The line moved slowly.
That was unavoidable.
Everyone was eager to meet the Sunshine Knight, the beloved darling of Camelot, and everyone wished desperately to spend as much time talking with her as possible.
And it certainly didn't help that Gareth couldn't help but give everyone far more time than she was supposed to.
She did try to keep it in mind, truly. But every time someone stepped forward, they had a story, a gift, a question, or a look in their eyes that made it impossible for her to simply sign and send them away.
A boy brought her a toy shield.
A teenager brought a poster.
Two sisters brought matching ribbons.
An elderly woman brought a basket of small cakes.
A father brought his son, who had apparently refused to speak to anyone all morning because he was "saving his words for Sir Gareth."
The boy reached the table, opened his mouth, and saved the words so completely that none came out.
Gareth smiled kindly.
The boy stared at her, eyes wide, face growing redder with every passing second.
His father placed a hand on his back. "Go on, Tom. You practiced."
Tom made a small noise that might have been a word in a language no one had yet discovered.
Gareth folded her hands on the table.
"A knight must know when to charge," she said gently, "and when to let his courage gather itself."
Tom blinked.
"So," Gareth continued, "would you like me to sign first, while your courage gets its boots on?"
The boy nodded so quickly his hair bounced.
"What would you like me to sign?"
He shoved a poster toward her.
It was one of the official prints: Gareth in light armor, smiling with her sword resting over one shoulder. Lauren had approved it for sale weeks ago. Gareth still felt embarrassed every time she saw it.
She signed it.
To Tom. Courage does not need to be loud.
Then she paused.
"Do you know," she said, looking up at him, "that Bath has very famous water?"
Tom blinked, clearly thrown by the change in subject.
"Yes?"
Gareth nodded. "It's called bath water."
Tom stared.
His father stared.
Lauren closed her eyes.
Then Tom laughed.
It started as a tiny sound, almost startled out of him, then grew into a full laugh as the absurdity of the joke reached him.
Gareth brightened.
"See? There it is. Courage found its boots."
Tom hugged the poster to his chest. "Thank you."
"You are very welcome."
He took two steps away, then turned back. "That joke was really bad."
"Really?" Gareth asked. "I thought it up while taking a bath."
Lauren couldn't look, couldn't bear to watch it; every one of those bath jokes was as horrible as the last. They were honestly unabathable.
"Since we are in Bath, I hope everyone is having a clean good time."
Groans.
"I wanted to bring Sir Mordred, but I worried she would make too much of a splash."
More groans.
"Sir Gawain wanted to come too, but he shines too much in sunlight. We would have had to call this a sun Bath."
A woman in the line almost dropped her cup from laughing.
"Sir Agravain told me to keep today's event orderly, so I promised him there would be no bubbles."
A child asked what bubbles had to do with order.
Gareth had no answer.
That made it funnier.
Every joke was terrible.
Every single one.
Yet the more awful they became, the more people relaxed. Nervous children smiled. Teenagers stopped standing stiffly.
Because if Gareth could tell such a bad joke with a straight face, live on television, then surely they had nothing to be embarrassed about.
Even the media seemed to have lost their minds, with many of the photographers lowering their cameras for a moment to laugh, their shoulders shaking.
The line kept moving.
An old man, back straight, shoulders broad, a veteran's pin on his lapel, stepped up. He held a small wooden box.
"For you, Sir Knight," he said, his voice rough but steady.
Gareth accepted the box. Inside, nestled in black velvet, was a medal. Not one she recognized. It was silver, worn smooth in places, with a faded ribbon.
"This is...?" she began.
"My Victoria Cross," he said simply. "I want you to have it."
A hush fell over the nearest section of the crowd.
Gareth stared at him, her own smile gone. "Sir, I cannot. This is... this is yours. It is your honor."
He shook his head slowly. "My honor is in the service I gave. The medal is only a reminder. And I have all the reminders I need." He tapped his temple gently. "But you, Sir Gareth... you are the honor of this kingdom now. You and your king. You are the ones who keep us safe. So I would be honored if you would accept mine."
Tears pricked at Gareth's eyes.
She looked at the medal, then at the old man, his face a map of a long life lived with dignity.
She didn't know what to say.
So she didn't say anything.
She simply reached across the table, took the old man's weathered hand in both of hers, and bowed her head over it.
"Thank you," she whispered.
The old man nodded, his own eyes glistening.
The crowd was utterly silent.
Then, someone started clapping.
Slowly at first.
Then faster.
Then the entire park was clapping for the old man, for Gareth, for the quiet moment of shared honor.
