The moment Gareth set foot onto the small stage, she felt the many eyes lock onto her.
People raised their phones and cameras, the media turned their far bigger mounted cameras onto her, and all at once, she felt nervous.
After all, she was well aware that at this very moment, millions of people were watching her.
And at the same time, a wave of something spread down the long line of people waiting for their chance to meet her.
It wasn't the thunderous roar that followed Mordred whenever she appeared, nor the breathless, almost reverent silence that often greeted Lancelot or Galahad. It wasn't the delighted laughter Sir Dagonet carried in his wake either, though there was plenty of laughter mixed into it.
No, this was something warmer.
Softer.
An eager anticipation, a wave of adoration that built and built until it finally burst forth as a single, unified shout.
"GARETH!"
The sound was a physical thing, a wall of pure affection that washed over the stage. It was so powerful that for a moment, Gareth felt her knees wobble. She stumbled back a half-step, her eyes wide, her breath catching in her throat. She had been expecting applause. She had not been expecting… this.
Lauren, standing just off-stage, gave her an encouraging nod.
Gareth took a deep breath, her training and her knightly pride taking over. She straightened her back, lifted her chin, and pasted on the bright, cheerful smile that had become her trademark.
But the people saw past it.
They saw the flicker of uncertainty in her eyes, the slight tremble in her hands. They saw that, for all her strength and all her magic, she was still one of them. Still a little nervous in front of a crowd.
And they loved her all the more for it.
The cheering intensified, a chorus of "We love you, Gareth!" and "You're our sunshine!" rising from the crowd.
Gareth's smile, this time, was real. It reached her eyes, lighting them up from within.
Gareth lifted both hands and waved back, her smile growing brighter with every second. The sunlight caught in her hair, her white and rose-colored dress fluttering around her as she stepped forward. She was not wearing her full armor today, only a few delicate plates worked into her outfit, polished until they gleamed.
Enough to remind everyone that she was a knight.
Not enough to make her seem distant.
That was always a balance Lauren had insisted on.
"Smile, wave, pause near the edge of the stage, then speak," Lauren had told her three times before they came out.
Gareth did all of that.
Mostly.
She waved for too long, smiled too brightly, and nearly forgot the speaking part entirely because a little girl near the front was waving a paper shield with Gareth's crest drawn on it, and it was so cute that Gareth felt her heart squeeze.
Lauren coughed discreetly from the side of the stage.
Right.
Speaking.
Gareth turned toward the microphone, took a deep breath, and leaned forward.
"Good morning, Bath!" she called.
The crowd cheered again.
Gareth beamed.
Then paused.
Then, with the grave expression of a knight about to charge into battle, she said, "I hope all of you remembered to take one."
For half a second, the crowd was silent.
Then the groans began.
A wave of them.
Deep, wounded, dramatic groans that rolled across Royal Victoria Park as if Gareth had fired a siege engine into the dignity of the city itself.
Lauren lowered her face into one hand.
Gareth's smile wavered.
Then a boy near the front burst out laughing.
A girl beside him followed.
Then more children began to laugh, not because the joke was good, because it absolutely wasn't, but because Gareth looked so hopeful about it that laughing felt like an act of mercy.
"That was terrible!" someone shouted from the crowd.
Gareth nodded solemnly. "Yes. I practiced."
The laughter grew louder.
Encouraged, Gareth straightened. "I asked Sir Dagonet for advice, and he told me that if I was coming to Bath, I should make at least one bath joke."
She paused.
"Then Sir Kay said that if I did, I should be thrown into one."
The adults laughed at that.
Gareth leaned closer to the microphone, whispering loudly. "Please don't tell him I listened to Sir Dagonet. Sir Kay becomes very smug when he is right, and nobody wants that."
More laughter.
The first joke had broken the tension.
She could feel it happen. The crowd had already loved her, yes, but love could still make people nervous. To them, she was a Knight of the Round Table, a living legend, one of the returned heroes of Camelot. They had waited hours to see her, and many of them had likely spent the whole morning wondering what they would say when their turn finally came.
But after a terrible joke?
