Chapter Text
Most Honored and Worthy Cousin,
I trust and hope that the Goddess keeps you in good spirits and health, and I pray that the Unknowable One guards your demesne with the vigor your great Realm deserves. I was glad to receive your last missive. Indeed, this is a time of fair tidings and much prosperity, and may the Goddess send that it stay so. I write to confirm many of your assumptions and answer your questions to the best of my ability, may the Goddess guide me.
As planned and as noted in your missive, our delegation of squires has embarked for Anglosax. If the Goddess’ gaze be tender and true, Hiberia’s best children will be with you by week’s end. I also seek to confirm what you have heard from your emissary in Navar: yes, among the contingent will be the true best that Hiberian soil has honed, our finest and most promising young Knight. Though he has taken his oaths and adopted his shield, he is yet eager to learn from your great country and its most Learned and Accomplished. Your Knight Masters and Scholars will find him an attentive student and a humble one, truly. It is with a heavy heart I send him. He is precious to us, as he will be Lord Protector to his sister, the Crown Princess and - Goddess send - future Queen Blanca of Sainz. He is also my only son, Carlos the Younger of Sainz. I entrust him to you, Cousin, as a gesture of good faith and Hiberia’s commitment to our much needed and glad alliance, long may it remain so. Should your Knight Masters find that he is wanting, you may, of course, report so to me. I will set him straight (though it would be a grave change from his demeanor, which is pleasant and diligent). May he honor you, and may he honor his House and Realm.
You are also correct in your understanding that Il Predestinato will be accompanying the Hiberian contingent. He is as good as my son, if not my blood, then by bond. I send him to you so that he may learn of Hiberia’s great ally, and of his lost Homeland’s other great future avenger. He is bright, brave, and talented. However, he is, to be delicate, occasionally naive. He would benefit from an Anglosaxon education, straightforward and unable to suffer fools as it is. I should also note that my decision to send my son to Anglosax is a result of a particularly compelling vision that Il Predestinato experienced with me and my advisors as witnesses. I know you did not doubt this, but he is well and truly the Goddess’ Hands and Eyes on earth. He struggles to access the Goddess himself; a matter that I have no doubt your Learned Scholars will help him resolve.
Cousin, I also seek to assure you that I do not take offense to your Great House’s traditions. We are an old House, the House of Sainz, and we would be hypocrites if we did not happily tolerate the idiosyncrasies of tradition, regardless of House and Realm. Although my son was looking forward to meeting the Crown Monarch of your great Realm, he is a patient man, and we are a patient people. We send your Honored Issue our best, and hope that the day they must reveal themselves to be your successor is a distant prospect yet. Else, we watch and wait eagerly for when your Issue decides to surprise us all with a reveal on their terms. How grand, indeed!
My Queen and Good Lady sends her best to Her Highness, your Consort. She has plans to visit before me, Goddess speed her. I fear, Cousin, my fair wife’s mischief is contagious. I assure you, she is harmless - to all but myself. But nevertheless, she sends her regards.
It will be my honor to meet you soon, Cousin. May Anglosax stand strong for eternity. May the Goddess guide your hand. May the Unknowable One favor your rule.
Your Cousin,
Carlos the Elder of Sainz
The Most Serene Realm of Hiberia
Squire Lando of Norris grunted as he was thrown bodily onto the ground with a massive thump. His cheek pressed into the sand and sawdust - on the reasonable side of painful - he smacked his palm against the ground thrice, and found he was able to breathe again.
“He yields,” called a somewhat distant, muffled voice.
Damned straight, Lando thought to himself grimly as he took a few lungfuls of air. He was helped up by the very man who had humbled him.
“Good effort, Norris,” Knight Master Hamilton said, voice neutral even despite the mischievous glimmer in his eye. The linen shirt he wore beneath his doublet didn’t even look dusty. It seemed an especial insult that he could be so flexible while wearing a leather jerkin. “Though you have a long way to go yet.”
“The Goddess doesn’t favor the boy with a natural height advantage and you rub it in his face?” called Emissary Vettel, eating a fig (and where on earth did he get that from?). His ever-present boyish grin was out in full force. Knight Master Hamilton didn’t seem impressed - but then, he rarely ever did. And who could blame him? It was hard to be impressed when you were widely lauded as the best knight in living memory. Although, rumor had it that Emissary Vettel-
“With all due respect, please fuck off right back to Teuton, Emissary.”
Lando somewhat successfully stifled a smile. Good thing too, because Knight Master Hamilton hadn’t turned his sharp gaze from Lando for a second. He clipped out, “Three laps around the yard. You’re being timed, Squire. Hop to it.”
Lando hopped to it. He could search for bruises later. It was easier to get away from the ridiculous flirting first, even if it meant immediately expelling more of the blessed air he’d finally managed to replenish his lungs with. He would have to add a few more half-crowns to the betting pool.
