Chapter Text
“This is a stupid idea,” Sam says. His head almost touches the thatched roof of the tiny cabin.
“You look ridiculous, Giant,” Dean says automatically, continuing to pack his satchel.
“Who says this Sir Robert can teach you anything, anyway? We’re doing fine here.”
“A ghoul nearly leveled the town last month and I couldn’t do anything. I’m going to Camelot.” Dean smirks. “I know you’ll miss me, little bro, but it’s time for you to do things on your own.”
Sam snorts, then his face grows serious. “You’ll be safe, right?”
“Always am,” Dean grins.
---
The issue is magic. It can solve a lot of problems, but it also creates a lot of problems, especially since it’s illegal. And, frankly, Dean’s not too great at controlling it. Which is why this post as Sir Robert’s squire is such a gift.
Dean steps out of the woods and surveys Camelot for the first time. It’s surrounded by lush farmland with a silver river snaking through it. The castle itself is gorgeous, with high white walls and bright banners fluttering in the wind. He can see Sir Robert’s bear standard flying with the other knights’ over the stables.
The city is amazing. There are more people than Dean’s probably seen in his whole life. He’s admiring the blacksmith’s shop, which is at least three times the size of the one back home, when someone collides with him.
The boy sneers. “Watch where you’re going, peasant.”
“I’m not the one who needs to watch where he’s going,” Dean snaps, “And anyway, I’m a squire.”
“Oh really?” The boy steps closer, trying to look intimidating, which might have worked except that Dean is taller than he is.
“Balthazar,” says a surprisingly deep voice. It’s even more surprising when Dean sees who spoke. The boy is slight and pale, with dark hair, and finely made clothes. “Leave him be, Balthazar. And you, stop lying. We’re squires; we know you aren’t one.”
Dean bristles. “It’s my first day.”
“Be careful or it’ll be your last,” says another of his fellow squires with a mocking laugh.
This is going to be just great.
---
A giggling maid directs him to Sir Robert’s quarters and he knocks nervously. When there’s no answer, he knocks again and someone inside bellows, “Dammit, where’s that squire?”
Dean decides to risk opening the door. The room is spacious, but it’s crowded with books, weapons, and even a saddle. The man at the desk stands up, crossbow at the ready, and Dean freezes.
Then Sir Robert grins broadly and tosses the weapon aside. “Dean, my boy! How are you? How’s your father? And little Sammy?”
“Not so little anymore,” Dean says, avoiding the other question and accepting a hug.
“Good to hear it, good to hear it. Drop your stuff in there and I’ll take you to the armoury.”
The armoury is amazing. Dean is kind of in heaven. Sir Robert shows him his gear and where the cleaning supplies are, and then seems at a loss.
“So, just keep things, clean…” he trails off.
Dean glances around, but they’re all alone. “Sir,” he asks. “My father said- well, he used to tell me about your magic-”
Sir Robert claps a hand over his mouth and hisses, “What are you thinking, you idjit?”
“Ummm,” Dean says.
As quick as he stepped forward, Sir Robert steps back. “Mind your tongue, boy. You’re in Camelot now. Get to work.”
Dean hears sniggering and his eyes dart to the door where the other squires have just entered.
“In trouble already?” the boy, Balthazar, says wickedly, once Sir Robert has left.
“I’ll be fine,” Dean shoots back, “but you’ll still be a prat.”
The boy bristles and starts to raise the sword he was polishing. The dark haired young man from earlier puts a hand on his arm.
“Yeah. Listen to your friend,” Dean mocks.
Unexpectedly, Balthazar laughs. “You don’t know who he is, do you? God, you really are such a peasant.”
“What? Are you the king or something?” Dean asks sarcastically.
“The Crown Prince, actually,” the young man says. “Prince Castiel Arthur Angelli of Camelot. I won’t ask you to bow, but you ought to show a bit of respect.”
One of the other squires laughs. At least, Dean assumed he was a squire. On closer inspection, Dean realizes he’s wearing court clothes. The other squires seem a bit wary of him.
He steps forward. “You wannabe knights and your ridiculous posturing.” He sticks out his hand. “My name is Crowley. Foster son of King Zachariah, second in line for the throne, and not a dick about it.”
