Chapter Text
Owain yelped as he was tossed across the sand, the ravager beast huffing in pursuit. Though not a very dignified response to being attacked, there was no one around to hear it…Thankfully.
“Oh, good,” He muttered, swinging his Zweihander as the beast charged him again. With his arms recovered from his last large attack, he swung his sword in two large arcs back and forth to the side, then, with one last stabbing motion, he managed to finish killing the ravager.
Quickly, he shield-bashed his way to the centre, just in time to pick up the gold being tossed by the audience. In total, he gained only about eleven nuggets, which was less than he had hoped for. As he felt his body being pulled from the arena, he found himself standing at the entrance. “Thank you,” He said to Cleo as they handed him his earned tickets.
He fished out his previously won tickets and handed them to Cleo. “I’d like to cash these in, please.” Along with his tickets from the other day, he ended up with just under two stacks of gold.
“There you go.” Cleo handed him his gold.
As he walked away from the Arena, he noticed a group of Red Kingdom members standing out by their moat, seemingly staring at the Blue Kingdom. As he walked towards them, he followed their lines of sight, though he saw no abnormality in the Blue Valley. “What are you gossiping about?” He called out as he neared.
Cherri, Apo, Cam, and Bek turned to face him. “This is NOT gossip, Owain!” Cherri stated. “If it were gossip, we would be in the gardens out back. Does it look like we’re in the Gossip Garden, Owain?” The way they spoke, it was as if she thought he was stupid.
“Mate, I’m just wondering why you’re staring!” He put his hands up in mock-surrender.
“If you must know, Owain,” Apo rolled her eyes. “We’re talking about the visitors, there was a foreign King and about five knights, they asked for directions towards the Blue Kingdom. Though you’d think the ugly, large banners would have made it obvious.” They said.
Owain was still getting used to the cease-fire. Ever since Sausage was slain, and the Creaking King was no more, Graecie and Bek had declared a proper cease-fire. Of course, this would only be until the next monarchs took over, but it was a cease-fire nonetheless. “A king? Of where??” He frowned. There were only a few kingdoms around, and he didn’t like the options. More accurately, he dreaded one specific option.
“Uh, I don't know. They were wearing lots of purple, though.” Cam said, then paused in thought. “Does Birgrandia have a king? Their colours are purple…” He suggested.
“Oh yes, they did have lots of purple.” Bek agreed, “But no, no king. Now that I think of it, perhaps the man was not a king, but another higher up? Some political leader of sorts.”
“Regardless, I should return to the castle. If politics are taking place, I wish to be there. Good day,” Owain waved to them as he began to walk towards the bridge.
“Good Day,” The four Red members parroted.
The walk was only a few minutes, but soon he was walking up to the Blue Kingdom castle. As he ascended the warped wood stairs, the throne room came into view. Queen Graecie, sitting upon her throne, her spear in her hand, somewhat casually.
To her left stood Nom. He had a somewhat serious look on his face, though it did not seem abnormal. He was standing on the bottom step of the throne platform, below Graecie but above others.
Scott, Shan, and Eloise all stood to the right of the throne, all sharing cautious looks. Mae and Kitty both stood to the left, with similar expressions.
Closer to the entrance of the throneroom, and therefore Owain, stood five knights, as Apo had suggested. They all wore different sets of armour, with clear differences from knight to knight, though it was obvious they all came from the same army.
At the foot of the Throne, a man with a crown stood. His hair was brown, not too different from Owain’s own. It was clear this man was a king, and Owain had no clue what Bek and the other Red Kingdom members had been thinking. He was no mere politician. This was a king. A king whom Owain, unfortunately, knew very well.
Owain’s breath hitched as he reached the door, and the conversation reached his ear.
“A man by the name of Owain? You say?” Graecie asked.
“Yes, Owain. I have been looking for him for a very long time. He, ah, disappeared a few years ago.” The King Mordred said.
Graecie hummed. “Might I ask why you are looking for him? Is he perhaps a friend of yours?” She asked Mordred.
Thankfully, it was clear she had not yet revealed Owain’s identity. Owain did not know why this was. Perhaps she was not trusting of strangers; perhaps Mordred had hinted at wanting Owain dead. Regardless, Owain was thankful.
“Something like that.” Mordred was never one to be subtle.
Graecie’s eyes met Owain’s. Or, rather, her eyes met his helmet. “Ah, knight. Perhaps you could help. Step forward”
Again, she was concealing his identity. Though, Owain did not know why.
As she spoke, everybody's eyes followed her gaze, landing on Owain. The Walesland knights all parted like the sea at her words, and Owain walked towards the throne. He gave her a simple bow before taking his spot on the step to Graecie’s right. “My queen,” He greeted. “How may I be of assistance?” As he spoke, he did his best to mask his voice. He spoke from deeper in his chest, with more power. It echoed in his mask and was almost nothing like his normal voice.