But one lap into his cool-down, he had forgotten all about the betting pool. In his mind’s eye, Lando analyzed every misstep he’d made in his wrestling match with Knight Master Hamilton. And while Knight Master Hamilton wasn’t easily impressed, he was honest.
Good effort. That meant Lando was getting better. Lando fixed that thought in his head, bent his head slightly, and ran faster.
Better was good, but it wasn’t enough. He had once been getting better at fencing; now he was the best. He had once been getting better at archery; now he was the best, matched only by Alex. At jousting, too, he was matched only by George. Every trial he had been faced with in his years as a squire - scrawny Lando of Norris - he not only got better, but he was either the best or tied with the best. He was but a year from taking his oaths, witnessed by the King, barring nothing but the (potential) rejection of the Goddess and the Unknowable One.
Lando refused to leave anything to potentials. And the only way to ensure his readiness, to ensure his Knighthood, was to be the best. So, at wrestling, too, Lando would be the best. He would.
He came to a halt before Knight Master Hamilton, doubled-over and panting. Emissary Vettel whistled, low and long.
“You were lightning out there, Squire,” the kindly Teuton noted. But Lando only sought out Sir Lewis of Hamilton’s feedback. Beads of sweat trickled down his temple. His linens were damp. He longed for a bath. He longed for the midday meal. But most of all, he longed for Sir Hamilton’s verdict.
“Your fastest time yet, Squire,” Sir Hamilton said. His lips even had a bit of a smile to them. Lando’s entire body vibrated with exultation. “Well done. You are dismissed.”
Only then did Lando pump his fist in the air and whoop. Then he bowed to his Knight Master, to Emissary Vettel, and whooped again before running back to the East Tower of Fort Silverstone.
He would be the best.
“There’s our man!”
Lando was gloriously, Goddess-blessedly clean. So he was quite capable of dealing with George’s ale-soaked boisterousness. Poor Alex looked embarrassed beside him. All three of them had stayed in Fort Silverstone over the summer, where some others had gone to their Houses’ various holdings. The Albons’ Duchy was managed ably by Alex’s mother and younger sister. House Russell’s proximity to royalty meant that Fort Russell was kept and maintained by handsomely paid stewards. And Lando was altogether another story.
“As though I haven’t seen your wretched face every day since I first came out of my mother’s womb,” Lando muttered. It was an old complaint, but it still felt right to say. “Damnation, man, are you drunk? It’s not even an hour past midday.”
“Damnation upon you, my brother-in-arms, I am merely tipsy,” George retorted. His cheeks were astoundingly rosy, and it didn’t look good on him. Alex hissed urgently at Lando.
“Six ales. Six!”
Lando winced. The kitchen staff at Fort Silverstone watered those down precisely to avoid the situation at hand. As concerned as Alex looked, there was tender amusement in his eyes.
“Listen, lads,” George said, wrapping an arm around Lando and Alex. Lando caught Alex’s eye. Alex blushed, and Lando muttered a prayer for forbearance. These two imbeciles. “It’s the last summer we get, yeah, and then we’re bleeding knights.”
“Unknowable One ward against nefarious hands and eyes!” Lando snapped, as Alex beseechingly groaned, “Unknowable One ward us! George!”
“Sorry, yes, Unknowable One ward against the mouths and hands and eyes and bladders that seek to do us harm, O Goddess gentle your gaze as you look upon those who worship you, and so on, and so on, and so mote it be, thanking you kindly, O Divine Overseers,” George said loudly, drawing a few looks. Alex looked like he wanted to die. Lando just wanted to kill, really. It wasn’t blasphemy, but it wasn’t very pious either. “All that. Anyway. Last summer! And it’s over tomorrow! Of course I’m going to take advantage of this swill before my Lord Master Button-”
“Overhears.”
Lando jumped so hard he knocked his knee against the longtable. Tears sprang to his eyes. He croaked out apologies to the squires across the table, whose plates clattered and ales spilt slightly. Alex made a keening noise that resembled, vaguely, a holy lament. It might have been.
George, for his part, had the decency to freeze. He also had the decency to free Alex and Lando from his grip. That accomplished, he turned around slowly to face his doom; Code of Chivalry besides, it would have been worse not to face the Lord Provost and Knight-Scholar Prime of Fort Silverstone.
“Lord Master Button,” Lando gasped, still recovering from the near loss of his kneecap. “If it helps, I hate Russell and disavow him as a friend.”
“I disavow him as a human being,” Alex added, in tones that did not mark the end of his doleful lament.
“Duly noted, lads,” Lord Master Button said, arms crossed over his chest. He was a formidable looking man who, by all accounts, had become more formidable since taking over as Provost a few years ago. “What say you, Russell?”
