Chapter Text
In this world, there are only two types of people: the wealthy and the poor.
The wealthy were all royals–kings, queens, princes and princesses, dukes, duchesses, so on and so forth. Amongst the rich were priests and priestesses, nuns, bishops, all the latter.
The poor, however, included the complete opposite. Fishermen, carpenters, blacksmiths, farmers, shop owners–people just trying to get by. The poor included those who didn’t even work, those without any job at all. Along with the poor were the lowest of lows. Many chose to call these people scavengers.
Scavengers were homeless with no money to their name. Often bastard sons with no family to return to. They’d travel from town to town, kingdom to kingdom, lying and cheating the foolish rich to give up anything worth a penny. It was a tireless, dangerous, and, frankly, quite an embarrassing way to live. But when push comes to shove, scavengers must be ready to land on their feet.
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Lance was a scavenger. His only two friends, Hunk and Pidge, were also scavengers. The three of them became a trio at a young age. All sold away as children to work as servants, miners, or other. The three of them together escaped the harsh environment their parents had sold them into, vowing to never leave each other’s side.
Lance was an…interesting young man. Despite the trouble he’s dealt with in the past, he pushes forward, never showing a hint of weakness. He was thin, tall, and fast–all helpful attributes when one is a scavenger. His tan skin and even darker hair led any who happened to notice him to eye him warily, but the man was a charming one. Lance could weasel his way out of any situation, more often than not with the help of his friends.
Pidge was wickedly smart (for a girl, as many added). She was small with a shamelessly boyish haircut, though she didn’t let her appearance fool anyone for too long. She was often the one that got her boys out of trouble–the brains of every operation. Not only did Pidge use her intelligence as a weapon, but she herself was quite the crafty companion. Because of her size and unassuming image, she was often able to sneak into churches (disguised as an altar boy), orphanages (disguised as an orphan boy), and many galas (disguised as a poor, hungry boy who had lost his way). Though, with every brain of a group, there has to be the brawn.
Hunk was quite literally his name. A larger man that, even despite Lance’s height, towered over the other. He was strong, an aspect that surprised most. Hunk had a kind face and a heartfelt attitude. Often shy and overthinking every little thing, though nonetheless an important addition to the team. Lance often referred to his friend as the glue of the team–after every failed attempt at larceny, Hunk was there to reassure the other two while at the same time keeping them from going at each other’s throats.
Lance, Pidge, and Hunk were a team not to be reckoned with. They have always been there for each other and would never leave for anything. Though, with every found family, there were bound to be some secrets.
“Is he dead?” Hunk asked, several feet away.
The three of them were traveling through a forest making their way to their next kingdom to loot when they stumbled upon a knight in, literal, shining armor, lying in the grass at the woods’ end. While Lance and Pidge were quick to investigate, Hunk admitted that being close to a person that could possibly be deceased made him undoubtedly queasy.
Pidge held her fingers to the exposed throat of the knight, feeling for a pulse. After a few moments, she let her hand drop beside her. “Jesus. Yeah, he’s dead.”
Lance began to remove the knight’s armor, causing Hunk to cringe. “Lan–hey, uh, Lance–what are you doing?”
“Checking his pockets for coins.” Lance grunted as he pulled the chest plate from the man. He’d begun to pat him down, listening for any jingling silver or gold. “Three pieces of silver, that’s it? I thought knights were rich…where do you think he’s from?”
Pidge examined the chest plate that was hastily thrown aside. In the center of the piece of armor was an engraving of a lion’s head with a gorgeous mane. “He’s from the Kingdom of Garrison. Check it out.” She held up the chest plate to show both men, Hunk groaning at the sight.
“Lance,” Hunk lifted a hand to block his view from seeing the dead man, “you said we were heading there next, right? Should we take him back? Maybe they’ll give us a pricey reward for returning a fallen knight?”
Lance snorted. “Or they’ll blame us for his death.” He looked over at the man again. Wordlessly, he took off the rest of the man’s armor. He stood and held the faulds of the metal against his legs. It was a perfect fit.
Pidge cringed as Lance started to dress himself in the armor. “Uh, Lance? What do you think you’re doing?”
The man was silent until he got the last piece of armor, the helmet, in place. “Fellas,” he announced, “I’m afraid we’ve got a new angle.”
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He gripped the hand of his father tightly as they traversed through the kingdom’s roads. Garrison had always been a busy city, but the six year old couldn’t remember ever seeing it this bad. He stayed close to his father, the fear of being separated growing at the sight of each passing civilian.
“We’re here,” he heard his father say over the sounds of loud applause. Without another word, the young boy was lifted onto his father’s shoulders, allowing him to see over the crowd. After a moment of allowing his eyes to focus, he saw it.
Two knights on horseback charged after the other, a long spear-like weapon pointed forward. When the two met in the middle, a loud clang echoed throughout the stadium, reaching the outskirts where the boy sat atop his father. The crowd cheered loudly as one of the knights lost his balance after being hit with the weapon, falling off his horse.
He watched as the winning knight was awarded a large trophy, shining gold, by the king himself. The audience roared with approval. The shouts, the adrenaline, the awards, the praise…it had occurred to the boy what this was. It had occurred to him what he wanted his future to be.
Lance wanted to be a knight, jousting for honor.
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The Kingdom of Garrison hasn’t changed a bit since Lance’s youth. Civilians still walked about as busy as ever. The poor folk still sat on curbs, huddling together for comfort. The wealthy still guffawed at their own jokes, long gowns dragging along the ground. Lance held the helmet at his side, the rest of the armor hugging his body uncomfortably as he walked.
“You’ll get used to it,” Pidge had said, “or we’ll just get a new set after you win some coin.”
