Duke Eric Fitzroy, Duke of Bordeaux, the Royal Bastard, eldest son of King Theodore IV, brother of King William II, father of Sir Clement d’Arlay and Lady Eleanor de Marche, Lord of Fair Keep and the King’s right hand, despite his advanced age of more than sixty years old was still an imposing figure. His shoulders were still broad and his craggy face with its shoulder length white hair spoke of the passing of time in the same way the great mountains did, with stoic indifference. He sat on his throne in the great hall of Fair Keep, the palace that dominated the skyline of Bordeaux like a fairy tale fortress, dozens of pointed towers and thousands of silken banners standing proud, like an immovable shield against the foes of the kingdom.

Despite his fearsome appearance, the look on the Duke’s face was one of paternal love as he looked on the arrival of his son and grandson resplendent in new suits of fine silk clothes and attended by equally well dressed retinues of men they had been leading on the war front of the

Empire to the south. Sir Edward still had his left arm in a silk sling, bound against his chest with the blue and gold lilies of Bordeaux embroidered across it, their last engagement with Vallarese hadn’t gone entirely to plan and even in victory their losses and wounded were not as light as expected. Still the victory had been crushing and each of the young men before the Duke now wore chains of solid gold around their necks to reflect the founding of a new chivalric order. The Grand Duke von Rabsburg had been so elated with the victory he had commissioned the chains and founded the right noble Order of the Golden Laurel, twenty five knights who had fought in the field were recognized as the best of all the warriors who shed blood that day. Among their number were Sir Clement and Sir Edward, and now they returned home at the summons of

their patriarch, covered in the glory of victory. Clem and Edward knelt when they reached the foot of the dais upon which the throne rested, and bowed their heads to Duke Eric.

The old man rose and raised his son and grandson with his own hands before looking over their heads at the assembled knights and courtiers who made up his court, “I will be retiring to a private audience with my son and grandson,” his voice was warm and full of an aura of command that made Edward jealous, this man was so comfortable with the reins of power in a way the young knight just couldn’t manage, “for any urgent matters that need my attention please talk to Sir Gareth and I give you all my word that I will have seen to them by this evening, and my word is iron,” he gestured to a young knight off to his right before uttering the motto that had made him famous.

The small solar behind the throne room into which they retired was very comfortably appointed with many cushions and a very plush rug. Duke Eric reclined into a chair that was all but lined in the soft cushions with a heavy sigh of relief and a muttered condemnation of his need to appear without the comfort in his receiving hall, “spend enough years in harness and earn enough injuries my boys and you’ll feel the same way,” he told them with a rueful grin that wiped twenty years off of his face.

Edward smiled as he sat opposite his grandfather, it had been far too long since he had walked the halls of this palace, it only now struck him how much he had missed Bordeaux and tears stung at his eyes as he looked around at the home he had once known. The change could not escape the eagle eyed notice of his Grandfather, “war hasn’t sat easily upon your shoulders boy,” he said kindly, despite being a grown man, Edward did not resist as Duke Eric rose and pulled his grandson into a velvet clad embrace, the tears that had threatened finally fell and he did not see the look of compassion from his uncle as Sir Clement in turn placed a hand on his back.

“The stories speak only of glory, they never mention the blood and the shit, and sweet victory can never quite take away the horror we see on the way,” Eric held Edward at arms length, making sure the young man would meet his eye, “I am truly sorry for what you have had to endure, no grandfather ever wants to unleash such horror on his grandchildren,” he met Clem’s eye in turn, “or his son,” Clem nodded sadly in understanding, “unfortunately the world in which we live requires you to be ready for it, still I will give you the same advice I gave your father when he first entered my service Edward,” his piercing gaze once more found his grandson’s eyes, “the fighting becomes easier when it is for a worthy cause, the Emperor’s greed is not a worthy cause, just a convenient training ground for what comes next.”

Once Edward was sat back in his chair with eyes red and puffy from his weeping but the tears thankfully having subsided, he found the strength to speak, “how many ill-armed peasants can I kill before I am no longer a knight?” He asked and even Sir Clement could not meet his gaze.

“Violence is never a good end unto itself, war even less so, believe me if I could convince the world to settle all disputes on the tournament field I would,” Eric’s words were thoughtful, he stroked his well groomed beard out of what appeared habit, “the Emperor can’t abide the Empire not being in total control of the continent, he won the election based on promises of a return to Imperial glory, and now he must make that happen,” his grandfather’s face was sad as he said these words, “sending you was likely a mistake, but we need strength in the family just now, and we must be prepared for when the free cities’ money begins to tell against the Imperial fist, because have no doubt, the Emperor will turn his attention to Arturia in time.”

This was clearly news to Clem as well as Edward as he looked just as shocked, “but Arturia has never been Imperial,” the older knight said in shock.

“That’s not true, we were an Imperial province for a short ten years when the empire first arrived on the continent’s shores, that’s why we’re a kingdom now and not the six petty kingdoms that existed before,” Eric gestured to his bookshelves, “it’s very old history and shrouded in a certain amount of myth and folklore given no one likes to remember that after Roland united us we split again, the royal line has not always been strong enough to hold us all together.” Edward nodded in understanding, it was hardly a secret that the provinces of Arturia were fractious at the best of times, although there hadn’t been any civil wars in his lifetime, his father had earned his spurs in such a conflict and cemented his position as the king’s shield in many more.

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“Which brings me to why I called you both back,” the old man said with a cunning smile.

“Damn, you have a fine idea of controlling a conversation,” Clem muttered ruefully.