“I. Er. Goddess Bless, my Lord Provost?”
Lord Master Button snorted. “Cute. Have you considered, Russell, keeping a civil tongue in your mouth?”
“I- have.”
“And?”
Lando wanted to die. He wanted to be smote. He wanted to be drawn and quartered. It was all better than knowing what George was about to say, which was, “I found it wanting, my Lord Provost. Begging your pardon.”
Lord Master Button didn’t flinch. “Were you dropped as a babe?”
George actually did flush with shame then. Alex muttered, “He wasn’t dropped hard enough, my Lord Provost,” and that made Lord Master Button laugh, at least.
“Well-observed, Albon. Though I expect the two of you to help keep his tongue from wagging in the coming year. We worked hard for this alliance with Hiberia; I will not have Russell singlehandedly causing a diplomatic crisis.”
Lando resisted the urge to scowl. Instead he nodded, and Alex said, “Yes, my Lord, sorry, my Lord.”
“Beg pardon, Lord Provost,” George murmured. He winced as Lord Master Button clapped a hand on his shoulder. George stared at Lord Master Button’s hand, mouth agape.
“Enjoy yourself today, Russell, lads. Tomorrow your classes begin in earnest, which means-”
And he grinned a terrible grin. That definitely erased any residual urge Lando had to scowl. “You’re back in my demesne.”
George hacked as Lord Master Button slapped his back hard, but all three of them stood and bowed as the Provost of Fort Silverstone went to sit at the high table. A few moments of silence elapsed, then:
“You fucking knob, you fucking-”
“Georgie, I’m going to murder-”
“Comrades, compatriots, I beseech thee-”
It wasn’t ideal to start the year with bruises, but no one could say George didn’t deserve that fate.
When Lando and Alex were content with the dressing down they gave George, Alex asked Lando, “How did training with Knight Master Hamilton go today?”
Lando grinned into his bread roll. “He said I’m getting better. I beat my fastest lap. And,” he said, before looking around carefully for any wandering Knight Masters and Knight Scholars, “I bet you anything my Lord Hamilton and Emissary Vettel are going to be warming each other’s beds come Yule.”
Alex gasped, and George, who had wisely stopped drinking, yanked his purse out of his pocket. He counted out some crowns and slid them to Lando. “My investment in your worthy endeavor, Squire Norris.”
Lando smirked and pocketed the change. “Much obliged, Squire Russell. Well? Squire Albon?”
“This is immoral,” Alex announced, though his heart wasn’t in it. George and Lando nodded in agreement. Having disclaimed thusly, Alex sighed and rooted in his pocket for two crowns and grudgingly slid them to Lando. “You better be right about this, Lando. I’m not expecting more by way of an allowance until after Yuletide.”
Lando glared at Alex. “Miser.”
Alex glared back. “Profiteer.”
George looked between both of them. “Er. Exegesis?”
Lando and Alex looked at George. George shrugged. “I thought we were saying words we knew.”
Lando rolled his eyes and took Alex’s contribution to, what the squires referred to as, the Anglo-Teuton Warm Relations betting pool. “My thanks, gentlemen. Your confidence in our joint venture is not misplaced.”
“I wonder if the Hiberians are going to bring any of their Knight Masters,” George mused. The happy weight of fresh coins in Lando’s purse receded. Suddenly incensed, Lando scowled into his stew. “I should like to train with them in our free time.”
“I heard that the Hiberian prince was the only knight in their coterie,” Alex said. Then he grinned. “We should befriend him!”
Lando scoffed. George and Alex slowly turned to stare at him. Lando just kept scowling as he stabbed a cut of venison with his knife.
“Okay,” Alex said. “You have made it impossible to ignore you. What is it now?”
“In case you’ve forgotten,” Lando bit out, “we were at war with Hiberia well into our lifetimes!”
Alex frowned. George was appraising Lando in a way that made his mood even more sour. “Lando,” Alex said, as though speaking to a difficult horse, “it was hardly war. Skirmishes. And even those ended a decade ago.”
“I know our history!” Lando exclaimed. “It was only short of war because of Seuloger!”
“Proving my point,” Alex said, and his tone didn’t shift at all. Lando wondered if he could throw venison at Alex. But Lord Master Button was almost certain to notice. “Lando, we’ve been at total peace with Hiberia for all that time. The Gallians were manipulating all sides. We rejected their propaganda well before the coup in Seuloger. What is your problem?”
“My problem,” Lando said, feeling deeply aggrieved, “is that we’re going to have a foreign prince in Fort Silverstone. Fort Silverstone! Our fist in the east, where our finest knights trained, where the likes of Knight Master Hamilton and Lord Master Button reside! And we’re just expected to- to-”
“Acquiesce to the alliance?”
“Yeah!”
