Lancelot had attended countless ceremonies commemorating and legalizing a young man as a knight. Three of them had held weight in his mind, this being the final of this series, and so he watched it with all practiced gravity that seemed fitting. Cobalt irises smoldered with the very fires of mellowed emotions, roiling below the cloak of this blue surface. He trained all scrutiny upon the prince, as he knelt and chanted the continuous words of affirmation. King Arthur spoke, signs of memorization lacing his tone, but there was pride and warmth, where before he had lacked this. Gabriel was his son; he had every right to take happiness from his achievements.
Yet. Lancelot joined the ripple of laughter that cascaded down the chamber, though in its notes were strain. It was to his daughter the royal referred, and even in mention he stiffened. His daughter. Galahad lay in the crowd around him; settled in his peripheral vision. There was bursting joy upon her becoming visage, as her life-long play mate was given his honors elated her. He noticed the strand of golden hair that was fractionally out of place, and it prompted a pursing of his lips. She was as noble as any knight that pledged their allegiance to Camelot, but it had not been what he wanted for her. Not entirely.
Lancelot returned his observation to his long trained pupil. The blood and sweat they had shed made them more than knight and squire. There was a greater degree of depth to it than that, and it was for this reason he too took satisfaction in his knighthood. He had shaped the unrefined qualities in the heir to be what they were, though he would not take complete credit. Gabe had possessed them; he molded them.
"Well then! By the power invested in me, by God and my forefathers. I dub thee a knight. Rise Sir Pendragon, Knight of Camelot."
Lancelot applauded, watching Excalibur strike firmly the man's shoulders, as it had to him so long ago. Long, long ago. The crowds around him responded in kind, cries of, "Sir Gabriel", being heard behind. It was certainly an important hour for the kingdom. Certainly.
“Ladies and gentlemen, there will be a banquet directly following the ceremony. Please give us some time to set up the tables, and then we will adjourn to the banquet hall.”
The court broke from rank and file, many conglomerating about the prince to shower him with earned congratulations. The older knight knew he would receive every opportunity to due the like later; when he would have to show no manner of valor to reach him. His gaze traced the paths of the king and queen, and the lithe shape of Princess Blair, the later seeming to fly with some manner of fury; resembling an angered hawk. She is a Pendragon, truly. Hatred and pride is in her blood.
Lancelot dispersed from the shifting leather and frocks, smiling and speaking when addressed, dipping his head to those whom required it. Other knights praised him for his mighty work in rearing Gabe, with which he responded cordially and mannerly, lingering to converse then disappearing. He had noticed the absence of his daughter, and guessed her intended location.
The dining hall was arrayed with finely prepared morsels and painstakingly selected decor. Candelabra graced each table, surrounded by platters and bowls, brimming with fruit and venison. Vintage wine had been fetched, torches were alight, and all was colored with the crimson dragon of the Pendragon crest. But it was none of these already anticipated items Lancelot first sought to notice; it was the heated voices seething from several sources and the quieting of them as familiar tones chimed in.
Weariness fringed the sigh he released as, with pose and determined strides, he entered. Darkened cerulean met Gawain, Blair, Gabe, and Galahad, arranged in positions about the banquet table of the king. He might assume whom had been arguing, and when he met her eyes he let this knowledge be seen.
"Milady Blair." Lancelot greeted with formality, passing her chair and nodding. "Gawain." A word was enough to suffice between the two that called each other brother, and onward he went. To Galahad he laid a hand, giving her shoulder a meaningful squeeze, before halting at the prince.
"Congratulations, Gabe. You have earned this. Now. Have you saved a spot for me at this table?" A brow rose in question.