Chapter Text
The second day of the tournament celebrating Prince Morpheus' name day dawned bright, clear, and crisp—much nicer than the day before, Hob noted, with its constant misting rain that turned the tournament grounds into a great muddy mess. The rising sun had just crested the horizon, not yet high enough to burn away the dew lingering on the grass. The grounds were just starting to come alive, the groundsmen and servants and cooking staff already bustling about to prepare enough food and drink for the knights and cheering crowds. The knights were encamped on a ridge, a small field separating them from the tournament arena.
Hob shivered as the cool morning breeze gently cut through his linen shirt and trousers, his boots retaining the warmth in his feet for the moment. Birdsong mixed with the soft rustle of the grass beneath his feet as he meandered across the field to the tournament grounds. Once there, he leaned against the fence, staring somewhat absently at the lists, the empty seats, flags and banners just barely nudged by the breeze. A kind of serenity settled over Hob, something about being the only person around at the quiet dawning of a new day before the space was filled with the chaos of hundreds. He took a deep breath, savoring the moment of calm before the madness set in, and felt a smile spreading across his face.
He had done well the previous day despite the weather working against all of them, meaning he was almost guaranteed an easy opponent for at least the first round of today's joust. Still thinking about the day ahead, Hob nimbly leaped over the fence into the ring, his feet sinking into the mix of dirt and sand that was still damp from the previous day's rain. He crouched, the crack of his knees sharp and loud as the shattering of a lance in the silence of the morning. He dug his fingers into the coarse grit of sand, dirt, splinters of wood, horse hair, and all the other things that accumulated on a tournament field, and picked up a small handful.
He rubbed the grains between his fingers, smiling as he watched them fall back to the ground. Yes, he thought to himself as he stood and wiped his hands on his trousers, Today is going to be a good day.
From the field he made a quick stop at the cooks' tents, then walked briskly to the stables as the sun began to well and truly rise. More and more of the temporary small town of knights and people required to support them began to shamble out of bed and get to work, some still half asleep. The stable hands were already at work wiping down and oiling all the saddles and bridles; yes they had been cleaned the night before to get all the rain and dirt off them, this was to make sure no speck had been missed and that each piece shone as if new.
he three stable boys rushing about with hay and rags and oils and brushes greeted him with a breathless chorus of "Good morning Sir Gadling", and Hob gave them a cheery wave in return. He briefly thought back to his own days as a stable boy, before he became a page, then a squire. Before he became a Knight of the Realm. He remembered being equally excited for days such as this, a chance to play a part, no matter how small, in his kingdom's knights winning glory and honor and perhaps the favor of a beautiful maiden, or lord if he was so inclined.
He ducked around stable hands and other horses as he went down the main aisle to his horse's home for the next few days. A tall and powerfully muscled palomino courser with shaggy feathering at his ankles and a white star on his forehead, Lancelot was not always friendly to stable hands he didn't know, hence the apple and two carrots Hob had very kindly requested from the cooks.
"Hey boy," he murmured affectionately as one hand gently stroked the horse's head while the other fed him the apple. He could see Lancelot eyeing the carrots that stuck out of his pocket even as he crunched on the apple. "We've got a big day ahead of us, today determines who we'll face tomorrow. Can't disappoint the Prince." He sighed wistfully as Lancelot nudged him with a soft nicker, mouthing at the carrots in his pocket.
Hob chuckled, soft and low, as he absently indulged his mount. Prince Morpheus… the most beautiful man in the realm with his moon kissed skin and raven dark hair and those eyes… He felt his heart skip at just the memory of those eyes, the color of a clear winter sky, sparkling in the sun like fresh ice.
It was no exaggeration to say that Hob had been smitten from the moment he first saw him all those years ago, the Prince on his way to some lesson or other while Hob attended his duties at the stables. He liked to think the Prince had taken some interest in him as well, if the glances over the years were anything to go by, not to mention the genuinely, blindingly proud smile he had bestowed upon Hob along with his knighthood.
Another nudge from Lancelot brought Hob's thoughts back to the present, where his horse was sniffing at his hands with poorly concealed hope that more treats were hidden just beyond his reach. Hob laughed again and rubbed his muzzle. "No, no more until supper. We need to be in top form today."