Gareth gently placed the lid back on the box. "I will treasure it," she said, her voice thick with emotion. "I swear it."
The old man smiled. "I know you will."
As he walked away, Gareth took a moment to compose herself, wiping a stray tear from the corner of her eye with the back of her hand. She took a deep breath, pasted on her smile, and turned to the next person in line.
A young woman with vibrant pink hair and a T-shirt that read, "Knights are my jam," stepped forward, her hands empty.
Gareth blinked. "Hello."
"Hi," the young woman said. "I don't have anything for you to sign. I don't have a gift. I just have a question."
Gareth nodded. "Of course. Ask away."
The young woman took a breath. "I... I want to be a knight. Like you. Not a knight in armor, not a soldier. But... you know. A knight. Someone who stands up for people. Who helps. Who does the right thing, even when it's hard."
Gareth's expression softened. "That is a very noble goal."
"But I'm scared," the young woman admitted, her voice barely audible. "I'm not strong like you. I can't lift a car. I can't fight a demon. I'm just... me. What if that's not enough?"
Gareth leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her smile gentle and reassuring. "Back then, none of us could do that either. Well, most of us couldn't; not everyone is born strong. Strength is something you build, little by little, day by day. It is in the small acts of courage, in the kindness you show to a stranger, in the refusal to turn away when someone needs help."
She gestured around the park. "Look at this crowd. Look at the people here. They are all knights in their own way. The mother who is patient with her crying child. The father who is teaching his son to be brave. The volunteer who is handing out water to those who need it. They are all doing their part to make Albion a better place."
She looked the young woman in the eye. "You do not need to lift a car to be a knight. You just need to have a heart that is willing to try."
The young woman's eyes filled with tears.
Gareth stood up, walked around the table, and hugged her.
The crowd cheered.
"Never let fear stop you from being the person you want to be," Gareth whispered in her ear.
Then she let go, gave the young woman a final, encouraging smile, and returned to her place behind the table.
The line moved on.
An elderly couple approached, their hands clasped together, their faces filled with a quiet joy.
"It is an honor to meet you, Sir Gareth," the old woman said, her voice soft and filled with warmth.
"The honor is all mine," Gareth replied, her own smile warm and genuine.
"We have been married for sixty years," the old man said, his pride evident in his voice. "And we have always been together. In our youth, we traveled the world hand in hand, met countless people, and saw many things. We thought we had seen it all, didn't we?" he said to his wife.
"Yes," she nodded and continued for him, "yet, ever since the king returned, we have seen things we never thought possible, and most of all, we have seen a bright new future return to the home we love, and for that, we thank you." She said, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.
Gareth reached across the table and placed her hands over theirs. "It is you, the people of Albion, who have made this future possible. Your love for your king, your love for each other, is the true magic that has brought this land back to life."
The old woman squeezed her hand. "You are too kind, Sir Gareth."
Gareth smiled. "I am only speaking the truth."
The old couple looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. Then the old man spoke. "We had an idea to show our thanks, something to show off to our friends in the local community. We have had this done recently, and we hope you like it."
He then handed Gareth a small, beautifully carved wooden box.
Gareth opened it.
Inside, nestled in a bed of velvet, was a miniature, exquisitely detailed replica of Excalibur.
It was not the real one, of course. But it was so well-made that it was hard to tell the difference at a glance.
The hilt was crafted from polished oak, the pommel a smooth river stone, the blade a sliver of what looked like silver, etched with delicate runes.
"It's... it's beautiful," Gareth breathed, her fingers tracing the intricate carvings. "You made this?"
The old man nodded, a proud smile on his face. "I did. It's a hobby of mine. My wife says I'm obsessed, but I say it's a passion."
"It's more than a passion," Gareth said, her eyes shining with admiration. "It's a work of art. Thank you."
"We are honored to have your appreciation," the old woman said. "We wanted to give you something that would show our love for our king and our kingdom."
"You have given me more than you know," Gareth said, her voice thick with emotion. "I will treasure this always."
She carefully closed the box and placed it on the table beside her.
Then she took a deep breath, turned back to the couple, and said, "Would you like to hear a joke?"
The old couple laughed.
"We would love to," the old woman said.
"Okay," Gareth said, her smile returning. "Why did the knight go to the doctor?"
The old couple looked at each other, then back at Gareth, their expressions a mix of curiosity and amusement.
"Because he had a case of the knight sweats," Gareth said, her delivery perfect.
The old couple burst out laughing, their laughter echoing across the park.
"That was a good one," the old man said, wiping a tear from his eye.
"I thought so too," Gareth said, her own laughter joining theirs.
(End of chapter)
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