Gawain and the Black Knight
by Deja Vu
Summary: Everyone knows Princess Loisette is a brat. But somehow, things start to change when she meets the stableboy Clarkent.
Rating: PG-13 for a lot of violence and action, some blood, and some dark themes.
Posting Schedule: Every two or three days, provided RL cooperates.
Disclaimer: I don’t own *Lois and Clark.*
References and Influences: In writing this story, I used Wikipedia for a lot of research, and I have taken inspiration from a lot of works (mainly fairytales). Some fairytales and specific works which have inspired a bit of dialogue, a name, a plot point, or the way I handled a scene include (but are not limited to): various Arthurian works (including *Le Morte Darthur*, *Sir Gawain and the Green Knight*, and *The Once and Future King*), *Beowulf*, “Bluebeard,” “The Boy Who Cried Wolf,” “Cinderella,” *Frasier*, “The Gingerbread Man,” “Goldilocks and the Three Bears,” “The Goose That Laid the Golden Eggs,” “Hansel and Gretel,” *The Hobbit*, “Jack and the Beanstalk,” “Little Red Riding Hood,” *Mr. Ed*, “The Pied Piper,” “Pinocchio,” *Pride and Prejudice*, “The Princess and the Pea,” “Puss in Boots,” *Quest for Camelot*, “Rapunzel,” Robin Hood, “Rumpelstiltskin,” a few Shakespeare works (*Twelfth Night*, *As You Like It*, and *The Merchant of Venice*), *Shrek*, “Sleeping Beauty,” “Snow White,” “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice,” “The Three Little Pigs,” and “The Ugly Duckling” (mixed with *The Secret Garden* and *The Swan Princess*).
Author’s Notes: I am using present-day English for ease of reading. Please forgive this choice and any anachronisms/inaccuracies you may find. I have done quite a bit of research, though, and I’ve included a glossary to help explain certain terms. The bulk of this story takes place over a period of about half a decade. *Most* characters in this story (except the horses) have direct counterparts in *Lois and Clark*. I have also kept approximately the same age difference found between Lois and Clark in the television series (about a year and a half). And finally--there *will* be some dark spots in this story, *but* our favorite couple gets put back in the box with a happy ending, so have no fear!
Author’s Thanks: I would like to thank DW for brainstorming with me, making some great suggestions, and looking over the story! She was a lot of help plot-wise and picked up some of my stupid mistakes while she was beta reading. I would also like to thank Corrina for her wonderful job as a beta--she really helps me know when to expand and when to tighten things up! She has offered many suggestions to improve scenes and general plot, and they are always appreciated. In short, I was very fortunate when it came to my two beta readers for this story, and I am *really* thankful!
****
Chapter 1: Two Different Worlds
****
A piercing scream rang throughout the castle. The eleven-year-old princess was unhappy again.
“Quiet, Princess!” her lady-in-waiting ordered, flapping her arms around like an angry swan. To say she was aggravated was to put it lightly.
“I hate you!” proclaimed the princess, who was also flailing about, though she was doing so on the floor. “You’re a horrible pig!”
“And *you* are a bratty little girl!” returned Mirandaa. “I am utterly sick of you!” And it was true. In a short time, she had come to hate the girl. Princess Loisette allied a pale complexion and thin, unhealthy arms with a petulance that made her presence completely undesirable. Mirandaa had heard more than one person refer to the girl as “ugly” in hushed tones, and she was inclined to agree--there was absolutely nothing appealing about the princess. If Princess Loisette didn’t always have such a sour expression, then she might be more attractive, but Mirandaa did not foresee such a change happening in the near future.
The object of Mirandaa’s thoughts halted her temper tantrum for a couple of breaths, surprised anyone would have the audacity to talk to her like that. Then, she took a deep breath and shouted, “*Heeelllllpppp*!”
“I would shut my large mouth if I were you, Princess,” Mirandaa said in a furious but quiet voice. “You--” She cut off as the King of Metropolita rushed through the doorway. Then, she gave a fumbling curtsy, her heart suddenly in her throat.