“Yeah, Lando,” Alex said, exasperated. “We are. Because we are the King’s-”
“Sword and shield, and we honor his will,” Lando finished glumly. “I’ll honor His Majesty’s will. I just…don’t understand it.”
George was uncharacteristically silent this whole time. Then he raised his eyebrows. “Lando of Norris,” he said, and his grin threatened much disquiet, “are you upset that you’re going to have more competition?”
Lando sputtered indignantly. He tried to push his chair back, but forgot that it was a bench, and only succeeded in sliding his buttocks near-clear of the bench entirely. He yelped and clung to the table and dragged himself to his proper place. Blushing, he said, “I am not!”
“Upset or-”
“Neither! Both! Damn you, Russell, stop making that stupid face at me! I just- I’m- we don’t need some prince with airs and a golden lance up his arse traipsing around Fort Silverstone pretending he’s the Goddess’ gift to us poorly Anglosaxon squires!”
Alex winced and cast around rapidly. “Quieter!” he hissed. “Lest my Lord Provost rip all our heads from our shoulders!”
Lando blushed harder. The squires around them were giving them looks. One girl even rolled her eyes at Lando. Lando resisted the urge to scowl at her. Modulating his volume, he said, “Mark me: I will not be bested by anyone.”
Alex rolled his eyes. George smirked, looking deeply self-satisfied.
“Except at wrestling.”
“I will make you eat shit, Russell.”
“Not if I overpower you.”
“I truly despise you.”
“I, for one, am eager for the chance to learn,” Alex said, and he truly did look excited. “Come on, Lando - we grew up on stories of Hiberian paladins, serving the Goddess, protecting the weak. You’ve heard Knight Master Hamilton’s stories. The finest knights he’s ever faced were all Hiberian. Galla has numbers, but even they are cowed by the fierceness of Hiberian knights. And we get to share our Fort and our training with them!”
Lando, unhappily, felt the stirrings of anticipation within him. Even more unhappily, it was evident that Alex noticed too. “And,” Alex said, with the tone of someone about to twist a knife into one’s heart, “we honor the designs of the Goddess if we succeed in reclaiming Seuloger for Her.”
Ugh. Yes. Fine. Yes. That was true. Lando groaned and took his head in his hands. “From your mouth to the Unknowable One’s weave,” he muttered dutifully. He would set aside his hostility to Hiberia out of loyalty to the King and as a good Duotheist. But he quickly added, “That doesn’t mean I’m going to befriend any princes though!”
George rolled his eyes to a pretty incredible degree of exaggeration. Alex blinked. “I mean. You might already have.”
“Yeah, but that’s different,” Lando complained. “I don’t know who the Anglosax heir is. That means I don’t have to like them just because they’re our future liege. Speaking of which,” Lando said quickly, before Alex or George could retort, “I’m convinced that prat Liam of Jackson is the Heir-in-Obscurity.”
Alex’s eyes widened, and George let out an explosive laugh. “Confident enough to back that up with gold, Norris?” George said, rubbing his thumb and forefinger together. Lando stamped on George’s foot, and George yelped.
“I need to gather more information before I go sinking all my coin!” Lando said. But Alex now looked thoughtful.
“I think I could scrounge up a crown or so to put on Jackson,” Alex murmured, rubbing his jaw. Lando gasped.
“Miser! You were holding out on me!”
Alex’s guilty smile confirmed that charge, and Lando spent much of the rest of midday lunch berating him for that quality. Lando was in a better mood by the time they began walking into the city proper to buy some last minute supplies for the beginning of classes. But the city, too, was abuzz with anticipation over the arrival of the Hiberians in the morrow.
Lando thought he braved it all quite well, but his bad mood didn’t necessarily abate. His heart was full of misgiving, his stomach churning with anxiety. The King knew best, of course, but he still fretted: he loved his fellow Anglosaxons, had dedicated his life to their protection. He sought to be the best precisely so that he could protect them. What would happen after, Goddess willing, they restored Il Predestinato to Seuloger? After they defeated Galla? Would Hiberia still feel indebted to Anglosax? Or would they simply renege on any agreements and go back to the odd skirmish on sea - if not worse?
And they were sending the Hiberian prince. For what reason? What would a Hiberian prince have to learn at Fort Silverstone, if not his former enemy’s secrets? If he was being sent as insurance, surely a prince was drastic.
By the time they went back to Fort Silverstone, they had eaten dinner at a tavern alive with song and dance. The sounds and sights filled Lando’s heart with as much trepidation as joy.
No alliance would foment Hiberian loyalty towards these commonfolk - and if the alliance did go in a southerly direction, no one would be more righteous in their revenge than Lando.
