An Audience

Gawain wore a handsome prince's court uniform, predominantly white.

It blended Camelot court dress with Viking courtly features; anyone with an eye for fashion could also see Roman influences in it.

It was a complete mishmash, neither fish nor fowl. In the end, Gawain made the call to copy the attire of the Prince Charming from the childhood cartoon Snow White, then embellish it with stylistic elements from Camelot and Rome.

Prince Charming's formal wear was no different from that of modern royalty. Its military-uniform design, paired with Gawain's handsome, upright figure, had shocked even his mother when he first put it on.

He was the Prince Charming every princess in a fairy tale dreamed of.

His mother was also a princess of Camelot. Once she regained her senses and promptly kissed Gawain on the cheek, he knew this meeting would surely leave Arthur with a perfect impression.

Thus, after changing into his new clothes, Gawain happily rode the white horse his mother had prepared for him toward Camelot's royal city.

The moment he stepped through the castle gates, laughter and cheerful voices washed over him. He seemed to have entered a world of joy, and the delight of the coming New Year rushed straight at him.

"Get off the horse! Get off! Riding is not allowed inside the castle!"

The two soldiers standing before the palace hurriedly called out when they saw the youth on a white horse. They pointed their spears directly at the horse, inwardly complaining about whichever ignorant country bumpkin had come from the sticks.

Gawain nodded to the soldiers and leaped down from his white horse. He stroked its head, soothing its unease at having spears pointed at it, then asked the soldiers.

"Excuse me, where should I leave my horse?"

The two soldiers at the gate, one fat and one thin, stood guard in chainmail with spears in hand. Though Gawain felt they were admirably dedicated to their duty even on New Year's Eve, the thought that he might be assigned gate duty after meeting the king instantly soured his mood.

Although he had already decided that he could become a knight, not all knights were alike. Knights, too, had ranks and distinctions. In Camelot, not every knight was a Knight of the Round Table, and among the hundreds of Knights of the Round Table, only twelve truly possessed status and prestige. They were known as the Twelve Round Table Knights.

"If you're a knight or noble, naturally your attendant should care for your horse. Don't tell me you came alone? We don't have the energy to help you..."

The fat soldier spoke irritably. His fellow soldiers could attend the New Year's banquet in the castle, even if they could only remain at the outermost edge. Still, they would get to see the king, perhaps even receive words of encouragement from the queen and some reward. Only he and his brother had to remain at the castle gate.

Even though he knew someone had to guard the gate, he had no idea why the unlucky pair was always them. This year it was them, last year it was them, and the year before that, it had still been the two of them.

The youth before him knew so little of Camelot palace etiquette that he was clearly some country bumpkin from elsewhere. Was he from Cornwall, Scotland, or perhaps Ireland?

Though those nobles were influential figures in their own lands, far beyond the likes of lowly gate guards posted at the city gates, this was Camelot. The authority of those big shots from elsewhere meant nothing here. Those qualified to attend the court's New Year's banquet were either court ministers, Knights of the Round Table, or royal relatives. Failing that, they were prominent local nobles or baronial families with ancient histories. The youth before him spoke some unknown regional dialect, so he clearly could not be anyone important.

And while he was at it, he hated handsome men. Handsome men were the worst.

The fat soldier was about to say more when he saw his companion urgently tug at his sleeve in warning.

"You're Gawain, aren't you? Oh, I remember you. We drank together at a tavern. Something as minor as a horse, of course we can look after it for you."

The fat soldier's companion took the reins with a humble expression and helped the youth tie his horse to a tree in front of the castle.

"Isn't that against the rules?" Gawain asked hesitantly.

"Rules are nothing compared to human sentiment. You're the prince of our ally Denmark; this concerns diplomatic relations. There are no small matters in diplomacy."

"Then thank you. I'll treat you both to drinks another day!"

Gawain nodded, then walked straight into the castle. Watching the youth stride away and enter the palace, the soldier finally breathed a sigh of relief. He then grabbed his companion by the sleeve and berated him. "Idiot! If you don't know how to talk, don't talk. You damn fatso, you almost got us killed! Do you know who that youth is?"

"Who is he? Some great noble from somewhere, or perhaps Sir Lancelot's illegitimate son?"

The fat soldier looked puzzled. There were simply too many powerful people in Camelot. They knew all the truly dangerous ones; only the illegitimate children fell outside their knowledge.

"His name is Gawain. He isn't Sir Lancelot's son, but he has an uncle named Arthur!"

"Arthur? Which Arthur? Arthur the baker? Bald Arthur? Or Arthur from among our soldiers?"

"None of them. Our King Arthur. Hey, Fatty, what's wrong? Why did you suddenly collapse?"

"I don't know. Maybe I've been hit by magic or cursed. My legs are weak—I can't stand up. Damn it, George, why didn't you tell me sooner?!"

The slender soldier struggled to support his companion. The fat man's face was full of misery. "You've gotten me killed this time. Everyone knows the king has no son and only this one nephew. Doesn't that mean I'm doomed?"

Gawain knew nothing of the soldiers' conversation, but even if he had, he would only have smiled and dismissed it. Ever since his mother told him that his uncle was King Arthur, whether he was training at Sir Ector's castle or mingling among commoners, whenever Gawain announced his uncle's name, even the bravest knights' legs would go weak at the sight of him. Some knights could not even bring out seventy percent of their strength. It was practically magic.

How remarkable.