Hob waved off a stable boy who offered to groom and saddle the horse, instead asking for brushes, a hoof pick, a curry comb, and Lancelot's tack to be brought to his stall. Hob was one of only a few knights who cared for his own mount, mostly because he enjoyed the time spent with Lancelot, and also because of Lancelot's distaste for most people who weren't Hob- even the Prince was no exception.
Hob shuddered with embarrassment as he recalled a morning not unlike this one, when the Prince had come to wish Hob luck before a tournament. Hob had been grooming Lancelot, and in the middle of putting his bridle on, the damn horse had decided he didn't like sharing Hob's attention. He had then proceeded to toss his head with such strength that he yanked the bridle out of Hob's hands and nearly sent the Prince careening into a wheelbarrow full of soiled bedding.
The stable boy returned breathless a few moments later with the supplies Hob had requested: he deposited the grooming tools in the knight's arms, hung the saddle and caparison over the door, and the bridle and leather chamfron on a hook dangling from the ceiling. "Alright," Hob said half to himself, half to his horse as he shook himself out of the memory, "Let's get you ready."
First was the curry comb to loosen any dirt that had settled overnight—even though he had been groomed after the previous day's events, the damn horse always found some way to get himself dirty again. Lancelot twitched slightly as Hob scrubbed the comb over a slightly sensitive spot near his withers. Next was the coarsest brush to flick the dirt off his body. Lancelot let his head hang contentedly, enjoying being taken care of. Hob chuckled as the horse let out a sigh through his nose. Spoiled creature.
Once his coat was dirt and debris free, Hob switched to a brush with softer bristles to half brush, half scrub the stray mud and sand and bedding from the more sensitive skin of his legs. Once they were clean, he wrapped each lower leg in several layers of wool padding and linen bandages for protection from anything sharp that might be kicked up while running or fighting—and because Lancelot sometimes tripped over his own feet. He stood obediently for three legs, but decided that Hob was taking too long with the fourth, and stomped in impatience. Hob let out a noise of frustration as he dropped the padding, bedding now caught in the wool fibers.
Hob glared halfheartedly at his horse. "Making the process take longer is not the best way to make it go faster," He griped with half a smile as he picked the bedding out of the wool and wrapped the leg.
While he was down there, Hob used the hoof pick to scrape dirt and mud out of Lancelot's feet while checking for any signs of injury or loosening shoes. Lancelot was decidedly done with Hob poking and prodding around his legs, and yanked his back leg out of Hob's hands, almost catching him on the chin. "Fine!" Hob half yelled in exasperation, throwing his hands up in the air. "Be that way."
He blew a raspberry similar to Lancelot's own snort as he picked up the softest brush and circled to the horse's head. The minute he saw the brush, Lancelot began playfully tossing his head to keep out of Hob's reach. "Hold still," the knight groused with a laugh, snatching the halter strap and calming the horse. Lancelot immediately settled when Hob started brushing his face; this was his favorite part of being groomed, but he also enjoyed making his knight work for it.
Hob took a calming breath as he settled into the present moment. "Today will be a good day," he murmured, staring into one of Lancelot's sparkling brown eyes. "It will."
He gave the star on his forehead a few scritches before depositing the grooming tools outside Lancelot's stall in favor of gathering up his saddle pads. They went on Lancelot's back at the withers one by one, until all that was left was the saddle and caparison. Hob heaved the saddle off the door with a grunt of effort and slung it onto Lancelot's back, the metal buckles tinkling like chimes. Once he had hoisted and tugged it into position, he fastened the girth just behind his front legs, giving a few extra tugs to make sure it was tight enough.
Next he picked up the folded blue and gold caparison- navy for the realm he served, gold for the Gadling family- and draped it over Lancelot's hindquarters like a blanket. He fastened all the straps then used his hands to brush off any lingering dust. He then took the bridle off its hook and circled around to Lancelot's head. Gentle hands guided the bit in between the horse's teeth, and Lancelot licked his lips a few times as Hob pulled the bridle over his head and fastened it in place.