Upon seeing that both girls were unharmed, King Samuel stared down at his daughter, obviously trying to rein in his anger. “Princess,” he said slowly, “what is it?” Hanging unsaid at the end of his sentence were the words “this time.”
Loisette gave what she must have thought was a dignified sniff and looked up at him. Now that she had captured her father’s attention, the heat of her temper seemed to have disappeared. “Daddy,” she said, her eyes wide and sorrowful, “I do not like having Mirandaa as a companion. She dislikes me so--”
“Princess, I’m sure that’s not true,” King Samuel said in a voice that spoke volumes for his frustration. He nodded toward Mirandaa, and she thought she caught a sympathetic glint in his eyes. “If you could please excuse us . . . . ”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” murmured the lady-in-waiting before disappearing out the door, though not before she gave one last angry glare toward the princess.
****
“But it *is* true,” Loisette insisted after Mirandaa had left, the volume of her voice rising as she stood up. “She hates me, Daddy.” She stared upward at her father, her lower lip trembling. She knew it was true--and she wanted him to know it, too.
That was the trouble . . . nobody liked her. None of her ladies-in-waiting had ever wanted to play with her or assist her--they had always wanted to be somewhere else. Her temper came not from a bad disposition . . . but from a sense of utter desperation. It hurt that no one liked her--and she couldn’t help but lash out. She wanted somebody to talk to who would actually care about her. Sometimes, they pretended to care . . . but she always knew the truth.
Her father sighed. “Princess--” He was cut off when two stick-thin arms circled his waist and a brown-haired head pressed tightly against his chest. He exhaled again and awkwardly patted his daughter’s back. “You must stop this nonsense. If you’re not dying, then you shouldn’t be yelling as if you are. If you continue doing that, then one day when you *are* in trouble, no one will come.”
“I’m sorry, Daddy,” the girl whispered into his gold and red tunic. The silk was cool against her cheek, but it could not comfort her.
King Samuel gave her a gentle squeeze. When he spoke again, his voice was soft but firm. “Princess, we’re running out of Noble companions to give you. Before long, there will be no one left. This can’t continue indefinitely.”
Loisette pulled back. “But Daddy--”
“It can’t, Princess,” he said firmly. “Soon, you will be stuck with someone whether you like it or not. It isn’t proper for you to be without a companion. Your mother wouldn’t have--” He shook his head. “It just isn’t right.” He gave her a slight nod of farewell and then left.
Princess Loisette stared after him sadly, wishing he had placed a kiss on her hair . . . like she always longed for him to do. She hated when he thought about her mother. Queen Ellena had died in childbirth . . . as had the sister young Loisette had been looking forward to having. So many years had passed that Loisette could barely remember her mother. But that wasn’t the case with her father--he remembered her mother well . . . . Too well.
It seemed as if he was always in his chamber staring at a painting of Queen Ellena, who many said Loisette took after. He barely saw Loisette herself . . . except to admonish her. While he usually gave in to her desires, she had the feeling he was reaching the end of his tether. And when he finally demanded she keep a specific lady-in-waiting, he would become even less of a presence in her life. He would ignore her cries and trust her to the care of a stranger.
Loisette crumpled on the floor in silent tears. She wished her father didn’t hate the sight of her--wished her mother was still alive to speak with her and hold her. She was so lonely.
A tiny squeaking noise reached her ears, and she looked up to find a mouse coming out of a hole in the wall. Her countenance brightened just a fraction.
Robert Bigmouth was her only real friend in the whole world. She had given him that name because he could eat whatever she gave him at remarkable speeds, and watching him eat usually heartened her a little bit. She stood and opened a drawer, unfolding a handkerchief and removing a piece of cheese from the secret stash she kept there specifically for her diminutive friend. Kneeling on the ground, she reached out and placed the cheese in front of him.
Giving a squeak of excitement, he began to nibble at the proffered gift, and she stroked his tiny gray body with a gentle finger. She didn’t know if he actually liked being touched, but as long as there was food in front of him, he didn’t seem to mind too much. The action gave her a modicum of comfort, so she was glad.