Camelot's royal palace did not cover much ground, nor was it as luxurious as the later Buckingham Palace or Palace of Fontainebleau.

To Gawain's eyes, Camelot's palace was really just a special sort of castle. To a Camelot native, it might have looked grand and lavish, but to him, with his modern soul, it resembled a knockoff White House built by some rich country villager in the East.

How should he put it?

They had copied the White House's design and built according to it, but had not copied it all the way through, then added elements of the Forbidden City. In short, it was extremely down-to-earth.

High walls enclosed the castle on all sides. A palace that was plain and ancient, yet also solemn, stood before him.

It was Gawain's first time visiting either King Arthur or Camelot's royal palace. In his memories, the palace of his father, King Lot, was more like a tribal stockade. Calling it simple would have been generous; it was downright crude. Compared to other European peoples, the Vikings' artistic sensibilities and productive capacity in architecture were always several levels behind.

Quite a few soldiers stood in the palace gardens and along the corridors on both sides, maintaining order. Unlike the two soldiers guarding the city gate, they could also enjoy this New Year's banquet.

The spacious hall had long tables arranged around its perimeter, forming a roughly circular open space in the middle.

Gawain carefully examined the ancient palace like a tourist visiting an old scenic landmark. It was only a pity that he did not have a camera in hand; otherwise, he would certainly have taken a few pictures as keepsakes. If he got to meet his uncle, the famed King Arthur, he would have to take a photo with him as well.

The armored Knights of the Round Table and the noblewomen attending the banquet took their seats according to their places. From time to time, children could also be seen wandering through the castle, treating it as a vast maze to play in.

"Come catch me!"

"Be careful, child."

Gawain looked at the child who had accidentally bumped into him. Seeing the frightened expression on the child's face, he merely smiled knowingly, patted his head, reminded him to be careful, and then slowly walked toward his own seat.

A court attendant brought Gawain wine in a silver goblet, along with a plate of finely sliced mutton topped with scallions, salt, and some unknown green seasoning. It gave Gawain the impression that he was about to try some dark cuisine.

Medieval food lacked the variety of seasonings available in modern times. Bread sprinkled with salt and spread with a little scallion was already considered a sumptuous delicacy. Only when pepper, represented by Eastern spices, spread to Europe did European dining tables become flavorful.

But such flavor had nothing to do with commoners, or even ordinary merchants and nobles. Pepper was worth its weight in gold, and only a few great nobles had the right to enjoy it. In the ancient age of King Arthur, the Age of Exploration had not yet arrived. Even if the king wanted to indulge in luxury, he had no way to do so.

Gawain frowned, closed his eyes, and stirred the seasonings with his knife before tasting the mutton. He had expected some awful dish, but the instant it touched his tongue, he felt the taste buds on the tip of his tongue dance.

"What is this? It's delicious!" Gawain could not help asking.

"It's magic! The ingredients have been enchanted, Gawain!" said an old man dressed in black, his face painted with patterns. Seeing Gawain's satisfied expression, he smiled faintly.

"Greetings, honored sir. You seem to know me, but I do not yet know your name," Gawain said somewhat cautiously.

No matter the time or place, courtesy never hurt, especially at a court New Year's banquet. Who knew whether some unknown figure might actually be a powerful person in the kingdom? As someone aspiring to the throne, he had to leave a good impression on his uncle and the kingdom's nobles.

The old man before him felt like someone important.

"Merlin. Everyone calls me Merlin. No need to call me sir; Merlin will do. I came to tell you something. The king wishes to see you."

The old man acted as a messenger. When he gave his name as Merlin, Gawain's hand began to tremble. The old man before him was simply too famous—the legendary great mage, the mentor of the king among kings, a wizard shrouded entirely in mist.

"It is an honor to meet you, Lord Merlin. I have heard your name and deeds ever since I was a child."

Gawain respectfully nodded to Merlin. In truth, he had not only heard Merlin's name during his childhood in this life; he had known it even in his previous life.

"I hope they were good deeds. Though I suppose you heard of Arthur's stories and my name happened to come up with them," Merlin said with a kindly smile, then rose slightly and departed.

Gawain stood and looked into the distance. At the highest and deepest point of the hall, two people sat upon thrones: a man and a woman.

The man wore a crown and sat high upon his throne, looking down over the entire banquet hall. His expression was stern, impossible to read. He simply sat there beside the beautiful woman who also wore a crown, gazing around them.

When he noticed Gawain's gaze, the man smiled and raised a hand in a beckoning gesture. In that instant, the very air seemed to stop moving. With that gesture alone, Gawain felt as if time itself had halted. He could no longer hear anyone else speaking, nor could he hear the children's noise. The scene of clinking cups and lively feasting vanished before him. At that moment, all he could see was the man beckoning to him, and his hand.

That man was his uncle, the ruler of the Kingdom of Camelot, the legendary king who had drawn a sword from stone—the Eternal King of Britain, Arthur Pendragon.

Gawain picked up his silver goblet, drank a mouthful of wine, and set it back down. He rose, hoping the wine would warm him a little on this cold New Year's night and, even more, summon the courage in his heart. Then, with calm and unhurried steps, he walked toward the man and woman before the thrones.

"It is an honor to meet Your Majesties!"

Gawain dropped to one knee in the formal gesture of an audience. The king and queen looked at the youth kneeling before them without saying a word, as though they merely wished to watch him. Sunlight streamed through one corner of the castle, making the scene seem strangely sacred.