The morning sun spilled through the arched windows of Camelot's great hall, casting golden rays onto the Round Table. The light danced over the polished wood, but King Arthur barely noticed. He sat at the head of the table, his hands clasped together, his mind preoccupied. His gaze drifted to the far wall, where tapestries of past victories hung. Each triumph weighed heavily on his shoulders, a reminder of the kingdom he had built and the cost of maintaining it.
Arthur's thoughts lingered on Sylva, his daughter, locked away in her tower. Was I right to keep her hidden? Was it worth her isolation? Guinevere's words haunted him: "A flower cannot grow without the sun." He clenched his fists, countering her argument in his mind.
A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts. One by one, the knights of the Round Table entered, their armor glinting faintly in the morning light. Mordred was among them, his sharp eyes taking in the room with calculated precision. The knights settled into their seats, murmurs filling the chamber as they awaited Arthur's address.
Merlin entered with his usual air of calm authority, his staff tapping softly against the stone floor. Beside him, Aodhán followed, his steps steady despite the nervous energy radiating from him. His eyes darted to the faces of the knights, each a legend in his own right. He straightened his back, determined not to falter under their scrutiny.
"Your Majesty," Merlin began, bowing his head slightly. "Noble knights of Camelot, I come before you today with a proposition."
Arthur's sharp gaze fixed on Merlin. "Speak."
Merlin gestured toward Aodhán. "This is Aodhán, my squire. He has shown great promise under my guidance. I propose that he be appointed as the personal guard to Princess Sylva."
The room fell into an uneasy silence. The knights exchanged glances, their expressions ranging from curiosity to skepticism. Mordred leaned forward slightly, his piercing eyes locked on the boy, while Lancelot's brow furrowed in contemplation.
Arthur's voice broke the quiet, cold and resolute. "No."
Sir Bors spoke up, his deep voice resonating through the hall. "The princess has been hidden away for years. Why now do we need a personal guard for her? What has changed?"
Merlin met his gaze, unflinching before returning to the kings. "Your Majesty, Sylva's isolation ensures her physical safety, but her spirit suffers. Aodhán's presence could—"
"Her safety is paramount," Arthur interrupted, his tone sharp. "A boy cannot provide the protection she requires."
Lancelot leaned forward, his arms resting on the table. "With respect, Your Majesty, Merlin does not speak lightly. If he sees promise in the boy, perhaps we should consider it."
Mordred's voice was calm, measured. "Your Majesty, perhaps Merlin has a point. A squire would be unassuming and draw no attention. His presence might even quell some of the whispers among the people."
Arthur's eyes narrowed. "What whispers?"
Mordred's expression remained neutral. "The people wonder why the princess remains unseen. They speculate about her isolation now that shes been revealed to them, and speculation breeds dissent."
Sir Kay, Arthur's foster brother, grunted in agreement. "He's not wrong, Arthur. People need to see that you acknowledge and care for your family, that the princess is safe. A guard, even a young one, would reassure them."
Sir Gawain cleared his throat. "If Merlin believes the boy is capable, I see no harm in giving him the chance to prove himself."
Sir Tristan rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "The lad looks brave enough. But bravery isn't enough. What if he falters? What if he makes a mistake?
Lancelot nodded thoughtfully. "If he is to guard the princess, he must be trained to the highest standard. I would be honored to assist in preparing him for such a responsibility."
Arthur's hands tightened on the arms of his chair, his frustration simmering. He glanced at Aodhán, who stood silently, his face a mixture of determination and nerves. The unanimous support of the knights, combined with Merlin's unwavering resolve, left Arthur cornered.
Finally, Arthur let out a slow breath, his voice heavy with reluctance. "Very well. But there will be conditions."
Merlin inclined his head. "Of course, Your Majesty."
Arthur's gaze bore into Aodhán. "You are never to enter her room. You are never to speak to her. Your sole duty is to guard her with your life. Do you understand?"
Aodhán stepped forward, bowing deeply. "Yes, Your Majesty."
Arthur's expression softened slightly, though his tone remained firm. "You have much to prove, boy. Do not fail me."
The clang of swords echoed across the training grounds, where Aodhán faced off against Sir Gawain. Sweat dripped down his brow as he struggled to hold his stance, his arms trembling under the strain of Gawain's relentless strikes. The older knight moved with practiced ease, his blows precise and unyielding.
"Keep your feet steady!" Gawain barked, parrying Aodhán's clumsy swing. "If you lose your footing, you lose the fight!"
Aodhán gritted his teeth, adjusting his stance and raising his blade again. He lunged forward, aiming for Gawain's side, but the knight sidestepped effortlessly, tapping the flat of his sword against Aodhán's shoulder.
"Too slow," Gawain said, though his tone was not unkind. "You're overthinking. Trust your instincts."
From the sidelines, Lancelot watched intently, his arms crossed. "He has spirit," he remarked, stepping forward. "But spirit alone won't protect the princess."
Before Aodhán could catch his breath, Lancelot took Gawain's place. The legendary knight moved like a shadow, his strikes swift and unpredictable. Aodhán barely managed to block the first blow, his arms burning with effort.
"Defend yourself!" Lancelot commanded, his voice sharp.
Aodhán stumbled, his legs quaking with exhaustion, but he refused to yield. His determination burned bright, even as his body threatened to give out. He locked eyes with Lancelot, his resolve unshaken.
Lancelot's strikes slowed, and he offered a faint nod of approval. "Good. You have the heart of a knight. Now we need to sharpen your skills."
High above the training grounds, Arthur and Mordred stood on a stone balcony, their eyes fixed on the scene below. Arthur's expression was unreadable, his arms crossed tightly over his chest.
Mordred broke the silence. "The boy has potential."
Arthur nodded slowly. "He'll need it. Protecting Sylva is no ordinary task."
Mordred turned to Arthur, his tone carefully neutral. "Do you trust Merlin's judgment?"
Arthur's lips pressed into a thin line. "Merlin sees potential where others see none. Sometimes he's right. Sometimes he's wrong."
Mordred leaned against the balcony's edge, his gaze thoughtful. "The boy will need guidance. Someone to teach him what it truly means to serve and protect."
Arthur's expression softened slightly. "He'll have it. Lancelot and Gawain will see to that."
Mordred hesitated for a moment before speaking again. "You've always trusted Lancelot. And Merlin, of course. But what of me?"
Arthur turned to him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "You've always proven yourself, Mordred. Time and again. You're like the son I never had."
Mordred's polite smile didn't reach his eyes. "That's... kind of you to say, Your Majesty."
Arthur placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder, his grip firm. "I trust you more than anyone. You've been a steadfast ally, and I value your counsel."
As Arthur turned back to the training grounds, Mordred's smile faded, replaced by a flicker of bitterness. One day, you'll see the truth. One day, you'll know who I truly am.
Below, Aodhán faced another round of grueling training, his body battered but his spirit unbroken. Arthur watched in silence, his thoughts swirling with uncertainty, while Mordred's eyes remained fixed on the boy, his expression unreadable. The air between them was heavy with unspoken truths, the weight of their shared destiny growing with each passing moment.