Finally came the chamfron, a piece of leather attached to the bridle to protect Lancelot's head and face. An intricate sunburst was tooled into the leather, the sun sitting right over the star on his forehead. Hob gently placed it on Lancelot's head and buckled it into place. Satisfied with his work, Hob wiped his hands on his trousers and took hold of the reins just below Lancelot's chin. He whistled a little tune to himself as he led the horse out of the stable and back towards his tent.
The encampment had truly come alive in the time Hob had spent tending to his horse: squires were rushing about with armor, knights talking and boasting as they munched their breakfast, the grounds crew ferrying bundles of lances to the tournament field. He asked a passing squire in Prince Morpheus' colors to accompany him to his tent and get him in his armor. Although he was tall enough for Hob to barely get away with calling him boy, his bright green eyes sparkled with child-like excitement, and he stumbled over his feet to keep up with Hob and Lancelot.
"What's your name, lad?" Hob asked as they walked.
"Daniel, sir," he replied with a slight crack in his voice, a sign that he would likely start getting his first whiskers in a matter of months. "Daniel Hall."
"Good lad," Hob said with a smile. "Nice to meet you, Daniel Hall. My tent's just up there."
When they reached the knight's tent, Hob loosely tied Lancelot's reins to a nearby post, leaving the horse to relax and graze while Daniel helped him into his armor. The pieces may have been haphazardly piled into a corner, but it was clear they had been cleaned and polished the night before.
"Now, be honest lad," Hob asked with hands on his hips and a knowing look in his eye as Daniel eyed the various pieces with something like trepidation. "Have you ever armored a knight?"
Daniel gulped. "Um…" his face fell. "No sir. I'm technically still a page and won't make squire until next spring, so they won't let me." He met Hob's gaze, almost desperate. "But I've watched all the other squires do it. I'm strong enough sir, please let me try."
Hob sighed, recalling his own final days as a page, right on the cusp of being made a squire, of becoming a young man, but still treated like the greenest of young boys, chomping at the bit to prove himself. He ran a hand through his hair. He could see the determination in those emerald green eyes, almost fully concealing the fragile hope cradled like an egg in the boy's chest.
Alright," he agreed softly. "How else will you learn if you don't do it. But know this." He fixed Daniel with a hard gaze, his words serious and almost icy. "You now bear responsibility for my well-being. You and I can't control what my opponent will do, but if I take an injury because I wasn't armored correctly, it'll be on your head. Are you ready for that responsibility?" He softened slightly. "I remember what it was like being your age. If you don't think you're ready we'll find an older squire to help and you can watch and learn, no shame or dishonor in that." He paused to let Daniel think.
Hob knew the boy's answer before he spoke the words from the set of his brow alone. Daniel nodded and squared his shoulders. "I'm ready. I can do it."
Hob gave him a beaming grin. "Well then lad, let's start getting this kit on."
Daniel may not have been the quickest squire to serve Hob, but he was thorough and attentive, putting all the pieces on in the correct order and making sure the straps were tightened to Hob's preference. First the mail hauberk over Hob's thick woolen tunic and breeches, followed by the pauldrons to protect his shoulders, strapped across his chest. Then the cuirass over his chest and the faulds and culet to cover his hips and lower back.
His forearms were covered with thin leather bracers then plate vambraces over them. Gauntlets that made his hands clumsy and unwieldy went on his hands, but it was better than losing a finger to a stray sword or lance.
Plate cuisses covered his thighs, and greaves went on his shins. His thick leather boots would suffice for the tournament field. His broadsword was belted around his waist, and a thick leather coif went on his head. Daniel held his helm with something close to reverence as Hob tested his range of motion, the pieces of plate loudly clanking together. He nodded his approval and gave Daniel a bright smile—the boy was more than ready for the work and responsibility of a squire. Maybe Hob would request him as his permanent squire once he was officially promoted. There was much he could teach the boy about being a knight and Daniel seemed eager to prove himself.
"Well done," he said, a hand extended to take his helm. Daniel handed it over, face flushed from his labors and breath stuck in his chest from Hob's unexpected praise. "I'd like you to be my squire for the tournament today. Go get yourself some breakfast if you haven't eaten yet and meet me at the ring."