It made his kingdom members think, This man can do voices?? And yet nobody brought it up. Had Owain been less focused on Mordred, perhaps he would have noticed everybody's confusion.
She smiled, “My knight, this is the King of Walesland, Mordred. He has come here in search of a man by the name of Owain.”
“Owain?” Owain parroted. “Hm… I do not recall a man of that name. Is he a merchant? A rogue? Knight?” He asked Mordred, his voice still masked. He had to actively stop himself from shaking. The mere thought of Mordred catching him was ineffable.
“A knight.” The visiting King replied simply.
“And when did you say he came to the kingdom?”
“He left Walesland five years ago. I have reason to believe he arrived here about three years ago.”
“It’s likely then that, if he did come here, he either died in one of our many battles with the Red Kingdom or left. Unfortunately, no knight by the name of Owain lives here today,” the knight Owain told Mordred.
“Mhm…” Mordred glanced back at a knight. Owain, having grown up in Walesland, instantly recognized the captain's badge on one of the knights' chestplates. He did not recognize any of these knights. If this was the king's secondary guard (The Round Table being the primary), then these knights were new. Or at least, newly promoted.
“Wymond, the scroll.” Mordred put his hand out towards the captain.
The captain, Wymond, nodded. He reached down towards a plain leather satchel slung from his shoulder and pulled a scroll from it. He stepped forward, handing it to Mordred in a more casual manner than Owain would have expected.
Unfurling it, Mordred showed the contents to Graecie. Nom and Owain were both able to catch a glance. “Do you recognize his face?” Mordred asked.
On the scroll was a detailed sketch of a man, three times over. No, this was no sketch. From the slight shine and subtle aura, it was likely a magical portrait, sometimes called a photo. It was an uncommon spell. The spell conjured up images from the caster's memory and imprinted the images onto pages.
The man had tan skin, brown hair and brown eyes. His face was long, with an overall almond-like shape to it. In the first image of him, he appeared to be about twenty years of age, and he had an innocent smile which met his eyes.
The second one, it was a neutral one, he was looking straight ahead. It was not serious nor angry. It was simply neutral.
The last, he had a cloak over his head, his face shrouded in shadows. He had a scared expression, eyes red from the tears which ran down his face.
Had I been crying that day? Owain asked himself as he saw the last image of himself, which was when he had fled the kingdom.
Graecie hummed in thought, “It seems familiar. But, I’ve seen many people over my one hundred thirty-seven years of life. Perhaps one of my knights may know?” She gestured at Nom and Owain, who still stood in front of her.
Reluctantly, Mordred showed the scroll to Nom and Owain. “Recognize him?”
“Oh! Owain! Yes, I remember now.” Owain stated before Nom could speak.
“Yes!” Mordred looked at him expectantly, “Where is he? What happened?”
Owain tilted his chin down to convey sorrow and grief. “Oh… I’m sorry. He died just three months ago. It was our most recent battle with the Red Kingdom. He died valiantly in battle with the rest of his squadron.”
Mordred frowned. “And yet you only now remember him?”
“We called him Squire, not Owain. Yes, it was a joke, since he would never tell us his oath, nor who knighted him. It was a running joke that he had simply never been knighted.” Owain spoke, sorrow threaded into his voice.
Mordred suddenly began to…Smile. “You say he never spoke of his past? That would make sense, seeing as he killed King Arthur.”
Around the room, the Blue Kingdom members gasped. Everybody, except Mordred, his guards…And Owain.
“He fled the kingdom because we discovered the poison in his chambers. I had taken the throne, despite my grief from losing my dear beloved uncle. I had declared he would be imprisoned,” Mordred continued, “If found guilty of the murder of King Arthur, he would have been hanged.”
Graecie’s voice wavered as she spoke, “He… Killed your King?”
“Yes,” Mordred nodded. “After Arthur had taken him in. You see, Owain was an orphan on the streets of Walesland. Arthur, with his big heart, had pitied the boy. Arthur adopted him, gave him a place to live, an education, and even his name. Owain, it means ‘Noble and Young Fighter '. It was fitting. But Owain grew restless. He wanted the throne. He was a horrible man, I should know, I grew up with him. What happened to his body?”
This time, Nom answered. “Any body we can recover from battles, we honour in flames. Unless that soldier asked for their body to be dealt with otherwise, that is.” Nom’s voice was small, shocked. He had to rip his eyes away from Owain, just to look at Mordred.
“I see,” Mordred said to Nom.
Mordred glanced at Owain, and Owain could hardly breathe. He knows, he knows, he knows. He thought, his muscles freezing. Owain could tell by Mordred’s eyes, his smile… He didn’t need to say anything to make his message clear: “I’m not stupid, Owain. You cannot hide from me. I know who you are, and I know you’ve lied to me. Now, I will bring you back to Walesland to be executed.”