Sir Lancelot du Lac.
He was perhaps the most famous of the Knights of the Round Table; he was famous for his strength and his romance.
His deeds were passed down through countless generations; tales and songs were spun of him.
Even though he was French, he was famous and well-known in England.
Among the knights who remained in Albion, he was without a doubt the strongest, and as such, he should really have stayed in Camelot to protect the city.
Yet no sooner had Arthuria led the rest of her knights into Hell than Sir Agravain took advantage of being left in charge to exile Lancelot from the city.
Naturally, he didn't use that word, but everyone involved knew that was what it was.
Lancelot never blamed him for it.
Because he understood why he did it.
After all, once upon a time, it had been his sword that cut down both Sir Agravain and his younger sister, Gareth.
And while Gareth might have forgiven him, just like his king had, Lancelot never expected nor demanded that the same mercy be granted by anyone else.
He had betrayed his king and his vow, and for that, he was indeed eternally unworthy.
The fact that his king allowed him to remain by her side, to serve once more, was already more than enough, so Lancelot didn't resist the order and left Camelot without a fuss.
His mission was both clear and important.
He was to ensure the forces of Hell and their mortal servants didn't cause any trouble while the king was away.
A difficult mission indeed, but one he would do to the very best of his abilities.
Thankfully, despite Sir Agravain having little love for Lancelot, he was still a pragmatic man and arranged for the Veiled Hand to assist Lancelot.
This saved Lancelot from sleeping rough while hiding his identity.
He had thought about asking Sir Gareth for her ring of transformations to help disguise himself, but in the end, he felt too much guilt over his actions to do that.
And even without magic, he still had the expertise of the Veiled Hand; those women were skilled in many things, and disguise was among them.
With little more than a dozen different kinds of makeup, he was an entirely different man.
So when he walked around, while he still drew looks, it wasn't because he was Sir Lancelot; it was simply because even disguised, a handsome man remained handsome.
"Hey, handsome, I haven't seen you around here." A brave woman came up to him as he stood looking at a map, trying to find his way around the labyrinthine modern city.
Lancelot turned, a polite smile on his face. He was not unused to such attention. In Camelot, it had been a constant, but here, in the modern world, it felt different. More... direct. "My apologies, my lady. I am new to this city. I find myself somewhat turned around."
The woman, whose name tag read "Chloe," laughed. "New to Manchester, huh? Don't worry, the one-way system gets us all at some point. Where are you trying to get to?"
She was attractive, in a bold, modern way that would have been scandalous in his time. Her hair was a vibrant shade of purple, cut short, and a small silver ring pierced her nose. Her confidence was a cloak she wore with practiced ease.
"The Northern Quarter," Lancelot said, the name feeling strange on his tongue. "I was told it was a place of... culture."
Chloe's grin widened. "Oh, it's that. And a whole lot more. I'm heading that way myself. C'mon, I'll walk with you. As long as you promise not to tell me you're a lost time traveler or a knight in shining armor under all that." She winked, teasing.
Lancelot felt his heart skip a beat at her offhand comment; he wasn't one to lie. Thankfully, he didn't have to. "I promise I won't tell you that," he simply said, avoiding having to lie entirely.
Chloe laughed, a bright, cheerful sound. "Good answer. So, what brings a handsome stranger like you to Manchester? Business or pleasure?"
"A bit of both," Lancelot replied, falling into step beside her. "I am... here to see the sights. To understand the city."
"The old tourist route, eh? Well, you've come to the right place. The Northern Quarter is the beating heart of Manchester. Art, music, food... you'll find it all here."
As they walked, Chloe pointed out landmarks and shared anecdotes, her voice a constant, lively stream of information. Lancelot listened with rapt attention, not just to the words, but to the cadence of her speech, the easy way she interacted with the world around her.
He was a knight, a warrior from a bygone era, and here he was, walking through a city of steel and glass, guided by a woman with purple hair and a nose ring.
It was a surreal experience.
But, well, he wasn't one to turn down a lady's request for company. He was still getting used to the far more casual nature of relationships in this new age, but he wasn't so stubborn that he refused to conform to the social norms.