It didn't seem possible given the youthful smallness of his face, but Daniel's grin grew even wider. "Yes sir!" he chirped, wincing inwardly at the crack in his voice. "I'll be there. Thank you sir!" Hob chuckled to himself as Daniel darted out of the tent. He took a few steadying breaths, then followed his new squire outside.
Lancelot was waiting somewhat impatiently, just starting to paw at the ground near the post he was hitched to. Hob pulled off one of his gauntlets to untie the reins, then chucked the gauntlet into his helm. One hand held the reins while the other held his helm like a bucket as Hob clanked and wound his way through the camp to the tournament arena, where some of the other knights were already waiting. They were gathered near the gate under the grandstand where they would make their formal entrances onto the field, their horses either sniffing at each other's bodies or occupying themselves with grazing on the sparse grass.
While the other knights chatted amongst themselves, Hob preferred to stand somewhat apart and gather his focus. He glanced over at the crests and colors of the other knights, mentally cataloguing who he knew and who he didn't. He was familiar with many of these knights, or at least on speaking terms, even if he hadn't faced them on the tourney field. The ones he wasn't familiar with, those from other kingdoms, he knew by reputation from older knights who had fought both with and against them in the past.
Daniel was waiting for him as he had been told, having fetched Hob's standard from the rack where they had all been displayed. He nervously shifted his weight back and forth, all too conscious of how the fabric was absorbing the sweat of his palms. Hob waved encouragingly at him and gestured to where the other squires were talking amongst themselves. Daniel looked at them, then uncertainly at Hob. The knight gave him a nod and a smile; Daniel really should get to know his peers. As far as Hob was concerned, he was a squire in full, never mind that he was a few months shy of fourteen.
Warmth swelled in his chest as Daniel hesitantly made his way over and joined the others. One squire must have recognized Hob's standard, because he immediately struck up a lively chatter and Daniel seemed to grow more confident with every exchange.
A fine group was assembled this day, sure to be a showing of skill worthy of the Prince.
The Prince…
Hob's heart skipped a beat at the thought of Prince Morpheus, how long they had known each other, how their lives had intersected. The Prince would always spare a nod for Hob if their paths crossed during the day, and sometimes he would even bestow a tiny smile, one that Hob had never seen the Prince give anyone else for any reason. He held every one of those smiles close to his heart, carried with him like a lady's favor.
The list of things Hob wouldn't do to earn Morpheus' favor was almost concerningly short. He was not above immediately falling to his knees to pick up something the Prince might have dropped, or laying his cloak over a patch of mud so the Prince would not soil his shoes, or offering to escort him anywhere he wished to go, or undertaking most menial or dangerous tasks the man could come up with.
Yes, he would do just about anything for Morpheus' regard- almost anything, except think about what he would do if he somehow lost that favor.
The sun was shining brightly in the sky as spectators began to pour into the stands, already more than the entirety of the day before. It was to be expected, Hob thought: the weather was fairer, and the contests promised to be much more interesting. Humanity hadn't changed much in that they still loved watching warriors beat each other into the ground.
Whether it took a few hours or only a few minutes, it seemed as if one moment the stands were empty and the next they were filled almost to bursting. Once everyone was seated, a loud fanfare of trumpets and horns brazenly cut through the mid morning air, announcing the arrival of the lords and ladies of the court, along with the Prince. Hob couldn't see them, but he could hear the crowd cheering and shouting, "Long live Prince Morpheus!"
Hob jammed his helm onto his head and his gauntlet back onto his hand before swinging himself up into the saddle. Lancelot was restless underneath him, eager to get to the action; Hob quickly gathered up the reins and gave him a few soothing pets.
The squires scurried over to their knights' sides and handed up their standards, letting the flags unfurl and baring the coats of arms to the sun. The Knight Marshall's assistant called out their names and had them line up in the order they would enter the field and salute the court. Lancelot gamely plodded his way towards the back with the more illustrious and renowned knights. He found himself in a small huddle with Sir Shaxberd and Sir Constantine; all the knights nodded to each other as they sat a little taller in their saddles.
Hob heard the call of trumpets and the Knight Marshall began to announce the day's competitors. An excited grin nigh tore his face in two, his stomach writhing and churning with eager nerves. He shifted in the saddle and watched his standard flutter in the soft breeze.
Oh yes. Today was going to be a very good day indeed.