Chapter Four: Uther's Foster Son

Hearing his name called, Kay lifted his head. Although it was quite impolite to do so without the king’s response, Kay was so familiar with King Uther that he paid no mind. He was certain Uther would not punish him for such a minor breach, despite the king’s notorious reputation as a tyrant.

“Arthur?” Kay said uncertainly as he saw the tall, golden-haired boy before him. After all, when Kay left, Arthur was only eight or nine years old; ten years was more than enough for a person to change completely.

“It’s really you! Kay!” Arthur paid no heed to protocol. Once he confirmed the man before him was indeed his brother, he dashed forward recklessly and threw his arms around the standing Kay. “It’s really you! My brother. I knew it, I just knew you wouldn’t break your promise! You’ve really come back! You’ve really come back!”

Kay stood there with a hint of helplessness, catching his impulsive younger brother. Even at his age, Arthur still liked to leap onto others—where he picked up such a habit, no one knew. But upon hearing Arthur’s excited words, Kay’s expression softened, and he smiled warmly, embracing Arthur and patting him firmly on the back.

“Of course! A knight never breaks his word!”

After a brief embrace, Kay gently set Arthur down. Arthur realized this display, while heartfelt, was somewhat improper—jumping onto someone like that wasn’t dignified, especially for a knight now grown beyond childhood.

Setting Arthur aside, Kay smiled as he approached King Uther. Though the king was also deeply moved, expecting him to react as unreservedly as Arthur would have been out of the question—Uther’s stern demeanor was not one to be softened easily. Kay knew well the king’s pride and decided to take the initiative to greet him.

Approaching the king, Kay embraced him firmly and patted his shoulder, speaking softly, “I’m back, Uther.” (This was not disrespect but a familial address, common in foreign lands, especially in ancient times.)

Only then did King Uther tremble slightly, extending his hand to gently stroke Kay’s hair, his voice thick with emotion. “It’s good that you’re back. It’s good that you’re back.”

…

The crowd began to murmur in hushed tones at this unexpected turn of events. Some, confused by the situation, whispered among themselves, trying to understand what was happening.

Merlin was among them. He discreetly tugged at the arm of Sir Leon and asked in a low voice, “What’s going on here? Who is this Kay?”

Leon lowered his voice as he realized it was Merlin. “He’s King Uther’s adopted son, the third son of Sir Ector, known as Sir Kay the Lionhearted. He left Camelot ten years ago, saying he would travel the world. No one expected him to return today.”

Due to the inappropriate setting, Leon offered only a brief explanation. Merlin, however, was special in Camelot. Though a servant, his status was far from low. He was the apprentice to Gaius, the court’s esteemed apothecary whose reputation was immense. This learned healer was not only a master of medicine but also a key advisor to the king, granting him high rank. Additionally, Merlin was a page to the prince. Such a position held great potential within the court, for pages were the prince’s closest companions. Though Merlin was of common birth, once Arthur ascended the throne, his standing could change dramatically.

Moreover, Arthur’s personal relationship with Merlin was very close, evident in how the prince always kept him nearby. Leon did not regard Merlin as an ordinary servant.

Merlin understood that Leon could not reveal too much at this moment, but at least he had conveyed the crucial information: this Kay was extraordinarily close to King Uther’s family.

Yet Merlin was puzzled—why had Arthur never mentioned this Kay before?

…

King Uther was not one to indulge in sentimentality. On the contrary, this rigid and stubborn middle-aged man was uncomfortable expressing his emotions. So, after their brief warmth, Uther quickly suppressed his excitement. Clearing his throat, he pointed at the now unconscious griffin and commanded the others, “Kill this monster!”

Having given the order, King Uther grabbed Kay’s hand, intending to return to the palace with his adopted son.

“Wait! Don’t kill it! I finally managed to catch it!” Kay hurriedly stopped the soldiers’ movements. “My King, this is my prey, and I have the right to decide its fate.”

At Kay’s exclamation, nearly everyone stared in astonishment at the brave warrior. This was not merely because Kay had dared to fight and defeat a griffin, but because he openly defied King Uther’s command.

In Camelot, such defiance was far rarer than the courage to battle a griffin.

Surprisingly, King Uther did not punish Kay as he usually would for such insubordination. Instead, he looked puzzled and asked, “This is a monster. Why do you want it? It’s too dangerous, Kay. The best way to deal with such creatures is to kill them.”

Uther’s attitude shocked everyone, including Merlin. This was not the Uther they knew. Merlin, as a mage, had long detested and even loathed Uther’s treatment of magic. Many like Merlin had been executed under the king’s orders, innocent of wrongdoing, yet condemned all the same.

Here, in contrast to the stern and cold king they knew, Uther was unusually reasonable when dealing with Kay. Merlin recalled that even Arthur could not disobey Uther’s orders, much less openly oppose them before so many witnesses.

“I need a mount. My horse was eaten by this creature. It made me walk for five days and nights, and…” Kay gestured to the armor he wore. “Besides this, I don’t think there’s anything else that could carry me.”

Only then did Uther take the time to examine Kay’s armor closely.

It was magnificent, adorned with exquisite patterns and mysterious runes unfamiliar to him. The craftsmanship and forging techniques were beyond what any artisan in the British Isles could produce.

The armor’s weight also caught Uther’s attention. It was far thicker than ordinary knightly armor. He believed Kay’s claim—this suit must weigh at least three or four hundred pounds, far too heavy for an ordinary horse to carry a knight clad in it.