“No, I just wanted to make sure you were both okay,” he met Edward’s eyes at this, “we will talk more later Edward, I have much to discuss with you which must take precedence for now, but rest assured we will talk, because what I have to say next will affect you both for some time,” Edward nodded, his tears had subsided and he was once more in control of himself, but he knew he could use the old man’s wisdom, “the kingdom is on the verge of another civil war, I have done what I can to shore up my brother’s strength but his lack of an heir and his failing health have led to grumblings like we have not seen since our father’s reign, in particular the Laird McCullough has made it public that he feels he should be named heir due to his Great-Grandmother’s claim, it’s weak but without an heir my brother doesn’t have a lot of options, especially given my own bastardy,” Eric sighed and for the first time Edward saw that even saying the word hurt the old man, “we have a plan, but I won’t spoil my brother’s opportunity to tell it, when we travel to Seageld he has arranged for an immediate, and private royal audience with us, the Grand Tournament will be something of a political statement, and we need you to play a significant role Edward.” Edward frowned at this.

“How can I be of service?” He asked, although the tension in his voice betrayed him.

“I have managed to prevent the spread of your reputation within the kingdom, most of the great houses have no idea how strong and talented you have become, we’re going to use that to our advantage, you will be the Black Knight at the grand tourney this year,” Edward’s eyes widened in shock at the pronouncement. The Black Knight was a role of great honour and mystery that was unique to the tournaments of the Arturians, and was said to date back to the time of Roland when he first laid down the rules of chivalry.

To be the Black Knight was to be considered the host’s finest knight, it was a position of anonymity, where the knight laid aside all their personal trappings and held the lists against all challengers, they would generally defend the lady named the Queen of Love of the tournament against all comers in a purpose built wooden tower where she would observe all chivalrous conduct for the first day of the tournament. The Black Knight was expected to fight for anywhere from eight to twelve hours without rest except that granted by his foes, to overcome the black knight was to win the honour of escorting the lady to that night’s ball and feast. Such games were taken very seriously by the knights of Arturia and to have a Black Knight succeed showed all that the host could field the best knights in the kingdom, it was often a political statement.

To be the King’s Black Knight was one of the rarest honours, he had not fielded one in over a decade, “surely my father would be the appropriate choice for his majesty’s Black Knight, he has always served before in the role?” Edward finally uttered as he was able to calm his racing heartbeat. Eric just shook his head at his grandson’s question.

“Your father hasn’t fought a tournament in many years Edward and it’s for a very good reason, he relies on his reputation and his image of strength to deter any who would wish the king harm, and while still a formidably strong man he is not the warrior he once was.” Eric’s voice was tinged with sadness at the revelation that hit Edward like a slap, before he had left home all those years previous he had never overcome his father, what could have changed?

“You were perhaps too young to truly notice, but after losing his eye, your father’s skill never quite recovered to what it was, he has avoided public martial displays ever since at my urging.” Eric concluded.

“Though to be fair, I was never a particularly skilled fighter, just a big brute who scared the piss out of them,” a jovial voice said from the door, causing all to turn and Edward to rise hurriedly at the appearance of his father’s huge form in the doorway accompanied by the lithe form of his mother, both bowed to Eric as they entered, “apologies your grace, we heard our son had returned.” The two said and were welcome with a warm embrace from the Duke as he rushed across the room.

“Nonsense, I expected you both.” The aging Duke told them happily. Edward moved towards his parents and made a full reverentia down on one knee before them. Lady Eleanor could barely restrain her tears as she lifted her son up and embraced him.

“My beautiful boy,” she sobbed into his chest. Edward was shocked to notice that he was head and shoulders taller than his mother now, having only come up to her chin when he had left. More so when he realised he was only a few inches shorter than his father when he came face to face with him.

“A knight and covered in laurels, my boy need never kneel to me again,” the tearful giant Richard de Marche said as he pulled both his son and his wife to him in a surprisingly gentle hug for one so large, “we’ve all missed you around here boy.” The man said gruffly as he patted Edward on the back.

“Please join us, we were just discussing the plans for the tournament and the immediate future of this family,” Eric said as they all found seats around the small solar once more, except for Richard who moved to lean against the fire place, his one good eye constantly roving between the two entryways into the room. Old habits died hard, and Edward knew it was hard for the man to relax after decades of combat, his mind fractured by what he had seen early on and his nerves frayed at the ends, even more so since the loss of his left eye.

“Have you told the lad the happy news then?” Richard asked as he settled against the stone of the fireplace, heedless of the soot that would cling to his fine clothes, and Edward spared a moment of pity for the man’s squire who would be in charge of the cleaning.

Eric grimaced, “I was getting to that,” such a look on his grandfather’s face in conjunction with his semi-apologetic tone set off warning bells in Edward’s mind as he frowned.

“There’s more?” He asked sharply.

The duke sighed and nodded, “Well thank you for pushing the matter Richard, I suppose he should know well in advance.” He glared at the old knight who looked back unapologetically.

“There is more, you will be the Black Knight, the lady you will be defending is the young Lady Maria de Bourbon, eldest daughter of the Steward of the Palace, in order to strengthen ties between the families we have broached the idea of marriage between the two of you, of course the good Steward is a member of the progressive faction at Court and will only bless the marriage if she is amenable and agrees after meeting you, we have determined that allowing you to be her defender and escort to the ball will be the best way to impress her.” Eric’s face looked like he had eaten something particularly sour as he said the words, but only one of them struck Edward like the worst hammer blow he had ever received; marriage.