“Oh, Robert Bigmouth,” she said softly, tears in her eyes, “I don’t want another lady-in-waiting. I just want to spend time with Daddy . . . . ” She looked up suddenly as an older woman came hurrying into her room.
Robert Bigmouth took one last nibble and then--after giving the intruder what appeared to be an annoyed look--disappeared into his hole.
“Aliss,” Loisette sighed, “you scared away poor little Robert.”
Her nanny gave a half-curtsy and shook her head in disapproval. Slightly out of breath, she said, “I heard you were being a naughty girl again, and I rushed to get here. I take it your father smoothed everything over?”
Loisette nodded, looking sadly after the disappeared mouse.
“You really shouldn’t be playing with that thing,” Aliss scolded. “You know your father doesn’t like having animals around.”
The young girl looked down at her hands and began idly playing with a speck of dust on the floor. It was true--she did know that. The only non-human creatures her father tolerated around the castle were horses and the court magician’s animal familiar. She moved her gaze back to Aliss. The older woman had a stern expression on her face, but Loisette could read the kindness behind it. “Aliss . . . why does he hate it?”
****
Loisette’s question made Aliss uncomfortable. She hated to lie to the princess--but she also didn’t want to tell the truth. As a stalling method, she went to tidy something on the princess’s desk. Sitting there was a plate of food that had barely been touched. Aliss’s brow furrowed in worry. The princess hardly ever ate any of her food. In fact, Aliss suspected that pet mouse of hers ate more than she did. It seemed as if Loisette were wasting away more with every passing year. Her appetite was almost non-existent, and she rarely went outside the castle walls . . . . She reminded Aliss of a smothered rose. Loisette was meant to be beautiful, Aliss could tell, but she wasn’t receiving the nurturing she needed. The King was so wrapped up in thoughts of his dead wife that he failed to see the withering flower of his daughter. Aliss had been with the girl since she was born and loved her as if she was her own--but it wasn’t enough. Somehow, Aliss couldn’t provide what the princess needed. And she didn’t know what could.
It didn’t help, of course, that she wasn’t able to be with the princess much anymore. When Loisette had grown old enough to be given a lady-in-waiting as a companion, Aliss’s services as a nurse were no longer needed. She had then been assigned to help children around the castle become more comfortable with their new roles as servants. She helped dry their eyes and lift their chins, but she had never forgotten Loisette and never would. She would always look out for her.
“Aliss?” Loisette prodded. She was obviously still waiting for an answer about why her father hated having animals around. And Aliss knew she would have to give one. She owed Loisette that much.
Turning, Aliss sighed and nervously crossed her arms. “Your mother loved animals, Your Highness . . . especially horses. Some say she could even talk to animals--that a fairy gave her such a gift at her birth.” She smiled sadly. “The older you get, the more you remind me of her. And I think your father feels that way, too.”
In a soft voice full of pain, the princess asked, “Is that why he doesn’t like to see me?”
Aliss knelt beside her and pulled her into a hug. “Oh, Princess . . . ” Her heart was breaking for the child.
The girl’s head began to shake as she shed tears into her nanny’s bosom. Aliss lightly stroked her hair and held her, whispering quiet assurances to her young charge. But she knew that the girl’s pain went so deep that it could never be uprooted by a few words from an old nurse--no matter how lovingly they were spoken.
****
The Stable Master for the Riding Stable, Dwayne, worked in silence as he showed one of the stableboys under his control the proper way to saddle a royal horse. Dwayne knew that Clarkent had seen the action performed a million times before, but they were servants of the ruler of Metropolita, and Dwayne always tried to ensure that those under his control were trained well.
Though he held an important position in the smaller but more important of King Samuel’s two stables, Dwayne was a quiet man who never said a word when one wasn’t needed. He was a lot older than Clarkent, and he was very good at what he did. Nobody at the castle--and perhaps no one in the kingdom--knew as much about horses as Dwayne did. He had been around them ever since he became a stableboy at seven years of age, and his gift with the creatures had manifested itself even then.
