scott street

6: TEDROS

Bedivere hadn't wanted him to have it.

Those who were left had argued about it on the shore of the Avalon lake, gesturing furiously in his direction. Tedros, still on Percival's horse, and drowning in a fur cloak that was far too big for him, could only hear snippets;

"...too small for it anyway!"

"...ceremonial..."

"...when he goes to the School..."

Bedivere had paced uneasily back and forth, sloshing about in the shallows, Excalibur under his arm. For her part, the Lady of the Lake hadn't protested, when they'd come back for it, merely handed it over. But Bedivere had been the one to hear Arthur's dying wish for it to be thrown back into the lake, and he was taking it at face value. The others were arguing that he'd surely meant for Tedros to have it, why wouldn't he... that the Lady of the Lake had merely taken it for safekeeping...

Finally, Bedivere had relented. He'd come out of the lake and stomped over, and Tedros still remembered the wet leather squeak of his sodden boots.

"You'll have this when you're big enough," he'd said, then looked Tedros up and down critically, as if he was wondering if it was ever going to happen. "'Til then, it'll be in the Gallery of Kings. Alright?"

"I'm big enough for it." Tedros had said mulishly, patting Percival's horse between the ears with a mechanical sort of detachment. It was his father's sword, which meant, like everything else, like crown and country, it had passed down to him. "It's mine."

Bedivere had just snorted.

"It's taller than you. You'd take your own head off with it. You'll get it one day, don't look like that."

"I get to have the sword. Dad said that I will get the sword when I'm King..."

"Did he, now?" Percival had come up to them, and swung himself back up onto his horse behind Tedros. "There you go, Beds, there's your proof..."

A mollifying promise from Arthur to his young son probably wasn't any kind of proof, in Bedivere's eyes. He'd stared at them, for a minute. Tedros had always been slightly afraid of him; he was one of his father's oldest knights, and had always held far more loyalty to Arthur than anyone else. He was huge, and even with only one hand, he could cleave men to bits with one blow. He said he was going to go to a hermitage, but Tedros couldn't imagine such a huge warrior as a penitent.

"I'm King." Tedros had tried.

"You're nine, little boy," said Bedivere, unmoved.

"I'm ten." Tedros had mumbled. Everyone had missed his birthday, too busy with the war councils, something he deeply resented. Bedivere hadn't listened; he'd gone off and wrapped Excalibur in Arthur's standard, and Tedros had resentfully watched it disappear under all the blue fabric and embroidered gold crowns. He hadn't gotten it back until he'd been about to go to Good.

Now, Tedros finally ran out of air, and resurfaced from the floor of the Groom Room pool.

Beatrix, in a frilly, floral swimming costume with a small skirt, and matching swim cap (she had ignored Tedros when he'd pointed out she didn't really have enough hair to need one) folded her arms.

"I thought you'd drown, if you stayed down there for much longer."

"Oh, Bea, I am sorry. I'll make more of an effort to die next time."

She scoffed and began a matronly sort of paddle across to the deep end. Tedros, who thought such a pathetic technique seemed off for any Jaunt Jolie native under seventy, sank back under the water and pushed off after her, taking half the length underwater before he broke the surface.