Lando awoke early. He was out through his door before George had the opportunity to knock. The three of them made their way to the grounds for a few laps and drills before classes began. Their schedule was rather abbreviated this year; they were expected to spend the bulk of their time preparing for their oaths. Informal training was encouraged; Lando had already gotten that head start by working with Knight Master Hamilton throughout the summer. Their only formal classes sought to build their knowledge of foreign cultures and politics, as well as more advanced lessons in stewardship. They were expected to participate in tourneys, expeditions, and even skirmishes, if called upon. They would exemplify chivalry, piety, and skills for the younger squires and pages. They would travel with the various Knight Masters at Fort Silverstone when asked, without question. It was to be, by all accounts, a truly informal year. And that meant beautiful, blessed flexibility.
It was almost too much to bear. And so, the boys vowed to keep up their morning routine of running laps and doing drills with the heaviest swords they owned. The other side of this year’s informality was true danger. It was not unheard of for squires, at the cusp of taking their oaths, to be called to arms and get killed because they did not bother to keep in shape, or keep their sword-arm from rusting. There was much mystery in how squires suddenly became knights; they would take vigil, under the eyes of their masters and select witnesses, and they would either become knights or not: either one was a simple known fact that injected itself like an inevitability into the brains of all present. But rumor had it that a way to ensure that a squire wouldn’t transition to a knight was to be sluggish in this final, consequential year.
That would not happen to Lando. And it would not happen to George and Alex, either.
They had suffered their classes well before midday; and the remainder of the day presented itself like a beautiful array of possibilities.
“I think I’m going to go to the horse-master and get myself a horse,” Lando announced unexpectedly as they left the classroom. George and Alex looked at him.
“Er, Norris? Did you get hit in the head?” George asked, voice dripping with faux concern. Lando scowled at him.
“No, I just don’t wish to see the Hiberians arrive.”
Behind them, a familiar voice clipped, “Too good for the foreigners, Norris?”
Without turning around, Lando replied, “Every year I cannot fathom why the Goddess chooses to preserve you, Jackson.”
Liam smirked as he brushed past Lando. Lando made a face and wiped some imaginary muck off of the arm of his doublet where Liam touched him. “I had hoped Knight Master Hamilton might have humbled you over the summer,” he drawled lazily. “I see you’re still a piece of-”
“Finish that sentence, Liam, and you might end up too bruised to take vigil this midsummer,” George growled. Liam sniffed, and managed to get out, before he disappeared into the crowd of pages and younger squires going to their next class:
“I was only going to say that Norris and I are in agreement for once.”
Lando felt sick. He refused to be in agreement with Liam about anything. After Liam disappeared, Alex looked at Lando reproachfully. Lando groaned.
“Fine. Fuck. Let’s go watch the circus.”
One look out of the West Gate of Fort Silverstone led them to the rapid realization that they were better off watching the procession from the top of one of the towers. George had, unsurprisingly, managed to bring along a wineskin. That, combined with Alex’s much more useful contribution of fruit, made the whole thing altogether festive. Then Lando caught sight of the ship drawing close to the dock.
The cog was an elegant thing, if not massive, and it was painted red and gold. The crest of the House of Sainz was emblazoned into the single sail: a brilliant flame flanked by wings. The figurehead was a raging bull, emerging from the beak of the cog. Yes, it was not massive, but it was a handsome ship.
“No ballistas,” Lando murmured, squinting against the sun. “No real ram either.”
“Goddess protect us, Lando, why would they bring a warship?” George barked. “And anyway, they have Il Predestinato aboard. Why would they need a ballista? They’ve got the Goddess’ protection.”
Okay. That was a fair point. Lando grunted and continued scrutinizing the cog. He could see about thirty people aboard the cog, all running around in preparation for docking. A few figures ran around slightly less than the other crew. Lando fixed his sights on them; he could nearly make them out, but not well enough.
“How will we know who’s Il Predestinato and who’s the Prince?”
“Technically,” Alex said, a small smile on his lips, “Il Predestinato is a prince.”
George glared at him. “You know what the fuck I mean,” he muttered, stoppering his wineskin. “What I meant is, do you think we’ll know just by looking at them?”
“Il Predestinato will probably be wearing his robes,” Lando said. Then he smirked. “As for the Hiberian prince, seek out the one that looks the most in-bred.”
Neither Alex nor George laughed. They just exchanged a look. Then George, somewhat gently (and that made it even more insulting), said, “You know…they sing songs about the Anglosaxon monarchy’s penchant for in-breeding, yeah?”
“What? But-”
Yet Alex nodded, making a face. “I don’t think Anglosax can toss that accusation across the channel. That family tree was a horizontal line, just a few generations ago.”
Lando felt stupid. He laughed a little sheepishly. “I, uh, stopped paying attention around the time Seuloger announced the adoption edict.”
George rolled his eyes. Lando resented that. Alex sighed and said, “Yes, well, the adoption edict wasn’t a coincidence.”