Dwayne finished his demonstration and paused for a moment; then he quickly removed the horse’s tack, placing the pieces carefully on the grass. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t put any of it on the ground, but it would only be there briefly. The brown and white horse, Agides, lowered his neck and began nibbling at some grass, glad to be freed of his trappings, even if only for a few seconds.
Clarkent stared at the large creature, obviously nervous. Agides’s personality was lamblike compared to most of the horses in the royal stables, but Dwayne understood the pressure felt by a boy wanting to prove his worth. It had been quite a while since he was a child himself, but he could still remember those days.
Hiding a smile, Dwayne motioned for Clarkent to try his hand at tacking the horse. They were using a caparison in the royal colors--red and gold--and other decorative trappings, so it was a little more complicated than simply putting on a saddle and bridle. The boy outfitted the horse with skill, however, and soon Dwayne was admiring the rearing gold pegasus (which was the royal symbol) on Agides’s chest.
Clarkent grabbed the horse’s lead rope and led him around in front of Dwayne, who watched quietly but with a look of approval. Horses usually held their breaths when they were being saddled up--either out of nerves or to prevent the saddle from being put on tightly. Walking made Agides relax, which meant Clarkent was then able to make the final adjustments to the horse’s gear.
Finished, Clarkent looked to Dwayne inquiringly.
“Good,” the man said with a grunt, the slightest of smiles on his lips.
****
Clarkent smiled as he heard Dwayne’s word of praise. Coming from the Stable Master, that one word meant a lot.
When Clarkent had been Assigned to the castle, he had been terrified, to say the least. Though it had been about five years ago, he still remembered the day he left home with great clarity.
He had been helping his father in the fields when his mother had come running toward him. “It’s time,” she had said, sobbing, and she had fallen to her knees at his feet and embraced him.
“What do you mean?” he had asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.
“It’s the Assigning, son--remember how we talked about that?” his father had said in a soft voice, looking more sorrowful than Clarkent had ever seen him.
Even for someone as young as he had been, the Assigning wasn’t hard to forget about. When non-Noble males were seven and females nine, they were taken from their homes and Assigned to serve the king and Nobles as servants. Births were logged carefully in every town’s Birth Registry, as families would often attempt methods of bypassing the Assigning. But it was pointless to even try. Somehow, the king’s men always found out . . . . And the fines they levied against offenders were crueler than any physical punishment could have been.
Many commoners whispered about how the Assigning was merely a form of slavery. While basic needs were met, those who were Assigned were not paid, and they were not allowed to leave their posts until they came of age at seventeen. There were exceptional situations, of course, in which a servant could be Recalled, but these exceptions were few and far between. A servant who was Dismissed, however, due to issues such as thievery or pregnancy, left in disgrace. The stigma attached to a Dismissal was so great that few dared make the Nobles unhappy by invoking their anger. A Dismissal was almost as bad as an Exile--but while both Dismissed and Exiled people lived in disgrace, at least Dismissed servants could continue to see their families, though that was only a small consolation.
On that terrible day, his mother had hugged him tightly, as if it would be the last time she could do so. Then she had led him by the hand from the fields. They had walked toward a grubby wagon filled with other children who were being taken to the Assigning ceremony. His parents had both hugged him one more time, and he’d climbed up into the wagon and sat next to a girl whose body was being wracked by sobs. He had simply sat there in silence, staring helplessly at his parents.
“We love you so much,” his mother had cried out when the wagon began to roll away.
“I love you,” he had called back, his voice breaking.
“We’ll see you on Visiting Days,” his father had yelled. “We promise.”
Clarkent could still remember the ache of longing in his heart and the broken-hearted look on their faces as he strained to keep them in view as long as he could. The skill-gauging tests before the Assigning ceremony and the ceremony itself had all been a blur. The only thing he could think about for weeks afterward was a question: Why had this happened?
