the horse's flank.

The two of them struggled getting him off the horses flank, and slowly yet hurriedly carried him towards the water.

“Camelot, Camelot can’t…” Arthur moaned, squirming in their arms. “Morgause? Is that you Morgause?”

“What happened to him?” Morgana asked, staring at the large gash that began at his shoulder and ended at his hip.

“Merlin was right. The boy brought more dread to Camelot than we could handle,” Bedivere answered, kneeling by the small rowboat Morgana had prepared for their journey. “Are you sure this will work?”

“No,” Morgana replied, stepping into the boat, Bedivere helping her move her brother in with her. “Even if it does, it won’t be fast.”

“Well, let’s not make it take any longer,” Bedivere said, beginning to push the ship off when Arthur grabbed his wrist.

“Excalibur,” he croaked, his gold eyes staring through Bedivere.