Sword of the Rightful King by Jane Yolen

to choose a May Queen to serve next year. They do not like this years choice.” He made a face.
    â€œAnd why not, my lord?”
    â€œKay says she giggles.”
    â€œGiggles?” Merlinnus sucked on his lower lip. “Of course she giggles. All girls giggle. I do not understand.”
    â€œHow can you, you old celibate? But it is not this year’s girl they are concerned with. I think they are hoping to thrust someone on me as my queen. They have drawn up a list of those qualities they think she should possess, this paragon, this perfect woman. Kay wrote it down.”
    Kay
, Merlinnus thought disagreeably,
is the only one of that crew who
can
write
. He took the list and scanned it. “Head... waist... hips, calves.” He shook his head in disgust. “It sounds more like a shepherd’s list. Or a butchers.”
    By his side Gawen stifled a giggle.
    â€œThey are trying—” Arthur began.
    â€œThey certainly are.” Merlinnus handed the list back.
    â€œThey are trying to be helpful,” Arthur said curtly. He finally looked at the boy, studying him for a full minute as if trying to fathom who the child was. “And who is this fey bit of work?”
    The boy bowed again, though none such was called for. “I am called Gawen, sire. I have come to Cadbury to learn to be a knight. I know how to ride and I am stronger than I—”
    Arthur rolled his eyes and turned to the old mage, interrupting the boys speech. “Is he to be yours? He is too small for knighthood. And too... slight to even apprentice to a smith or an ostler.” Then he looked back at Gawen thoughtfully.
    Merlinnus knew what Arthur meant. That whatsoever it was the boy had come for, he was certainly not built to be a fighter.
Better to claim him now before he breads his heart on helm, aventail, byrnie, gauntlet, greaves. Before he is bullied and broken by the master of swords
.
    â€œSire, I am not afraid. I will for certain grow.” The boy was almost in tears. “I
must
learn to be a knight. I
must
become one of your Companions.”
    Arthur leaned toward him and spoke quietly but with complete authority. “To be a squire takes patience. You must spend years cleaning the leather, polishing the steel. And years more working with lance and sword. Then, and only then, you may become worthy of being someone’s household knight. But even though you make knight, you will perhaps never be a Companion. For the most part they are lords of the realm.”
    Merlinnus was silent throughout this recital, eyes on the boy and his reaction. Gawen stood absolutely still, as attentive as a fox following a hare.
    Arthur continued, “There are but a few places at the table reserved for others, who by heroic effort and not by blood deserve to sit there. Is it not enough, boy, to have come to Cadbury to serve?” By the end of this speech—a long one for Arthur—his voice had softened as if he felt some kind of pity for the boy. Then he turned his steely eyes back to the mage.
    Merlinnus thought,
Better to keep the boy close, whoever he is
—
minstrel, runaway, or fledgling spy
. “He is mine, sire.”
    Gawen looked sharply at the old man. “But, Magister, I would learn the sword. Really, I am stronger than I—”
    Merlinnus allowed himself a small smile. “For whatever work you wish to do here, know this: The mind is sharper than any blade. And like a blade, it has edges and a point. Be content with me, child. You shall use your strength in my service and it will serve us both well.”
    Gawen got that sulky look again, like a spoiled child who has been denied a sweet.
    â€œHow old are you, boy?” Arthur asked suddenly. And before Gawen could answer, Arthur began battering the boy with questions, as if proving his own mind sharp as a sword. “Are you a Christer, a Grailer? Or do you worship Mithras or the Mother? Are you well-bred?” He turned