Ew. But it became easy to ignore that bit of historical trivia; the crowd lining the docks erupted into a massive roar, and sure enough-
Lando’s breath hitched. His eyes fell upon a man with broad shoulders, wearing well-worn, but well-made, breeches and a doublet made for travel. The tower was not so tall that he couldn’t make out the man’s features: shaggy, dark hair, scruff on his face, smiling from ear to ear and- waving at the crowd. Lando’s mouth felt dry. He wanted to snatch George’s wineskin. But that wouldn’t do anything for his rapidly-beating heart. He was, undeniably, handsome.
Lando felt his blood start to boil, slightly.
“Is that the prince?” George asked over the din below. He was pointing to the man beside the first one; he was taller, walking in step with the other man, and his hair was trimmed short. He wore a short mustache and a slight beard. His cloak, heavy and black, dragged along the ground. Behind them was a shorter woman, wearing the clothes of a squire, and a few other squires walked alongside her. Bringing up the rear was a bearded Hiberian wearing the fine velvet of an emissary.
Lando tried to find his voice. “N-no. No. The other one’s the prince. In the leather doublet.”
“How do you know?”
“I just-” Lando swallowed. “I just do. Il Predestinato always wears the sigil of the Goddess. See?”
Two hands, palm forward, on either side of the opening of his cloak. “They’re not his robes, but- yeah. That’s him.”
“And the prince?” George asked, still skeptical. Lando didn’t like how George was looking at him. Lando resisted the urge to hit him.
“Well. Can’t you see how smug he looks? Look at him, swaggering about like he already owns the place. Bastard looks so entitled.”
Lando could feel George and Alex staring at him. He actively avoided catching their eye. Try as he might, he couldn’t stop looking at this prince, this Carlos the Younger.
“Yes, very entitled, shaking the hands of common men and women,” Alex muttered. Lando was unswayed. Prince Carlos the Younger of Sainz was presenting Il Predestinato to the crowd; several people fell to their knees in front of Il Predestinato, the Goddess’ Hands and Eyes on Earth. That, at least, stirred Lando’s heart. To be rent from your divine province by a realm that was meant to protect you - how could you live with such treachery?
Carlos the Younger of Sainz. There was treachery in this man. Lando was certain.
A sudden clanging, ringing noise broke Lando out of his stupor. George lit up. “Midday meal! I hope it’s a feast!”
“The feast’s tomorrow,” Alex said, but he still looked eager.
“Well, sure, but I wager they’d make an improvement on the standard fare for foreign dignitaries even if His Majesty’s only coming tomorrow!”
Lando had nearly forgotten that the King was going to arrive in the morrow. That reassured him greatly; though it did give rise to a new fear. But no - not even the most treacherous people would attack a King observing the tenets of hospitality.
When they arrived at the banquet hall, few others were there. Likely, the bulk of Fort Silverstone was watching the Hiberian contingent sail into port. Usually that would mean they would be served first - but the page George had apprehended fearfully told him that there would be no meal service until Prince Carlos and Il Predestinato were seated.
George let the page go with a menacing look (all for fun; it was how George got his kicks, though he was also known to tip generously if the libations poured freely), and Lando clenched his fists. “Already they’re changing our traditions!”
“Goddess help me! Lando!” Alex exclaimed. “It’s hospitality. You’re supposed to be a bleeding knight! Chivalry demands hospitality!”
“Chivalry demands you cork it, show-off,” Lando muttered. Alex made a disgusted noise.
“You’re being impossible.”
“I’m not bowing to any prince! He’s a snake! I won’t curtsy and coo for him!”
George stepped on Lando’s feet again, and Lando yelped. George had stamped on his toes hard enough that it made his eyes water. But it was in that odd clarity that Lando registered a whole mass of people walking into the banquet hall, led by the Lord Provost. Okay, maybe he did owe George for that one - he couldn’t imagine Lord Master Button’s wrath at that comment.
And on either side of Lord Master Button was Il Predestinato and- Prince Carlos. Lando tried not to scowl. He managed to frown. That did bring relief into Alex’s eyes, so he stuck with the frown.
Knight Master Hamilton was talking to the Hiberian emissary that Lando had spotted earlier. Then Emissary Vettel emerged from the crowd calling, “Fernando!”
The Hiberian Emissary turned and laughed; he and Emissary Vettel embraced like old friends. Lando might have been making it up, but he thought he saw Knight Master Hamilton’s eyes turn frosty. Fascinating. He filed that thought away for the betting pool.
Unfortunately, distracted by what was seeming to be a vague tricolor triangle, Lando didn’t notice Lord Master Button approaching them until George yelped and stood up. Lando and Alex hastily stood up and bowed to the Lord Provost. When Lando straightened, his back stiffened so aggressively that it almost hurt. He clacked his jaw shut; that hurt too. For-
“Lads,” Lord Master Button said by way of greeting. Then, he motioned to Prince Carlos of Sainz. “I present to you His Royal Highness Sir Carlos the Younger of House Sainz, Prince of Hiberia and future Lord Protector to his sister, the Crown Princess Blanca, Light of Navar.”
