#and that may be true for her and the knights of the round table

[justaz]

oh fuck merlin following after arthur for five seasons, at his heel following him into every battle, every fight, every quest without regard for his own safety. arthur dying on the shore of that damn lake and merlin dying with him but his body remains. arthur goes to avalon and merlin is forced to stay on earth. merlin can’t follow arthur this time. this is one journey merlin and arthur can’t take together. two halves split and kept apart for over fifteen hundred years. goddamn it. these fucking assholes never fail to make me cry. i hate them i hate them i hate them i hate them

[queer-ragnelle]

could you please elaborate on how anachronisms are a feature not a bug? It's probably an issue of "kill the cop in your head" but despite knowing others have done it I find it difficult to accept *I* can mix elements from 1200s france and 600s england (for example).

The Arthurian literary tradition has never been Historical Fiction. Ever. And for many, it's not a detriment, but part of the appeal!

Sure, there are some Arthurian books that set out to be Historical Fiction, that is, pinpoint the era during which their story takes place and sticking to it. They may include historical figures to help immerse the story in that era. That's all well and good. But those stories contain anachronisms. Arthurian Legend has always "mixed elements" of the author's current era with their limited understanding of the past, it has always contained magic, it has always contained characters firmly cemented in mythos that were never considered to have really existed. It's a literary tradition built upon the stories which came before, not a transcription of factual events because we frankly don't even know squat about who Arthur "really was," if he existed at all.

I understand your perspective, I really do. I briefly had an editor who suggested female knights weren't Historically accurate so I should write them out. Gromer and Merlin both perform magic in the prologue, the events pertaining to the Green Knight are mentioned, but gender-neutral language when referring to knights (who this editor insisted should all be cis men) was a step too far. Around the same time, I had a sensitivity reader suggest that Gawain wasn't racist enough to Ragnelle (a Persian woman) and he should call her, his future wife, in my queer romance book, "a savage." Hand to my heart Anon that's a quote I had to read on my manuscript with my own two eyes. And I say to these people, "Are you lost?" Because even though I disclosed the nature of my books before letting these people read it, clearly it wasn't a good match. Literally kill the cop in your head and protect yourself from anyone who makes it more difficult by insinuating the Historical accuracies should be upheld, especially as it pertains to misogyny or racism. Excuse my French, fuck them and fuck that.

This hesitation to write "mixed elements" can come from the false idea a "true" or "objective" way to write within a Historical Era exists. There simply isn't. Unless you have a time machine, you will inevitably rely on anachronisms to bridge gaps both narratively and because the information simply doesn't exist.

Let's use your example to talk about narrative anachronisms first. Say you're writing in 600s Britain (since England didn't exist yet) but you want your character to stand in the stirrups. Ah nuts, they didn't have stirrups yet! That's okay. We're gonna borrow the stirrups from 1200s French version of the stories so your character can do what they need to do. Persia Woolley did this exact thing in her first book Child of the Northern Spring; she wrote Palomides into the story as a means for the Round Table to receive stirrups from the East and this upgrade is something which gave Arthur's knights an edge over others. Another instance could be women riding sidesaddle. Generally speaking, it was meant to keep women's knees together for the sake of modesty, but it also made sense from a practical standpoint as riding astride with ankle-length skirts was cumbersome and simply never done... or was it?

My good friend Alisoun from The Wife of Bath rides astride! Geoffrey Chaucer you madlad!! So while the general Historical fact, that women rode sidesaddle, still stands, they did so except when they didn't! Is this used to mark Alisoun, a fictional woman, as unconventional? Yeah, duh. So it would still be Historically accurate to have the majority of women riding sidesaddle. Alisoun can do things real women of this era weren't allowed to. But the point is this illumination casts doubt on the idea such a thing was unheard of. A woman riding astride wasn't automatically descended upon by a mob that stoned her to death. You can write her riding astride and no misogyny happens. The same could be said for female or transmasc knights, as I explained here. So you can write in a reason why this specific anachronism is present in your story, (Palomides brought the stirrups, Alisoun is a bad bitch who does what she wants, Marine and Silence are proof of GNC knights, etc). It might put you at ease about including it.

But you simply cannot do it for everything. You would spend more time reassuring the reader you're aware of the inaccuracies than you would be telling your story. Every Historical Fiction author in the world can corroborate this.

