Chapter Text
Visitors and Secrets
Owain was out running a dungeon with Mae, Kitty, Sir Bek and Lady Eloise when the two knights from Walesland visited Blue Kingdom to gather updated information for their king. Their king. Because Mordred would never be Owain's king. In some ways, the lion was lucky that he had been forced to run before the poisoner's coronation- he could have ended up oathbound to serve a power-hungry traitor. At least in Bannerfall, monarchy was chosen by the spirits and not stolen through blood. Even the rebelling Red Kingdom had only had a handful of cruel leaders throughout the past century of war.
So there they were; Owain in his shining golden armor complimenting Mae's impressive spot the difference run; Mae giggling and chatting a mile a minute about her new build ideas; Kitty, already up on a roof nearby running toward one of 'her' houses; and Lady Eloise attempting (and failing) to be subtle about watching Sir Bek ride away.
At the gate to the kingdom stood seven figures standing where the portcullis should be lowered into the soft earth. King Scott with his crown more tied-flowers than actual gold; Nominal with his sword gripped firmly, yet lowered, at his side; Lady Graecie with her eyes narrowed and one hand on Shandrea's shoulder; Shan nearly bouncing in place with nervous energy; and two knights with shields buckled sturdily onto their arms, one loosely gripping a spear, the other with a sword raised. Their diamond armor glinted harshly in the noonday sun and their shields were adorned with a crest that Owain still saw in his dreams- both joyful and terrible dreams.
Percival looked leaner, a new beard framing his ebony face, one hand hovering over a saxe knife that Owain had never seen before, the other loose on his tall gleaming-gold spear. Lancelot was starting to go grey, crow's feet around his sharp green eyes, longer hair tied up in a ponytail.
Percival simply stared, eyes wide, expression somewhere between steady conviction and confused sorrow. He stayed stockstill at the sight of the gold lion armor.
Lancelot didn't.
Lancelot charged with a gravelly battle cry far unlike the whoops and hollers of Owain's youthful skirmishes, sword swinging up in a whirlwind that tore towards Owain with a speed that none of the knights of Bannerfall had been able to match thus far. Arondight clanged ferociously against Zweihander as Owain slid his left foot backwards and parried, ignoring Lady Eloise's shocked cry and Mae's indignant sounds.
"If my ruler did not order us to bring you back upon finding you for trial", Lancelot hissed, "I would slay you where you stand, king-killer ."
The vitriol in his voice pushed Owain back a step or two further and, for a moment, he wasn't a soldier or a warrior, just a young man inside a suit of armor.
And then Lancelot abruptly stopped. Mae's dagger was pressed down low against his ribs. Nominal's sword rested high on his throat, just under his chin.
Owain hoped no one heard the shaky exhale of relief he let out.
"Sir," Scott sounded unusually stern. "I said you could talk to Sir Owain. Not that you could attack one of my knights on the doorstop to our kingdom."
Lancelot let out a short breath, gaze fixed on the sword which moved away to allow him that. He didn't move a muscle.
"My apologies, your majesty. I.... underestimated my reaction to seeing a mockery of Walesland's sacred animal."
Owain flinched before he could stop himself. His armor was not a mockery, it was...
"It is a tribute", he angled the lion's eyes to bore into first Lancelot's, then Percival's, "to my father. I do not care if you believe me or not, but I warn you not to insult his name any more than you already do by flying the colors of a traitor on your shields."
"Our King waits for your trial", Percival said evenly.
"What manner of trial am I worthy of now that I was not deemed deserving of, " Owain shot back, "when I was a twenty-year-old young man in my father's home. What have you gained in Arthur's absence to change the fact that men who I called my brothers hunted me down with no questions asked while my father's corpse was still warm?"
Frozen-over silence for a moment.
"Prove that you are who you say you are. Look me in the eyes." Percival's voice stayed steady while his stern face wavered with emotion.
"I never take off my armor", Owain disagreed quietly.
"If you want us to think of that eager-hearted young boy again, let us see", Lancelot backed up Percival's request with a demand.
Owain frowned.
"I do not wish to manipulate you with memories of better times or condemn you with charged words. I just wish to remind you that he saved my life, gave me home and purpose. Had anyone asked at the time, I would have told them I would switch places with him in a heartbeat. Again, I do not tell you this for sympathy or leniency, but rather so that you might see clearer and save your oaths."
Behind Lancelot, Owain saw Nom have a realization and connect the dots to a conversation a few days ago, atop the castle, overlooking the kingdom.
Owain caught his eyes and nodded. Yes, he had begun his duty of care, his penance for others' actions, with his brothers.