Dwayne had helped him through the shock of leaving his family. The older man could easily have been frustrated with Clarkent’s initial listlessness, but he wasn’t. He was patient, and finally the haze that had afflicted the boy cleared. Then he had suddenly thrown himself into his stable duties. Though Dwayne made an excellent Stable Master, the stable under his care had never been cleaner since the day Clarkent had first truly begun working as a stableboy.
Clarkent had been fortunate to be assigned to the Riding Stable, as Dwayne made a firm but kind supervisor. In addition, the horses were generally of higher quality. The other royal stable--which was larger and held a hundred horses used primarily to pull carriages and carts--operated under the cruel command of Kile. Dwayne said little--which suited Clarkent’s demeanor since he had been wrenched away from his parents--but his scattered words had helped the young stableboy become a fine judge of horseflesh.
When Dwayne was done with his lesson, he told Clarkent, “Groom the first ten horses. And check for stones.”
The boy nodded in acknowledgement--the first ten horses were the ones he was usually assigned to work with, so he was familiar with them--and he watched as Dwayne moved to go check on the progress of the others under his supervision. Grooming horses was a step up for Clarkent. Normally, Dwayne’s first task for him was to help feed and water the horses and muck out their stalls. But that task appeared to have been relegated to the other stableboys . . . at least for the day. Geralph--the obnoxious boy two years younger than Clarkent--was even now struggling to get inside a stall to feed a horse. The horse kept shaking its head and shifting in place. Clarkent suspected Geralph would soon be relegated to cleaning carriages, carts, and riding equipment . . . like other stableboys who weren’t good at handling horses.
But even Clarkent, who was good with horses, had his challenges. And his main challenge was Penelope Grace.
Penelope Grace was a female palfrey, which meant she had a smooth and ambling gait. Once upon a time, she had shown the grace that was her namesake, but now--in her old age--she had become immensely cranky.
Dwayne could handle her easily, perhaps because she was accustomed to his presence, but all the stableboys had difficulty with her. The only reason she was even still around was because she had once been Queen Ellena’s beloved horse. As such, she was to be kept at the royal stables for the rest of her life. She even got to keep the same stall she’d once had . . . mainly because she refused to go into any other stalls.
It was Clarkent’s misfortune that he had the most luck with Penelope Grace out of all the stableboys. He wasn’t good with her, by any means, but she had never bitten him, as she had all the other workers in the stable, except for Dwayne, of course.
Clarkent decided to groom her last, as he always did. Grooming wasn’t a quick process. In addition to having to check hooves for stones (a task which frequently Dwayne reserved for himself), the morning grooming entailed using a curry comb, then wisping the horse with horse hair, then brushing, then wisping again, then rubbing the horse down with a clean cloth, and then brushing the horse’s mane and tail. After that, a damp sponge was used to clean the horse’s face, and oil was used to make the creature’s hooves shine. This was a process that was repeated again later in the day.
Because of the extensive number of things involved in grooming horses, it was a while before Clarkent finally got to Penelope Grace. He gritted his teeth as he looked at her. As a white horse, she would have been a pain to clean anyway. But he swore she purposefully rolled around in mud to thwart his cleaning efforts.
He managed to clean her with remarkably little resistance compared to what he usually faced. However, when it came to checking her hooves for stones, he ran into difficulties. Though he pressed and pushed against Penelope Grace, he could not get her to lift any of her hooves.
He grunted as he pushed yet again, trying to make her shift her weight off one of her front feet.
Suddenly, he noticed a man in the stable staring at him, and he stood straight and flushed.
The man’s appearance was innocuous enough--he had on a ratty brown cloak which covered the worn robes beneath it, and his gray hair was a little windswept. His eyes were wise and kind, and his right hand clutched the staff at his side. The top of the staff, Clarkent noted, was carved in the shape of a falcon about to take flight.
“Hello,” the man greeted.
“Hi,” Clarkent murmured in return. He glanced away uncomfortably. He had seen the man around countless times before, but--though the man had smiled or waved--they had never actually spoken. For them to finally exchange a few words now after all this time--well, it was awkward . . . Especially since many of the times Clarkent had seen him, the man had appeared to be staring at him. What this stranger wanted with him, he had no idea.
