At the fair with Galahad (Patreon)

You lost Gawain and Elaine. Galahad and you have taken your eyes off them for one moment – to lock into a contest of finding out who can level the meanest glare over some petty words exchanged you can’t even remember – then poof! Your little party was short of two people.

Disappearing was no difficult feat; the sheer size of the crowd milling about the fair ensures one is immediately swallowed up upon stepping into the ever-flowing stream of people. With both Elaine and Gawain tipsy and giddy from the ale, you doubt they’ll find you very soon.

So that leaves you alone with Galahad who, unlike his friends, is decisively not drunk, and very much grumpy. Owing to your presence, you suspect.

Ah! But you now remember what landed you so engrossed in each other’s hateful gazes. You’d suggested that Galahad indulge some more in the alcohol, in hopes of losing that scowl etched into his forehead.

“Someone has to keep watch over those two,” he’d replied. Meanwhile, those two vanished.

So much for being the responsible one.

Despite the low chances of finding the pair, you’ve decided to pursue your search and took off at a brisk step, growing increasingly dizzy as you looked for their faces among the crowd.

“You know,” you say to Galahad as he waits for you to re-emerge from behind a laughing, bubbly group that forced you to split up, “it’d be the perfect opportunity for you to lose me in the crowd, too. If you want to get rid of my clearly undesirable presence.”

“No,” Galahad says, roundly and readily.

Your brow raises.

He crosses his arms and stares ahead. “I’d have to look for you too then.” Before it could be mistaken for a noble act, he adds: “Elaine and Gawain wouldn’t like it if you got lost.”

“Of course. But you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

He doesn’t reply; the only sign that he’s even heard you is the deepening of his frown as he keeps his eyes fixed forward.

Of course he wouldn’t, you think to yourself as a strange pang stabs at your chest. You shouldn’t let it affect you. Why would you care about the opinion of the likes of Galahad du Lac? It doesn’t matter if he values your companionship or not – you certainly do not enjoy his, though you can’t deny he can be fun to tease. There’s something so amusing about his deeply unamused face, the creases in his brow and the moue on his lips so easily drawn out by a simple remark on your part.

For better or worse, you are stuck with him.

You sigh, letting your head roll back with a satisfying pop. As you do, your eyes land on rows of bright, colorful booths, sure to entice the younger and more playful crowd.

“I don’t think we’ll find Gawain and Elaine very soon,” you say, which Galahad does not protest. “We could play something,” you flippantly suggest.

He merely scoffs.

You haven’t even meant the proposal, but the contempt in that huff of air makes you turn to him with a sharp smile and newfound ambition. “Why not? Are you afraid I’ll thoroughly trash you?” You speak with confidence; you can afford it. Accolon’s proficient at fair games, and he’s taught you all his tricks and tips.

You know them, and you know Galahad too; he cannot not accept a dare like this. He meets your gaze, steadfast and filled with a conviction that makes his violet eyes bright and gleaming. “Let’s see it.”

You march towards the vibrant booths, searching for one not currently occupied. You end up in front of a patch of grass. Two wooden poles have been stuck in the earth some way ahead for what you immediately recognize as hoop tossing. A popular, classic one. The fair worker, who doesn’t look much older than you, hands you your twine-rope rings, each set with a differently colored piece of fabric attached.

As you take positions behind the rope tethered to the ground, clearly delineating how close you can get to the poles, Galahad warns: “Don’t you dare cheat.”

“Pff,” you huff, idly twirling a ring around your wrist. “Whenever have I cheated?”

“Back in Lothia. You dared me to a staring contest then went ahead and cheated by holding your eyes open with your fingers.”

You almost drop the hoop. “You..remember that?”

It happened such a long time ago, at that tournament where you first had the misfortune to meet. He’d stolen your spot by the river and refused to relinquish it, so you won it back by whatever means necessary. It must have left quite the impression on him if he’s haunted enough by the memory to bring it up now. But you remember it so well too, don’t you? After all, it was one of the few interactions you’ve had with him growing up.

“Of course I do.” Galahad’s fingers tighten on the twine hoop, his honeyed tan tinged by pink. “You were being obnoxious.”

Your brow furrows as you study his face, now turned resolutely towards the poles. Is he…angry? Over a petty, childish thing you did years ago? Well, perhaps it’ll motivate him to play better. Either way, you’re winning this and making it fair and square. This way, he won’t be able to hold it against you the next time.

Galahad jerks his chin at the targets. “You go first.”

You poise yourself, firmly planting your feet in the grass just before the delineating rope, trying to remember everything Accolon has told you, channeling all the practice you’ve got over the years. With a deep breath and eyes intent on the pole, you throw your hoop. It lands beautifully, whirling around before it settles down.

You can’t help the grin that pulls at your lips. You look over at Galahad – who’s already looking at you, seizing you up as if you were an opponent more competent than anticipated.

You go at it, both of you severely concentrated as if your honor depended on this game, tossing your rings in turn. Galahad misses a throw, but then so do you.

If he’d only miss another one, you’d win. Your fingers tingle in anticipation, yet you cross your arms and tuck your hands for good measure. You said you wouldn’t cheat this time, and you’re pretty sure causing a small breeze to knock his hoop off course falls into this category as neatly as a loop around the pole.

You shift your attention from your thoughts of foul-play to Galahad, preparing for his next toss. You’ve both been treating this as if it were a trial in a knightly tournament. Galahad especially looks like it, with the focused creases on his brow, far gentler than the ones traced there by his scowls. His chest rises and falls rhythmically as he steadies himself, the motion visible through the blue-dyed linen of his simple chemise. He pulls back his arm, ring held in sure fingers.

The sun is mellow, showering everything in soft, golden light. It brings out the warmth in Galahad’s complexion, the gild in his blonde hair, and the wisteria violet of his eyes that meet yours, wide and alarmed.

You freeze, eyes locked in mutual confusion like two deer that have spooked each other; you bolt away first, snapping your gaze away from his. How long have you been staring, for him to notice? It’s not your fault it’s taking him so long to make the damn toss – the fate of the game, and your triumph depends on it, so obviously you wanted to see him throw the hoop already.

You chance a look at Galahad, relieved to find his attention turned back on the poles. Yet his concentration seems to waver as he shifts his weight uneasily and flexes his fingers on the twine ring. Then, as if finally losing his patience, he throws the hoop – it lands a way off from both targets.

Whatever lingering awkwardness is dispelled and replaced by victory. “I won!”

Galahad does not share in your enthusiasm. He’s spun around, as if not bearing to see either his failed toss or your smirk. “Did you cheat?” he demands.

“Excuse me! I played fair and squire this time!”

He still refuses to face you. “Great. Congratulations. We should start looking for Gawain and Elaine again.”

Then he stalks off. Before you follow, you take a moment to wonder at his stubbornness, and – was that a flush upon his cheeks?

What a spoilsport.