44The sun had already set when Sir Lancelot finished his inspection of the camp. Many of the men were already sitting wherever they could, eating dinner. Some others were looking after their newly won war prizes: twelve orphan boys.
No one was sure why Maleagant has been taking boys captive, but it had been happening in all the towns that were invaded. When asked, the boys only said that for awhile, they were fed and kept alive until Lancelot's squadron came. They had no idea why they were ones taken.
Lancelot oversaw to their care, even as he was finishing up for the up and going to sit down and eat. He took his seat next to the campfire, and studied the other occupant there.
The flames flickered in any direction, giving everything near an unsteady glow and adequate warmth. Lancelot noticed the sparks reflecting off a pair of eyes that were so weary and tired. The eyes were owned by a five year old.
The sad eyes then noticed him. Lancelot was one of the few people that the boy would acknowledge.
Lancelot snatched the boy before his life was taken by his opponent. They took the child hostage and was about to execute him. He won his life in duel and made sure he got his winnings.
When he first met the boy it was at a confrontation with Maleagant's army. They decided to make his compassion a weakness by parading children stripped naked, exposed to the cold and demanded a duel. Their lives would be spared if he won.
He fought their champion, a quick and cunning man named Owen. It was hard, but he won.
But the men had no intention on honoring their word. As soon Lancelot had Owen on his back, they were set on killing on the boys. Their captor already had the smallest boy in his grip and a sword to his throat. Lancelot forgot Owen and lunged after his general.
He remembered snatching the boy away from the blade, meeting it with his own sword and after a few strikes, and killed the coward. He snatched the boy, yelled the other children to scatter. All round them, his own men cut down the would-be killers.
They managed to save the children- all boys of various ages, and injuries, twelve in all.
The boy and his companions were now clothed in ill-fitting tunics but good enough to keep warm. Sir Harris' squire made stew and Lancelot went around, making sure that all boys were eating. And then he saw the boy he personally saved.
Other than what he observed, there was nothing known about him, not even his name. The boy was mute and made no attempt to communicate with the others. None of the children could name him, explaining they were from different villages and so did not even know each other until they were thrown together.
"Here lad, eat this," Lancelot handed over the bowel of stew into the boy's small hands. "Its not very tasty but it'll fill you up."
The boy obediently accepted the bowel and started slurping it down. And as the he ate, Lancelot complemented the situation.
"What's your name boy?" He asked, "I am Sir Lancelot of Camelot. I suppose I'll have to call you something. I have some suggestions- Henry? William? Darry?"
The boy ignored him, concentrated on his dinner. Lancelot let it go, since his own attention was elsewhere. With one question- What now?
By all rights, the boy was now his responsibility. Overall, the children will handed off to Lady Elena, where protection was guaranteed in the great fortress. The boy will be fine there. But what will happen after? He didn't even know his name.
Lancelot remembered how he was all on his on at age thirteen after his home was wiped out. He did not want this child to wonder about alone. Or to not know his own fate.
Lancelot then said "Do you know of Camelot?"
The boy eyed him as he swallowed the stew. Well, he was listening.
"It is where I hailed, but it wasn't always so; before I was drifting from all over the kingdom. It was that way after my own home was gone." He stirred the contents in his own bowel. "It was strange how I decided to become a knight then. But I wanted to become someone who would protect others. And when I first did it, get knighted, it wasn't even from my own name."
The boy just stared at him.
"Long story. Perhaps I will tell it to you one day. And I still need to call you something."
Lancelot tended to the fire, throwing in another log in.
" Do you like Peter? How about after the king, Arthur?"
Lancelot then heard a whisper.
Lancelot turned to the boy. "Pardon?"
"Galahad," the boy looked straight at him, "My name is Galahad."
"Hello Galahad."