He was, after all, here to serve the people of Albion, not to stand out like a sore thumb.
And so, as they walked, he did his best to blend in, to appear as just another man, another face in the crowd.
It was a difficult task.
His natural bearing, the way he carried himself, spoke of a lifetime of discipline and training. His eyes, though softened by a gentle smile, missed nothing.
He was a predator, a warrior, a knight.
And no amount of makeup or modern clothing could completely hide that.
Chloe, for her part, seemed to sense it.
She didn't know what it was, but there was something about him that set him apart from the other men she had met.
It was not just his looks, though they were certainly remarkable.
It was something deeper.
A sense of quiet strength, of a purpose that went beyond the pursuit of pleasure or the accumulation of wealth.
He was a man of substance.
And she found herself drawn to him, in a way she hadn't been drawn to anyone in a long, long time.
As they reached the Northern Quarter, a vibrant tapestry of street art, independent boutiques, and bustling cafes unfolded before them. The air was thick with the aroma of freshly brewed coffee and sizzling street food, the sounds of a thousand conversations creating a lively, energetic atmosphere.
"It's indeed quite lively here," he commented as he took it all in.
"Damn right it is. With law and order being what it is today, and the economy being good, plenty of people are about with money to spend and little worries. It really helped breathe life into the place. We got a good deal with the king, we do." Chloe said with a nod, her pride in her city evident in her tone.
"The king is a benevolent ruler," Lancelot said, his voice filled with genuine admiration. "He cares for his people, and they, in turn, care for him."
Despite the serious nature of his words, they drew a giggle from Chloe. "You're one of those who still refer to the king as a 'him'; not many people can do that after seeing how beautiful she is under that armor of hers." She teased, her eyes twinkling with mischief.
Lancelot's smile remained. "I guess I am just old-fashioned like that. A title is a title, after all; it is a person's deeds that matter, not their appearance."
"Deep," Chloe said, nudging him playfully. "I like it. So, what's your poison, handsome? Coffee? A pint? Or are you more of a tea person?"
"I would not say no to a cup of tea," Lancelot replied, his smile unwavering.
"A traditionalist, I see," Chloe said, linking her arm through his. "I know just the place."
She led him through the bustling streets, her confident stride a stark contrast to his measured, deliberate pace. They arrived at a small, unassuming cafe, its facade covered in a riot of colorful murals. The interior was cozy and inviting, the air filled with the rich aroma of freshly baked scones and the comforting scent of Earl Grey.
They found a quiet corner, and Chloe ordered for them both, her easy familiarity with the menu a stark reminder of the gulf that separated their worlds.
As they waited for their tea, Chloe leaned forward, her elbows on the table, her chin propped on her hands.
"So," she said, her curiosity getting the better of her. "Tell me something, handsome. What's a guy like you doing in a place like this? And don't give me that 'seeing the sights' nonsense. You're not a tourist."
Lancelot let out a small sigh at her words. "I guess you caught me there," he admitted. "I'm here for work; you could say I work for the state, making sure everything is done according to the law."
Chloe looked equally impressed and intrigued. "Damn, so you work for the, like, secret police or whatever replaced MI6? I mean, with a face and body like that? You could indeed be a James Bond." She mused.
"I am afraid I can't comment on that," Lancelot said, with a small, knowing smile. "But I can assure you, my work is not as exciting as that."
"Uh-huh," Chloe said, not quite convinced. "Well, whatever it is, I'm sure it's exciting work, making sure people are safe and all. So, thank you for your service, agent man." She raised her cup of tea in a mock toast.
"The pleasure is all mine," Lancelot replied, his own cup raised in return.
"So," Chloe said, clearly curious. "What's next on your 'seeing the sights' agenda?"
Lancelot hesitated for a moment, then a slow smile spread across his face. "I was thinking of taking a walk along the canals. I hear they are quite beautiful at this time of day."
Chloe's eyes lit up. "Ooh, good choice. Very romantic. You're a smooth one, aren't you?"
Lancelot's smile widened. "I try."
"I'd love to join you," Chloe said, her tone casual, but her eyes told a different story.
"I would be honored," Lancelot replied, his heart rate quickening despite himself.
(End of chapter)
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