Among all the Knights of the Round Table, the first to know the fact that their king was a woman was the first to know her, the one who knew her long before she became a king, before she even pulled the sword of selection out of the stone.
Sir Ector.
He had served as a knight under King Uther Pendragon, and when Merlin, the court wizard, asked for his help, he didn't hesitate.
Sir Ector first met Arthuria when she was but a little girl, and following Merlin's wishes, he raised her in secret, raised her as a boy, and taught her the skills of a squire.
He raised her alongside his son and taught them both the values of a knight, of brotherhood, of honor, of chivalry, and of kindness.
Together, they sparred and learned to fight with swords, to ride a horse, and wield a lance.
For over a decade, Arthuria, then known as Arthur, was like a child to him, until one day, she pulled the sword from the stone as Merlin had foreseen.
That was the day Britain gained a new king, but also the day he lost a child.
He, who had always been her guide, had now become her subject, a loyal knight of the King.
Ector was the only one who saw her as a child. Others, like Gawain and Lancelot, had only ever known her as their king, a stoic figure who bore the burden of the entire nation upon her small shoulders.
Ector, however, had seen her cry, had seen her get scared, had seen her bleed, had seen her as a vulnerable child trying to meet impossible expectations.
That was why he swore he would be at her side, because he still saw the child under the helm, under the armor. Only he could, at times, offer a bit of comfort, help her keep her secret.
It wasn't easy to hide the fact that their King of Knights was a woman in disguise, more so since he had raised her like a boy, he had failed to instill many important lessons into her, making it an enormous challenge to ensure no one learned the truth.
He had tried so hard to help, but he was no woman, and he couldn't teach her everything.
And the King was always so stubborn, so determined to be a perfect king for Britain, that she never complained, not once. She just pushed forward, no matter the cost.
The hardest was when she was married away to Lady Guinevere. To see one's child wed should have been a moment of pride and profound happiness.
And the realm itself rejoiced that their king was wed to a beautiful lady, and even Lady Guinevere radiated joy. That she was to marry the man of her dreams, the king whom all admired.
Yet amidst the flowers, the grand celebration, the massive feasts, Ector had no joy in him at all.
Because he knew, he knew the truth, he knew that this happy new couple wouldn't be happy at all.
Arthuria had tried to hide her own feelings, no... she hadn't just hidden them; she had long since given up on her own feelings, her own happiness; she had given up her humanity to instead be the ideal king.
Seeing something like that? How could any father be happy? How could he possibly smile?
He wished he could do more, could have done something, but he could do nothing as the next morning, he saw the pain in Guinevere's eyes, as her dreams of marrying her ideal king were crushed.
As she realized the price Arthuria had paid, and now knew that she had to pay it as well, her own happiness, for the peace of mind of the kingdom.
To his shame, Sir Ector had been angry, furious with the woman when he heard of what she had done, that she had gotten together with Lancelot, that due to her, Lancelot had slain their brothers in arms, cut down four of the Knights of the Round Table.
Yes... could he really blame her? Not everyone was able to give up on their own happiness the way Arthuria had.
Ector wished things had turned out differently, that he could have done more.
Yet he had failed.
His daughter, his king, his child... had died... cut down on the hill of Camlann, bled to death from her wounds after striking down Mordred.
And Ector himself? He hadn't even been able to die with her, he had survived, wounded, hurt, but he had lived to experience what no parent wanted... to bury a child.
Even if there had been no grave, as Arthuria's body was taken to Avalon, and even if Merlin claimed that she would return in Britain's time of need, he had failed, he had lost...
He had spent the rest of his life trying to find Lancelot, to demand an answer, to ask... if it had been worth it, if he was happy with what his actions had caused...
And he found him, he found Lancelot.
Cold and dead.
But even in death, Ector could see the pain and regret on the face of the knight who had been known as the greatest knight of the Round Table. Ector understood then, that there had been no happiness from those actions.
A life filled with regret.
And now?
Now he had a second chance, a chance to not fail again.
To be at her side, as not just a knight, but as a father, to support his king, to ensure that she would never again have to carry the burden alone.
Even if she was a goddess now.
Even if she was far more powerful than before.
Even if she had other children now.
Because he knew that she still carried that same burden inside her, the same burden that had pushed her to cast away her own humanity for the sake of her people.
Even if she marched into Hell itself, he would be there, with her the entire way, and do whatever he could to ease the burden that weighed down on her shoulders.
He wouldn't fail again.
-----
The first Knight of the Round Table.
That honor did not go to Lancelot, nor to Gawain, nor to any of the shining legends that later filled the songs.
It went to Sir Kay. The king's brother.
History had not been kind to him.
In many tellings, Kay was remembered as sharp-tongued and cruel, a bully with little patience and less courtesy. The knight who mocked, who snapped, who failed to measure his words against the fragile reverence others held for their king.
It was not a fair memory.
Kay loved Arthuria. He always had. He always would.
He simply refused to love her the way others did.
Merlin had offered wisdom wrapped in riddles and prophecy. Lancelot offered flawless devotion. Gawain offered radiant loyalty that shone as brightly as the sun he carried.
Kay offered none of those things.
