Cheers of the Knights and the Silence Under the Surface

To have a feast in the King's Castle is a rare event. As such, for this momentous occasion, they weren’t going to waste the opportunity. The beer, greens and bread were to be expected, the thing they were truly salivating for was the meat. Venison, wild boars, bears–rare foods they would be normally tasked with hunting for nobles, not have for themselves.

Sitting at the farthest chair by the corner of the hall, however, Frederick just watched his food. The cheers of the others sounded distant.

“Eat,” Tristan said. “We don’t get to eat like this every day, I’m taking some of this venison home.”

While he maintained his expressionless facade, Frederick was well enough to notice the slight crack of a smile. He didn't mention her by name, likely trying not to be insensitive to Frederick, but he was likely going to leave early to bring food back to his home for his wife.

Usually, that’s how it went. If he ever saw Tristan happy, likelier than not, he was thinking about Sylvia.

“Are you not going home early?”

“... No, I think I’ll stay a bit longer.”

Maybe it was in consideration for Frederick, but Tristan chose to stay.

“Hey, it’s Master!” one knight shouted, void of any sort of respect that he had shown earlier.

Everyone just laughed and cheered, not a care in the world as the giant man, still in his red armour walked in.

“Don’t be shy, drink up!” he continued.

Sir Logan looked at his men with eyes fierce enough to make any man freeze in terror, but rather than berating him the same way he did the King’s attendant, he merely gave a disappointed sigh and grabbed the pint of beer handed to him.

“You people are deplorable,” he groaned before gulping it all down in less than five seconds. “GAAAH, that hits the spot!”

The whole room was stunned into near silence, but Sir Logan lost no time lifting his next tankard and shouted–

“Oi! You bastards, the hell’re ya waitin’ for!? We don’t know when we’re gettin’ another feast like this! Let’s go all out!”

The knights took this opportunity and lifted their own tankards and cheered for Sir Logan, before resuming back to their little party.

Despite his looks and authority, as well as his brutality in training, Sir Logan was quite lenient when it came to drinking or celebrations after a long day’s work. Having once been a foot soldier himself, he understood the plights of the knights and did as much as he could to make sure they were fairly treated.

The bonds he had formed with his knights because of this were ones not even the King could replicate.

“But you should have seen us,” one said flinging a stick around, “I was able to strike down one with just a single swing of my sword–”

“Hah! You think that’s impressive? I was able to kill eight demons in just two days.”

While everyone was casually comparing their achievements, one stood up and snapped his fingers in dismay and groaned–

“Pfft, it’s not like it means anything with the two stars silently drinking away over there. Hey! Frederick, Tristan!”

He dropped honorifics and all sense of formality. Here, in this party, the knights who were once shining examples of chivalry in the kingdom, had reverted back to being common men.

Frederick and Tristan must have killed over a hundred in the span of three days. The majority of the expedition could be attributed to them. As such, the oblivious man couldn’t understand seeing Frederick alone like this.

“Man, why’re ya two so doom and gloom, huh?”

“Hey, stop it!”

Another panicked, and ran up to the man and whispered in his ears. Their expressions grew cold.

“Oh… Oh Frederick, I…”

After hearing what happened, the other knights took a step back. Not knowing what to say. It would have been nice if Frederick had stepped up and told him things were alright, but that most certainly wasn’t the case. When it became clear they understood his situation, he just looked down solemnly.

“W–Well… let’s move on to the main event then, yeah?” One tried to change the subject and stared down Sir Logan who was now by himself still drinking away.

“H–Hey, master! Weren’t you supposed to announce the people you’re bringing in this mission? We’re all here, we’ve dallied enough.”

In a twist of irony, the one who snapped his fingers to point at Tristan and Frederick prior was the same person to bring the discussion back to something more serious.

“Hah? What’re ya’ll talkin’ about?” Sir Logan replied, now hiccuping, all red in the face.

“Don’t ‘what’re ya’ll talkin’ about us! You said you were going to announce who you’re bringing now, weren’t you?”

“Oh? Huh? Oh! Yes,” Sir Logan collected himself and gave a hearty laugh. “None of you need to worry about that. The people I’m bringing on this mission won’t come from the Royal Knights.”

“What…?”

Upon Sir Logan’s declaration, the whole room went quiet. What did he mean no one in the Royal Knight’s order would be chosen? Before they could ask any more, the man stood up and wobbly walked out of the room.

“Get some rest, you fools. Tomorrow, you’ll be sent right back to your stations and resume your usual duties,” and just like that, the head knight left the room.

“What was that about?”

“Who knows. Master’s always been like that, sayin’ random things out of the blue.”

The feast continued, albeit without the same vigor as just a little while ago. Meanwhile, the seat taken by one of the stars from the battle was also noticeably empty.

“Where did Frederick go?” Tristan asked.

“I think he followed after Master?” a knight replied.

*******

Running down the halls, the bright full moon bathed Frederick as he searched for his master. He quickly grew breathless. It hadn’t come from fatigue or weakness in his physical being, but the shock he had just heard moments prior.

“Please wait, Sir Logan–” he tried calling out to him, but to no avail. The man kept walking forward, as if ignoring him. Despite getting closer, he couldn’t help but feel their distance growing.

“Master!” he finally said, prompting the old man almost twice his size to stop.

“Frederick, huh? What brings you out here? I thought I ordered you all to rest.”

Sir Logan’s face was pale against the moonlight, his feet planted firmly against the ground with his head held high. Almost as if all it took was a few moments for him to completely sober up. Or maybe it was all just an act from the start.

“What is the meaning of this…? What do you mean you won’t take any of us knights on this mission?” Frederick questioned.

Logan tried to explain calmly.

“You understand, distributing our armed forces is a precarious task. With the growing threat of the demons, it would be much better if you lot stayed in your designated stations and–”

“Don't make a fool out of me!” Frederick cut him off.

Frederick glared at Sir Logan, demanding the real answer. He was in no mood for his games. All he wanted now was the truth. And after seconds of pure silence, Sir Logan sighed, dropping the act and glaring at Frederick the same way.

“Follow me,” he said.

Every step he took now gave a different sort of pressure. The “Master” had disappeared. Replaced by “Sir Logan.”

Frederick wanted to ask where to, but remained silent instead, following Sir Logan as he ventured deeper and deeper into the castle, and before long, reached lower floors even Frederick himself wasn’t familiar with.

“It’s understandable if you’re not familiar. A knight always outside battling demons in the countryside and saving people foolishly, you wouldn’t know the inner workings of the castle.”

Frederick remained silent, listening.

“The only demons you see are out there. You never see the vile humans residing in the very kingdom you protect.”

Every hall, every staircase. The deeper they went, the older and less pristine the castle became. Rather than the look of marble, the stone had faded into that of old cobblestone. It took them a while before they reached their destination, and there, Sir Logan held his torch forward.

“Look,” he said, prompting Frederick to step forward.

Frederick’s eyes widened.

It was a jail cell, but not where it should have been. This place was far beyond the reach of any sensible man. It was designed to be kept hidden. And in one of these cells, there was a chained cloaked man sporting a green hood. Exuding an aura unlike anything Frederick has experienced before.

“This man is Robin,” Logan said. “The Green Hood Outlaw of Avalon. The most wretched thief and scoundrel alive.”