Despite the reassurance, Lance still felt antsy as the armor felt too tight in uncomfortable places. He continued his travels, however, with Hunk and Pidge at each side. At last, they reach the arena. Memories attempt to surface, but Lance pushes them away, focusing on the goal at hand: become a knight. Or, at least, pretend to be a real knight in order to win enough gold to do what he wants with.
A slim man stood at the arena’s entrance, handlebar mustache flapping as he spoke to the rich entering to get seats.
“Ah, yes,” he spoke extravagantly, “I do believe today will be an exciting start to the long battles ahead. Enjoy the matches!”
He waved goodbye to the giggling women as the trio approached. The man was quick to take notice of Lance’s suit of armor and clapped his hands together.
“A Garrison knight! There aren’t many competing, so I’m thrilled to see you! Please, please, come, come!” The man spoke quickly and moved just as squirrel-like as he motioned Lance, Pidge and Hunk to follow him to a small structure just next to the entrance.
He led them inside the dimly lit room, papers and lances strewn across the area. The man gathered a small stack of these papers, bringing them forward for him to read. “So, what is your name so I can be sure the officials know you’ve arrived?”
Panic loomed over Lance, though he tried to not show it. He couldn’t give his real name. Lance? That wasn’t a knight’s name. God, what was a knight’s name? Dammit, him and Pidge should’ve gone over this long before their arrival.
After hesitating a moment, Lance answered. “I…I am, uh, Sir…Sir Tillot.”
The man paused. “Tillot?”
“Yes!” Lance couldn’t stop himself now. “Sir Tillot…A–Atwood. Of…uh–Garrison?"
He could hear Pidge sigh behind him, though the man spoke over it.
“Sir Tillot Atwood of Garrison?”
“Yes, ah–yes, that’s me.”
Hunk added scattered hums of approval to push the fake name into existence.
The man raised an eyebrow, but continued to look over the paper. “I’m afraid you’re not on the pre-register list?”
“He’s new!” It was Pidge’s turn to speak. “He’s, uh, newly trained and newly knighted. Not enough time to register ahead of time, but he’s here now and ready, so Sir Tillot Artwad–”
“Atwood–”
“Atwood of Garrison is registering now to joust today.” She ended her ramble with a bright smile and a flutter of her eyes.
The man grinned ear to ear. “Ah! A new knight! Well, that clears everything right up.” He wrote down Sir Tillot Atwood on the paper with the other competitor’s names. “I wish you all the best! Just keep an ear or two open to listen for when your name is called! Good luck, and if you ever need any help understanding the workings around here, I’m Coran!”
The man named Coran held out his hand for Lance to take. They shook, and off the crew went to wait for Lance’s cover-up to be announced.
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“I’m very disappointed, you know.” The king stood at the tent’s entrance, scowling over his brother. “You shouldn’t compete. Royals are not supposed to compete. What if you get injured? What if you’re killed? I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if anything were to happen to you.”
The younger brother continued to strap on his armor, ignoring his superior. The king’s patience was quickly waning.
King Shiro stepped forward and grabbed his brother’s wrist, stopping his process. “Keith!” He shouted at him, though his brother didn’t flinch. “You can’t compete! As your king–”
Prince Keith ripped himself from his brother’s clutches. “You’re not my king!” Silence loomed in fury over the brothers. The prince hesitated before continuing. “You’re not in charge of me. I’ve practiced jousting with Father since a young age–I’ve always wanted to competitively joust. Don’t think that just because he’s dead that means my mind has changed.”
The younger brother turned from his elder, resuming his routine. “I’m going to compete in the cavalry tournament, whether you want me to or not. I’m going to be a knight.” Prince Keith glared over his shoulder. “You can’t stop me.”
King Shiro growled in his cushy chair that sat above the stadium. Beside him a–slightly smaller but otherwise identical–chair sat empty. His brother was supposed to be there. He was supposed to behave, act like a prince.
How could he be so stupid, the king thought in anger.
“Will the prince not be attending with us?” A voice spoke, shaking Shiro out of his thoughts.
Allura, the lady in waiting, stood beside him. She was a young woman who initially was originally selected to adhere to the queen’s needs. The queen had passed to a mysterious illness, though, merely four years after Keith was born. The king decided to keep Allura as a sort of nanny for the young prince, despite her being just seventeen years old. The king said that her youthful spirit would be able to keep up with his youngest son’s, as all the other ladies were “far too old.”
The father of both Shiro and Keith died three years ago. Today, Shiro is 30, Keith is now 20 years old, and Allura is now 33. No need for a “nanny” anymore, but Shiro insisted on keeping her around as Allura was quite the helpful lady. No more women or children to take care of, but she’s more than happy to take care of the men.
“No,” Shiro answered, glaring at the arena below, “no, he has other things to attend to.”
Allura sighed as she took a seat in the chair that was supposed to be occupied by the prince. “Again with the jousting? Has he taken on an identity?”
“He’s calling himself William. No last name, no place of origin. As mysterious as ever I suppose.”
She hummed. “At least this way he’ll get his fill, yes? No one will be backing out in fear of harming the beloved prince.”
Shiro snorted as Coran took to the center, announcing the first duel. “Beloved. There’s nothing beloved about my brother. The kingdom barely acknowledges his existence, the workers in the castle avoid him–hell, I think you might be the only human in existence that gives him any sign of comradery.”
Allura smiled to herself as she considered the king’s words. “He’s definitely the more difficult one to love out of the two of you. Perhaps you should give him some lessons in socializing? Teach him how to woo a woman?”
Shiro watched as his brother, William, mounted his horse and prepared his lance.
“A true mystery, he is.”