Percival spoke up, drawing Owain's attention once more.
"Show us and we will hear you out, Owain." His face was pale and taut and he sounded a bit strangled as it played across his eyes that he was truly considering the ramifications if Owain was telling the truth.
Shame burned low in Owain's belly, but he reached a gauntleted hand behind his head to undo the clasp. Percival had asked, so Owain would give this to him. The face of the boy who died alongside his father, the face Owain was unworthy of.
The lion took his helmet off. Blinked with his good eye in the bright light. Felt the wind tousel his brown curly-waves of hair.
Heard gasps from all directions.
"...Did we...?" Percival gestured to the long scar snaking its way across Owain's face. It started at his left temple with a gouge mark and sliced diagonally down to cut through his upper lip. His left eye had been spared, though the nerve damage around it meant that on some days his vision faded and a scorching headache seared into his mind, muddling his thoughts. The scar was jagged and its line jerked back and forth from Owain's struggle to push his assailant's weapon out of his face.
(No one other than Owain would be able to tell that it was three times longer than it had been initially. No one other than him would see that the depth of it was from how often it was reopened.)
"Yes." He stated plainly. No need to dance around the answer. This whole situation could help his family if he answered whole-heartedly, so his own emotions had no place there in the conversation. "I don't know who specifically, but yes."
He paused, then continued almost conversationally. "So, do you believe me at all yet? I've kept the God's judgement at bay as best I can, but there is still time for some of you to redirect and reclaim your oaths."
"I believe you," Percival answered. "I never truly studied the Knight God as you did, but with Galahad's death, no mere mortal could reopen all his old wounds at once."
Owain felt sick. Had he not done enough? "Galahad is dead", he repeated numbly. "Did he break his oath twice over? I don't understand."
Percival smiled sadly at him. "C'mon O, he told us his oath. 'To serve....'" The older man started leadingly and Owain remembered a thousand lessons of gratitude and mercy and honor from the dark-skinned 'middle brother'.
"'To serve justly and with clarity and reason for the most hopeful future of Walesland'." Owain recounted.
He considered it for a moment. Galahad had broken every single individual piece of his oath. Mordred was not just. Galahad had not known the truth of his king, so he had no clarity or solid reason. And a poisoning traitor was not a hopeful leader.
"We need to leave." It had been a long moment since Lancelot had last spoken and Owain couldn't bring himself to look directly at his father's best friend. "The k--. Mordred is waiting and I have received word", he held a pigeon in his cupped hands, sword swaying sheathed on his belt. "The rebellion is starting to set camp firmly inside our borders. We have been told to return and act as a show of force."
Owain wanted to protest. He wanted to know more of the other knights, to ask about his father's funeral, Mordred's reign. But. He held his tongue. Took careful note of the fact that Lancelot had said 'Mordred' instead of 'King Mordred's. Rejoiced that Percival believed him.
"What does it matter that this other group wants to live near you?"
Cherrifire and Apokuna. Visiting or perhaps loitering. Either way, enemies were right there. Owain would have to do damage control.
"As Gawain continues to say any time he is ordered to speak with the rebel leader, if you wish to be independent, then go somewhere to be independent, do not just disrespect our land and invite needless bloodshed for a self-righteous claim to the exact place you claim you wish to leave."
Owain's lips curved up into a small, honest smile at the confirmation that Gawain was alive and well enough to be rude whenever diplomacy was asked of him. He missed him. Even the times when the heavily-muscled man used to put him in a headlock and declare that he was bored of honorable, straightforward sparring. Everyone knew it was just an excuse to mess with their youngest.
"Owain."
Owain's attention snapped over to Lancelot.
"How did Mordred enter your chambers to plant the poison?" He sounded reluctant, but at least he was exploring the idea that Owain was being truthful.
"That is an easy answer," Owain replied bitterly. "He simply asked me to leave my door unlocked so he could fetch me for a lesson, and I trusted him. He didn't waste any time either-- the very same day, our King was gone."
Lancelot studied him, and Owain wondered what he was reading in his face. Then he nodded slowly. "It is very unfortunate then, that this pigeon intercepted Percival and I before we managed to arrive at Bannerfall", he said lightly. "We will have to travel to this region again, perhaps with more knights to ensure our success in finding the correct area."
"Of course", Owain responded, donning his helmet once more, not meeting anyone's gaze. "I look forward to meeting you one day, Sir Lancelot, Sir Percival."
"Good luck, cub", Percival threw over his shoulder as the two saddled up.
Owain groaned as he heard at least five individual people behind him repeat 'cub' with various amounts of glee.
This was going to be a very long day for the lion.