The Prince smiled and touched his left breast, right above his heart. He smiled and bowed to the squires. Lando’s breath hitched again. He scowled; then George pinched him quickly and he bowed to Prince Carlos as well.
“Squires Russell, Albon, and Norris, yes?” Prince Carlos said, and his accent had a music to it. Lando bit his lip to keep from scowling harder. “It is my pleasure, truly.”
“Your Royal Highness, Sir Carlos, it is our honor to welcome you to Fort Silverstone,” George said. Inexplicably, he was the best out of the three of them at etiquette. When he wanted to be. It was infuriating. Alex murmured much the same, more self-consciously. Lando stayed quiet.
“Ay, no, please,” the Prince said, straightening and running a hand through his thick, dark hair. He looked sheepish, his cheeks colored. “Just Carlos, eh? I am here to learn.”
Lord Master Button raised his eyebrows. Alex and George also raised their eyebrows. Lando narrowed his. “Please, Your Royal Highness, we are more than happy to use your proper title,” Lord Master Button protested. But Carlos held his hands up - massive - in front of him.
“I don’t get to be just Carlos very often, my Lord Provost,” Carlos explained. Beside him, Il Predestinato smiled and said, gently:
“I can attest to this, Lord Master Button. And I too would prefer to go by Charles.”
That made everyone present flush with embarrassment. Carlos sighed and muttered, “I told you this would happen, Charles, eh? You must be patient, did I not say?”
Il Predestinato looked actively dismayed. Lando realized with a start that he was the same age as the three of them. It was jarring. “Well,” the Goddess’ Hands and Eyes said, dolefully, “perhaps we can work towards Charles. But please. Not so formal, oui? I am also here to learn.”
Lord Master Button cleared his throat. “Well then. Why don’t you all, er, learn. Il Predestinato, would you do me the honor of sitting at the high table?”
Regret flashed across Il Predestinato’s features. Huh. But he graciously inclined his head, and allowed Lord Master Button to guide him to the high table. The three squires bowed to Il Predestinato as he left; Lando heard Prince Carlos say something to Il Predestinato in Hiberian. It sounded encouraging. Lando realized he would need to double down on his Hiberian lessons if he was to-
“Er,” Alex said, haltingly. “Your Royal- Er. Prince Carlos. Carlos. Would you- will you be joining them at the high table?”
Prince Carlos’ eyes widened. He laughed. “Ah, no, no, I did not mention - Knight Master Hamilton specifically requested I sit with you. If that is okay.”
Lando nearly choked on his own spit. But Alex and George, the simpering traitors, both budged over and made room for Prince Carlos. The Prince sat between George and Alex. That was some relief. Lando didn’t have to deal with the Prince’s stench. He smelt like a gorgeous breeze over the salty sea and a fire in autumn.
It was maddening. Lando hated him.
“Ey, Alma!” Prince Carlos called, and Lando saw a head in the distance turn. “Vamos! These are the squires Knight Master Hamilton mentioned!”
Alma was, apparently, the short young woman that had been following Carlos. As she drew nearer, Lando realized she was sporting quite the scowl. Her light brown hair was done up in a rather severe bun, though some stubborn curls fell free on either side of her face. She scowled at the three of them as Carlos said, “This is my cousin, Alma. She is training to be a knight, also.”
Lando scowled back at Alma. “So, are you a princess?” he said to her. He heard George groan beside him.
Alma scowled deeper. “Who’s asking?”
“Lando of Norris,” Lando sniffed.
Alma glowered at him. “I,” she said, “don’t trust you-”
“Ay, Alma!” Prince Carlos exclaimed. “Squire Lando, I’m-”
“I don’t trust you,” Lando said. Prince Carlos fell silent. Alex started reciting the litany for patience under his breath. Lando could feel George prepare to break several of his fingers. But then, Alma’s face broke into a wide grin. She stuck her hand out to Lando.
Lando laughed and took it. They shook firmly. Alex and George both seemed to collapse; George almost literally so.
“Prince Carlos,” George muttered, “I regret to inform you that Lando of Norris may yet offend you.”
And Lando realized that Prince Carlos had been looking at him this entire time. Lando flushed under the Prince’s appraisal. Then Prince Carlos smiled - and he was beautiful - and said, “Knight Master Hamilton praised your talents in particular, Squire Lando. I look forward to learning from you!”
Lando didn’t even register the compliment. Any joy he had gleaned from meeting Alma quickly evaporated; at least she was honest. This Prince? Not so much. Lando sniffed, muttered something even he didn’t quite understand, then set about attacking the plate that had been finally placed before him with violence.
