Percival snorted. “No he didn’t.”
“All the mages did,” Arthur said.
“But not with our brigade. I’d have seen him.”
Arthur and Lancelot shared a look.
“Perce,” Lancelot said, “we were four thousand in number with nearly a hundred mages. D’you honestly think you could have met all of them?”
Percival had stopped folding the napkin in his fingers. He stared at Gawain with an expression of disbelief until he suddenly rose from his seat.
“Mage Gawain!” he shouted as he strode toward him, drawing the attention of everyone who’d just finished celebrating the statue’s salvation. “Were you at the Battle of Kent?”
Gawain didn’t answer. He dropped his arm, and he shifted uncomfortably under the attention.
“Were you?” Percival pressed, his voice cracking beneath the force of his eagerness. The workers didn’t even pretend to carry on. They outright stopped to follow this exchange.
Gawain swallowed. “Yes.”
“Holy shit,” Lancelot breathed.
Percival staggered a step backward like he’d been struck. “It was you, wasn’t it?”
Gawain didn’t have to say anything. He held Percival’s stare and did not feign ignorance, which was confirmation enough.
“You saved my life. And all this time, I thought you were an ass. I treated you like you’re an ass.” Percival shook his head, exasperated by Gawain even in this moment of reverence.
Gawain shrugged. “A good man was about to die, and you decided to give your life to save him. And from where I stood on the battlefield, you, another good man, were about to die for your king—and it cost me nothing to intervene.”
Percival let out a brief, amused breath and shook his head as he muttered, “Dammit, Gawain.” He glanced over at Arthur, asking an unspoken question with a raised eyebrow.
Vera and Lancelot looked at him, too. One side of his lips turned upward. His hand shifted to his sword’s pommel, and he nodded.
“How many witnesses do we need?” Percival asked.
“Two.” Arthur tipped his head toward Vera and Lancelot.
“Are you ready to be a part of something amazing?” Lancelot murmured as he rose. Vera scrambled to follow them.
Arthur stepped forward, drawing his sword. “Gawain, take a knee.”
Gawain’s eyes darted from Arthur to further across the field, where Merlin ran toward them. “What are you doing?” Merlin called, rather frantically.
“Making Gawain a knight.” Lancelot’s voice was thick with emotion. He cleared his throat and mastered himself with a proud smile.
Merlin cast a sharp frown of warning at Arthur. “Mages can’t be knights.”
“They haven’t been knights,” Arthur corrected. He turned back to Gawain as he continued. “There is no law stating they can’t. Gawain,” Arthur repeated.
Gawain hesitantly stepped forward and dropped to one knee.
Arthur held his sword at his waist. “Ready?” he asked them all.
Gawain looked like he was about to speak before clamping his mouth shut.
“What is it?” Arthur said.
“Does the sword need to be held by the king, or can it be done by any knight?”