Even the most serious and intensely research heavy Historical Fiction will contain anachronisms. It's literally impossible to be 100% accurate. Let's say you scour contemporary sources like letters or writings, you're still forced to interpret those either through the inevitably biased author and/or whoever translated it (their word choice, what passages they omitted, etc). (I had to navigate this myself while researching Iranian Zoroastrians through Arabic-written sources, ie, the conquerors' interpretation of the people they sought to eradicate. On top of that, the text is then translated into English for me to read it. The document I end up researching from becomes many steps removed from authenticity, and yet it's all there is; the Avestan or Persian language texts with first hand accounts are scant to none, and also translated into English.)

Best case scenario: you have an artifact, in hand. You can still only glean so much from something that's degraded over many years, something that may be an outlier in and of itself, the authenticity of which could only be corroborated through the help of an expert, someone who is, just like you, living in the present and must make educated guesses with the resources available (carbon dating, context clues, chemical testing of materials, etc).

So sure, you could read in the documentation that this Historical figure had a mustache. A comb alleged to be used for facial grooming was found, which may lend weight to the supposed accuracy of the writings. But unless the documentation also says what color the mustache was, and the length, and the style, and during what point in this person's life they wore the mustache, and whether they also had side burns and beard, your interpretation is based on an inference and likely anachronistic. Even if you have a really detailed text, that's one source. That Medieval author could be a big liar! Maybe they got carried away embellishing their favorite king! Or they cut out the parts which made their favorite king look bad! Or they slanderously depicted their enemy king as depraved to make their favorite look even better by comparison! Every writer has their own agendas. We have no way of knowing the extent of it!

Now I want to circle back to anachronisms that aren't tied to a story element but perhaps something as simple as bridging cultural gaps or practical means in the story itself. By that I mean you cannot know every detail of their lives. What exactly did their Church services look like? How exactly did the nobles' spirituality differ from the lower class? We cannot know for certain and will inevitably fill in the blanks with what we understand of Christianity today. You will more than likely include foods they didn't eat out of necessity because the resources are so scarce or limited or for your own sanity. In book 2, I wrote Agravaine describing something to Ragnelle as "the color of a carrot." Well. They didn't have carrots back in 6th century Britain. They were imported through trade with the East which was a long time coming yet when Agravaine said this. Early Medieval people had other root vegetables, but what were they called? What color were they? Certainly not neon orange carrots thick as the hilt of a sword like we have today. But I left this in anyway because it's a single line. It's so brief as to be insignificant, it's meant to quickly call to mind a color the reader can identify easily. It works on a subtextual level as well since Ragnelle, a Persian woman, would know what a carrot is in the 6th century. So it's only half anachronistic. To me.

On the other hand, in book 1, Gawain and co are in Persia. There Owain and Gaheris eat peaches for the first time. They call them "stone fruit," as they've encountered other fruits with pits, but not these. Gromer, a native, explains they're called "peaches" and they come from China (a place he has personally visited, so he knows). None of these words would've been in Medieval dialogue, but the History of that fruit, which we now call a "peach," is sound. Because it's a moment of cultural connection, and Owain is shown carving peach pits for the rest of the book, and still doing so in book 2, grounding this in as close to Historically sound facts as I could was important.

Now if Owain wanted to bring that peach pit back to Britain and grow a peach tree for his wife Laudine, could that happen? Well, Britain's weather conditions are not at all appropriate for it and the soil probably isn't right and he's not exactly known to have a green thumb. But anachronisms are a feature, not a bug. It's not an "inaccuracy" to write this successful endeavor because I did it on purpose! It is "accurate" to my story! Not an oversight, but a creative choice made with intention. Now I've extended the use of the "prop" and maintained that cultural connection I went out of my way to include. Perhaps later, once Ragnelle has settled at Camelot, she would enjoy a piece of fruit from her homeland as a gift from Laudine. Now the whole thing has come full circle and become enmeshed with the story in such a way the readers won't say "Hey! How does Laudine have a functioning green house in 6th century Britain? That's absurd!" Yeah, well, not any more absurd than Owain's pet lion or his battle with a dragon.