Out of the very corner of his eye, he saw Prince Carlos at an utter loss. His shoulders drooped slightly. Lando felt satisfied.
“Ay, Divinidad, did I offend him?” Prince Carlos asked George and Alex. Alex was reciting the litany for patience slightly louder, and in tones that suggested that the litany wasn’t helping very much. George just rubbed at his eyes tiredly.
“No, Carlos,” he sighed. “My friend Lando here is just tired from carrying a massive, pointless chip on his shoulder all his life.”
Lando decided to be gracious. He only kicked George underneath the table.
After an altogether too long midday meal, where even savoring the food was difficult, Lando stalked to his rooms. He had the urge to do some truly bone-breaking drills. But just as he was about to enter his rooms, he heard George jog up behind him. “Lando!”
Lando sighed and braced himself. He pushed open his bedroom door and held it open, as sarcastically as he could, for George. George walked through, and he looked quite annoyed.
“What is wrong with you?” George demanded. “Can’t you at least pretend to be decent to him? If for no other reason than that he’s a knight and you owe him the duty of respect!”
But Lando just grabbed his sword from behind his bed and unsheathed it. He sat at his work table and started oiling the blade with care. “Well, he wants to be treated like any other squire, doesn’t he?” Lando said tightly. “So I’m going to treat him like I would any other entitled squire-”
“Entitled! You keep saying he’s entitled, but he’s done nothing that smacks of entitlement. If anything, you’re acting entitled.”
Lando scowled. He was used to barbs from George; he wouldn’t expect any different. So it didn’t hurt. “He’s pretending he knows what it’s like to be common,” Lando muttered. “How could he know? He’s a prince.”
George laughed incredulously. He paced the room, running his hands through his hair. “You’re acting like he’s some former paramour who you broke up with after he shat in your stew.”
“Evocative, and disgusting,” Lando muttered. Then, with feeling: “Paramour! I don’t love him-”
“I didn’t say that.”
“I’m not in love with him, I’m in- hate with him!”
George stopped pacing. He stared at Lando out of the corner of one eye. Then he sighed and said, “It is my obligation as the future object of Alex’s affections-” (“Current,” Lando muttered, but this was an old fight, and George charged swiftly on), “to say that the opposite of love isn’t hate, it’s indifference.”
“I wish I had peanuts to throw at you,” Lando sighed. “Love-sick ninny. Just tell him, would you?”
“No, absolutely not- and this isn’t about me! It’s about you being a twat. An entitled twat! If he was born with a golden lance up his ass, so were you!”
“That’s- different!”
George burst out laughing. Lando gestured to his sword, and exclaimed, “If I’m so entitled, why am I polishing my sword, hm? Shouldn’t you be?”
“I shan’t make the jape. Also? I’ve never done any chores for you. Why would I ever-”
“I don’t know!” Lando exclaimed. “Because technically I’m above you in station? You are in my service?”
George’s eyes widened. And then, grinning, he curtsied sarcastically. “Oh, yes, Your Royal Highness,” George simpered. Lando groaned and set his sword aside. He had gone too far, he was being stupid. “I shall aid you with your sword, O Ye of the Divine Writ, and aid you in the donning and doffing of your doublet. In fact-”
And George grabbed the doublet out of Lando’s closet, and tossed it at him. Lando caught it with a sigh. “Here,” George said, sharply.
Lando stood up, rubbing an eye. He felt- tired, suddenly. “Georgie, I’m sorry,” Lando said. George immediately softened. “I don’t know why- I don’t know why I’m so annoyed.”
George smiled a little at him. He pulled Lando into a brusque, sidelong hug. It was too much affection. Lando pulled away, making a face, and George grinned at him. “Oh, shut up. We both needed it.”
George sighed and clasped Lando’s shoulder, “I think I know why you’re upset. And I think you know too. I’ll see you on the grounds, yeah? Alex is waiting, and I might make my move.”
“You won’t,” Lando said, smiling weakly. George clutched his heart, as though wounded, then turned on his heel and marched out the door.
Left alone, Lando felt fragile. As he changed for clothes better suited to sparring, light linen tunic and hose, he caught sight of himself in the mirror.
Most days, it was just Squire Lando of Norris looking back at him. Squire Norris, lauded as one of the most talented squires of his generation; Squire Norris, who sought to be the best knight of his generation. Most days, yes, that was enough.
Today, though, he saw a rarer sight, no less true for its rarity, and perhaps more true for that fact. Yes, before him was his truest self, his destined self, the self for whom he worked so hard, the self who would work hard for his people.
Looking back at him in the mirror was Lando the First, the Crown Prince, Heir-in-Obscurity, and Future King of Anglosax. And he would be the best.