“Are you having, uh, problems?” the man asked, nodding toward Penelope Grace.
Clarkent looked at the mare, who had turned her head to stare at him with what seemed to be suspicion. “Yes,” he admitted. The horse let out a snort, and he watched her warily.
“The name’s Peri,” the older man introduced himself. “Maybe I can help you.”
“Clarkent,” he mumbled in return, watching as Peri approached.
Peri reached out a hand and gently touched Penelope Grace’s nose, causing her to whinny. Then he leaned forward and whispered in her ear. She shook her head and neighed gently. “Try again, son,” Peri instructed.
Obliging, Clarkent pushed against the horse’s side and successfully managed to lift her leg. He scraped out a stone that had been lodged in her hoof and set it down. Then he quickly set to work and finished checking the rest of her legs. When he was finally done, he noticed the older man was still there, and he told him gratefully, “Thanks.” He didn’t quite understand what Peri had done, but he knew that it had worked. For that, he was thankful.
“I’m always glad to help, son,” Peri offered with a smile. “So, do you, uh, like it here? What I mean to say is--are you glad you were Assigned here rather than . . . somewhere else?”
Clarkent frowned, not quite understanding why this stranger would be asking him such a question. But he answered anyway: “Yes. I guess so.” It could certainly have been worse.
“The Stable Master still treating you right?”
“Yes,” Clarkent said cautiously. “Dwayne is kind.”
“Good. Good.” The man gave him a brief nod and then left the stable.
Clarkent stared after him. What had *that* been about?
****
After Peri left the stable, he went into the castle, and he soon ran across an old friend, Aliss, in the hallway. “I was hoping to see you,” he said with a smile.
But she didn’t smile back. “I’m worried, Peri.”
Peri became serious. “About what, Aliss?”
“About Princess Loisette. She barely eats, and she never goes outside. I’ve tried to get her father to spend more time with her, but he just won’t. I don’t know what to do.” Tears of helplessness and sorrow sprang into her eyes.
Peri embraced her and patted her back. “Don’t worry, Aliss. Things have a way of working themselves out.”
“I hope you’re right, Peri,” she said with a sniffle.
He smiled at her. “If she’s anything like her mother was, she’ll help pull herself out of this. You just gotta have a little faith.”
****
A pink pair of well-worn silk shoes stood in the doorway of the castle’s exit. Their owner stood still, anxious. Outside was a large world of uncertainties. Was facing them worth the risk?
Suddenly and determinedly, the pink shoes began to move forward of their owner’s volition, taking that owner outside the castle for the first time in a very long time. It was scary, yes, but it was also strangely exhilarating.
After a few more moments of hesitation, the small shoes began to shuffle slowly and unsurely toward the Riding Stable, a place where their owner had never been.
****
Chapter 1 Glossary
Lady-in-waiting: A lady-in-waiting was a woman (and occasionally a girl) who served as personal assistant to a queen, princess, or other noblewoman of higher rank. She did not do servant duties per se since she was a noblewoman herself, but she would do tasks such as brushing hair, playing instruments, singing, and needlework.
Animal Familiar: An animal familiar is an animal who serves a magic-user as a companion and/or servant, and they are often portrayed as spirits. A commonly seen animal familiar for a witch is a black cat.
Tack: Tack is a horse’s equipment. To “tack up” is to equip a horse.
Caparison: This is the ornamental part of a horse’s tack, as seen in medieval movies (think about the colorful cloths over knights’ horses).
Palfrey: Horses were not identified by their breeds/colors in medieval times as they are today--a “palfrey” was a term that could be applied to nearly any breed of horse. A palfrey was a horse with a smooth and ambling gait which was comfortable for riders. As a result, palfreys were popular with nobles, women, and highly ranked knights. They were used for general riding, war, and travel.
Curry Comb: These have short teeth on one side, and they help loosen dirt and hair on the horse. They also encourage a horse’s skin to produce its natural oils.