After Sir Gareth, brave knight of Camelot, beloved sunshine of Albion, had made a pun so poor it could have been declared a public hazard?
They relaxed.
That was the point.
Mostly.
A little bit.
"Thank you all for coming," Gareth said, her voice softening. "I know some of you traveled a long way, and I know some of you have waited in line since early this morning. I promise I will do my best to meet as many of you as I can."
Cheers answered her.
Gareth pressed a hand to her chest and bowed. "So please drink water, listen to the volunteers, and if you start to feel too warm, tell someone right away. Sir Gareth commands it."
She put on her best stern face.
It was not very stern.
Several children saluted anyway.
Gareth saluted back with complete seriousness.
Then she stepped back from the edge, and towards the other end of the small stage, a table and chair were set up for her; after all, she couldn't sign anything properly without at least a table.
As for the chair, she ignored it. The many people were all standing and waiting for a chance to meet her, so how could she sit down while they stood?
Her knightly pride wouldn't allow it.
And so she stood, tall and proud, as the first person was allowed up the two steps onto the stage.
The first child in line was very small.
That was Gareth's first thought.
The little girl could not have been more than five or six. She wore a paper crown, a blue dress, and a wooden sword almost as long as her arm. Her mother stood behind her, one hand resting gently on her shoulder, trying very hard not to look more nervous than her daughter.
The girl marched forward with great determination.
Then stopped.
Gareth stood behind the signing table, smiling.
The girl stared at her.
Gareth waited.
The girl stared harder.
Gareth leaned forward slightly. "Hello."
The girl immediately hid behind her mother.
Her mother flushed. "Sorry, she has been talking about meeting you all week."
"I have not!" the girl protested from behind her mother's leg.
"You have slept with your toy sword every night."
"That's training!"
Gareth gasped softly, placing both hands on the table. "Training? Then I am honored to meet a fellow knight."
The girl peeked out.
"You are?"
"Of course." Gareth nodded seriously. "A knight must be very dedicated to train even while asleep. I still haven't learned how to do that."
The girl emerged a little more.
"I can show you."
"I would like that very much."
Her mother smiled, relief clear on her face.
The girl came forward, clutching a small notebook against her chest. On the front, someone had drawn Gareth in bright crayon, standing beneath Arthuria's banner with a sword almost as large as herself.
Gareth stared at it.
Her smile softened.
"Did you draw this?"
The girl nodded shyly.
"It is beautiful."
"Your sword is too big," the girl said, now apparently recovered enough to critique her own work.
"Many swords are," Gareth replied. "That is why we must grow strong enough to lift them."
The girl considered that.
Then she looked up.
"Can girls really be knights?"
Gareth's smile did not fade.
But something in her eyes grew brighter.
"Yes," she said. "They can."
"My brother said knights are boys."
Gareth leaned closer and lowered her voice as if sharing a secret. "Well, he isn't entirely wrong; it's not easy for a girl to become a knight, but that doesn't mean it is impossible. As long as you try your best, anything is possible."
Gareth held out her hand. "And when you become a knight, Sir Kay can teach you how to throw your sword like a boomerang. Very useful. Sir Mordred never sees it coming."
The girl giggled.
Then she handed over the notebook.
Gareth took it gently. She opened it to the first clean page, uncapped her pen, and wrote:
To my fellow knight,
May your sword never dull, and your courage never falter.
— Sir Gareth
Under her name, she drew a tiny, smiling sun.
The girl stared at it.
Her mother whispered, "Say thank you."
"Thank you!"
"May I have your name?"
The girl looked at her mother, who nodded encouragingly.
"Lily."
"Lily," Gareth repeated softly. "That is a very good name for a knight."
Lily beamed.
Then she bowed.
Not a curtsy.
A bow.
And Gareth bowed back.
As Lily and her mother left the stage, the crowd's warmth seemed to deepen. A few people clapped. Others shouted Lily's name. The little girl turned at the bottom of the steps, lifted her wooden sword high, and yelled, "For Camelot!"
The crowd roared.
Gareth watched them go, her heart so full it felt like it might overflow.
(End of chapter)
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