“Dean,” says Dean. “Sir Robert’s new squire. I’m from Winchester.”
“Winchester, eh?” says Crowley, eyes lighting up. “I think we might just be friends, Dean of Winchester.”
---
“Sorry about earlier,” Dean says, when he staggers back to Sir Robert’s quarters hours later.
“I’m guessing you learned your lesson,” Sir Robert says with a wry smile. “You can’t for get that magic is illegal. In the outer territories, people can get away with practicing it quietly, but here in Camelot, even the mention of magic can get you arrested, and practicing it can get you killed.”
Sir Robert stares into his eyes as if trying to sear his warning into Dean’s brain. “That said, lock the door. Let’s learn some magic.”
This is why Dean really came to Camelot. Sir Robert was once one of the greatest sorcerers in the kingdom. He and Lady Ellen set the wards on the walls when Zachariah built the new castle at Camelot as a wedding present for his wife. He renounced his magic and fought for the King during the Mage Wars and afterwards became a bit of a recluse, hardly ever leaving the castle walls.
Dean met him once before, during the height of the Wars. He’d been sent out to find any children with burgeoning magical talent and to impress upon them the importance of giving up the Black Arts, especially if the thought of living was a pleasurable one. Dean and his brother Sam probably owed their lives to the fact that Sir Robert’s last stop had ended bloodily. Sammy was still a baby, but Dean had heard his hushed conversation with their father. “Keep it quiet, get as far from Camelot as you can, be safe. Keep them safe.” They’d moved to Winchester three days later, and rarely looked back.
Despite his apparently shifting allegiances, Sir Robert still practices magic, albeit very quietly. Which is the why and how of Dean’s position in Camelot.
He sits down at Sir Robert’s desk and scoots close eagerly. “What spells am I going to learn? Can you teach me how to change the weather? I’ve always wanted to do that.”
“We won’t be doing any spells. I can teach you theory only.”
Dean’s heart and face fall. “Oh. But I’m really good at it. See?”
He raises a hand and feels his eyes burn gold as the magic flows through him. Objects begin to float up into the air and drift around the room in a slow, stately dance. Dean waves his hand idly and everything settles gently back into it’s proper place; except for a broom that starts lazily sweeping.
“Well,” says Sir Robert, after a long, silent moment passes. “That is going to make things interesting.”
---
The next month passes quickly. Dean gets a letter from Sam and sends one back. He and Sir Robert actually do the occasional spell from his huge tomes, though they still mostly work on theory. Finally, he’s actually started getting along with the other squires, or at least, no one actively hates anyone else. It’s progress, of a sort.
Dean is polishing armor one afternoon, using a minimum of magic, when His Royal Highness Crown Prince Castiel walks in. Dean hastily avoids eye contact. Castiel is one of the squires Dean hasn’t figured out yet. Probably because he’s the Prince. He also rarely talks.
Prince Castiel looks around and realizes that they’re the only two in the room. Instead of avoiding him, or leaving like Dean thinks he might do, Castiel brings his gear over to where Dean is sitting, and gets to work.
“Hello?” Dean says, after an awkward silence.
“Hello,” Castiel replies amiably. “How are you liking Camelot?”
“It’s a big change from Winchester, but I’m adjusting,” Dean says diplomatically. “It is lovely though,” he adds quickly.
The corners of Castiel’s mouth twitch up, and even that tiny smile transforms his face. “It really is,” he says. “Winchester is nice; lovely forests up there, good hunting.”
Dean grins at the prince, amazed that he’s even heard of Winchester, let alone been there.
“You look surprised.”
“I guess I figured you didn’t leave the castle much.”
“Not as much as I’d like,” he says a bit wistfully.
They fall quiet again, but it’s not as awkward this time.
Castiel finishes up his work before Dean, and he takes his time packing up his work things and cleaning away the dirty rags. Eventually though, he puts away the last jar of polish and starts to leave. Dean is struck by the sudden realization that he doesn’t want this oddly charming man to leave.
“Hey Cas!” he blurts, when the prince is at the door. “Will I see you later?”
Castiel - Cas - smiles softly. “Undoubtedly.”