He offered honesty.
He did not scrape and bow before Arthuria as though she were untouchable. He respected her—of course, he did—but respect was plentiful in Camelot. Reverence was abundant. Worship, at times, suffocating.
What Arthuria lacked was someone who would speak plainly.
So Kay did what he knew how to do.
He was a brother.
He questioned her decisions when others swallowed theirs. He mocked her stiffness when she grew too rigid. He teased her when the weight of the crown threatened to swallow her whole. When silence grew too heavy around the Round Table, he shattered it with a cutting remark that often made half the hall glare and the other half laugh.
Sir Dagonet would later be named the court jester, expected to ease tension with wit and foolishness.
Kay had done it long before it was assigned as a role.
And he had done it without a mask.
That honesty cost him.
To those who worshipped the ideal king, Kay's refusal to kneel properly looked like disrespect. His bluntness sounded like cruelty. His pranks seemed ill-timed, inappropriate.
The fact that he survived while the king didn't, that he was allowed to grow old… just gave the people a chance to compare Arthuria's greatness with Kay, and Kay, he was a good knight, strong and loyal, but compared to Arthuria?
No matter who it was, if they were compared to the ideal king, they would look bad.
And naturally, he was no exception.
Now, though, Kay didn't really care about such things. He had stood by the king, had fought for the king, he had survived when many had died, and he had mourned, like the rest of them. He had done all he could, and he had never once betrayed their king. That was enough for him.
He didn't need to be remembered as a great knight, or a good one, but as a loyal one. That he was.
And now he had a chance to prove that loyalty once more.
"Really knows how to pick them," he muttered to himself as he stood in the royal armory, the place Arthuria stored her collection of weapons and armor.
While it didn't house the same level of relics it once had, it was still filled with weapons, shields, and countless magical relics recovered from France and around Albion.
He was holding a small magical wand, a bone with a baby skull on one end.
It was macabre.
And he didn't know what it was used for, but given that they would be going into Hell to fight demons, he figured he might bring along some of these trinkets.
Maybe they were useful?
Maybe they were just some cursed junk.
He couldn't know for sure; he wasn't a magic user or a scholar of magical artifacts; that was what Merlin was, his role was to handle magical problems, and turn them into things they could just hit.
But Merlin was gone, and as annoying as he had been, without him...
"Any of you got any idea what this is?" He waved the skull wand around for the three magic users to see.
The three of them were the most elite of magic users who lived in Albion, or at least those who had come forth and sought a license to use magic, and in turn, gotten a job as arcane advisors.
But compared to Merlin? They were amateurs.
But they were the best they had.
None of them answered, they just stared at the wand with a look of disgust and fear.
"What?" Kay asked, a bit annoyed by their reaction. "Can't you just analyze it?"
"Sir Kay, it's... emanating a truly foul aura," the oldest of the three, a woman named Eleonora, said, her voice trembling. "It feels... necromantic. I would advise caution."
Kay rolled his eyes. "Everything we're getting from France feels foul. Just tell me what it does."
Eleonora took a hesitant step forward, her hands glowing with a pale diagnostic light. She approached the wand as one might a sleeping serpent.
She chanted quietly, her fingers tracing sigils in the air. The skull on the wand's end began to rattle, its empty sockets seeming to follow her movements.
Suddenly, a wisp of green smoke shot from the wand and wrapped around Eleonora's wrist. She cried out, stumbling back.
The other two mages rushed to her side.
Kay sighed. "Well?"
"It's a Soul-Drain Wand," Eleonora gasped, clutching her wrist. "It siphons life force from its target and can temporarily command the souls of the recently deceased. It's... a tool of a dark necromancer."
Kay didn't like the sound of that, but the fact that she sounded so uncertain didn't help it. "Are you sure?" he asked.
"Well, it's likely correct, but it's also a bit too advanced for me to be sure... but what is for certain is that it's dangerously dark magic," she said, and the other two nodded along with her.
"Can it be used by someone who doesn't know magic?" Kay then asked.
The three mages looked at each other. "Maybe?" the youngest of the three said. "I am not sure."
"Would it be useful against demons?" Kay asked.
That question made the mages think long and hard. "I don't think so... It's clearly made from the remains of humans, to be used against humans... someone who knew what they are doing might be able to use it against other things... but without the skill?" The answer trailed off.
But Kay understood the meaning. "So it's basically a piece of junk to me?" he asked, a bit disappointed, not that he needed a magic wand, but it would be nice to have something special for a change.
In the end, he just threw it back into a pile, to which the three advisors stumbled back as if scared something would explode.
"What about this one?" he asked as he reached out to grip a sword, something that he knew and surely could use.
Only for the sword to turn into a snake as soon as he gripped it.
He let go with a loud curse.
The snake just looked at him, its tongue flicking, before it slithered away.
The three advisors looked relieved that he hadn't been harmed.
"Fine! No more weird magic junk for me," Kay said, clearly frustrated. "Just give me a sword, shield, and armor that won't turn into a snake," he said as he stomped off.
The advisors looked relieved at that, clearly not wanting him to touch any more of the dangerous artifacts.
(End of chapter)
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