I think this is perfectly okay to do even if you don't have the magical elements. Nothing in the exchange about carrots relies on fantasy. The peaches don't either, not until there's suddenly a functioning greenhouse made of perfect panes of glass. People did travel great distances even in that era. You're not obligated to point to a specific instance of this thing happening Historically for it to be valid in your story. Arthurian authors have literally never been concerned with that. More importantly, neither have the readers! But there are exceptions to many of the "rules" or preconceived notions Historically which can help support your narrative choices if you desire to seek them some of the time. You have a few Modern Arthurian authors writing Historical Fiction, but Bernard Cornwell also included magic and a ton of characters from the Mabinogion, Edward Frankland did the same with Gwalchmai and Olwen, and Henry Treece wrote Cuneglas so strong he could T-pose with two grown men standing on each arm as a display of his strength. Push those boundaries, everyone is! It's fun!

Reading more will help. You'll be able to see what your boundary of anachronisms are. What irks you while reading? What did you notice as inaccurate and not care about? What anachronisms did you enjoy best? Researching a lot will also help. Get a very thorough understanding of the era and location you intend to write in. Then you'll better understand where the gaps in knowledge lies and what you'll have to add anachronistically to fill them. I assure you no one is going to be angry if you write Gringolet as a big beautiful stallion instead of a more Historically accurate little fluffy pony. You'll drive yourself crazy if you get hung up on every detail.

That's all I got. Arthurian Legend frees you from this "Historically accurate" headache. If you're still having trouble, perhaps ask yourself if you what you actually want to be writing is Historical Fiction instead. That's totally cool too! But nobody who enjoys Arthurian Legend is concerned whatsoever with Historical accuracy and you shouldn't be either. So write whatever pleases you! Take care, I hope that helps clear things up a little. :^)

[noneatnonedotcom]

gonna play some vidya but before i do I'm gonna roll up Profesor Arc

a version of our lovable noodle who was the rusted knight first then showed up at beacon. i get one free pick and 2 random rolls. lets see how our boy does and then I'll let you know how I picture the story changing.

first pick

Peerless: (800CP) The knights of Britain are renown for their skill, power and honour. The knights of the Round Table exemplify Britain’s virtues to an even greater extent. You? Lancelot at his height is the only one you can call a peer and he doesn’t remain there for long. Few men are as perfectly well rounded as you. Your physical abilities are enough that you could fight powerful adult dragons and demons to a draw with your bare hands or even win if you added a good weapon to your side. You’ve got unbelievable levels of martial skill in both offense and defense, across two dozen kinds of weapons, such that even without your physical abilities being so great you could slay armies. You have strategic and tactical abilities that let you lead small forces to crush far larger ones and can even make a good substitute for a king if your liege needs to spend a few months away at war, though you are far below the sort of king that can create a golden age. You have a high level of natural talent at any skill or ability you try your hand at and find it very easy to learn and train to become better at new things, quickly surpassing even the most venerable of warriors in their specialties. Of course, you would not be peerless if you did not also look the part. Among all the men in the world, only the divine could outmatch your physical splendour and even then, only by a touch. Your king might frown on the hordes of maidens that lust after you but you really can’t help it, as you gather admirers and love interests even when fully armoured and masked. Just something about you.

chose this one because we're going with the assumption that jaune grew into his roll as the rusted knight since he didn't slowly go mad waiting for rwby. he spent his time in the ever after learning to be a hero and helping people just for the fun of it.

we also know he's already something of a lady's man so that's just turned up to 11 now.

random roll 1

Dark Teacher: (200CP) Teachers have a great deal of power, given they are the source of each proceeding generation’s greatest warriors, magicians and leaders. Rarely is this more true than it is for you. A teacher like few others, those who study under you find that they learn as if they had enormous talent for anything you teach them, picking up everything from the combat arts to the spells of the far off Norse with lightning speed. Even faster this grows should you welcome them into your bedchambers and give them the gift of your thighs. You are particularly charming to any student you have in that manner indeed, and find that even those not yet your student will feel a growing desire to become such as your own fame for great skill and power grows.

alright so jaune's a really good teacher in this, and it speeds up if he sleeps with his students.... someone call @evenmorefatallyobsessed

seems like we're using his version of professor Arc for this lmao

random roll 2

All The King’s Horses: (100CP)A godly being like you deserves a godly steed to travel, and while you may possess an Authority to do so already, another item may prove useful in some cases. For that, this legendary mount is yours to use. Able to break the speed of sound easily while protecting all passengers and possessing a small but effective amount of firepower to defend you when you need it. The exact aesthetic depends on you, maybe you want a flying horse or a small dragon or a vimana. Regardless, the specs will be the same.

juniper made it out and is all the stronger for it! able to break the sound barrier is way faster than she used to be. and while riding on her back jaune's protected from the air and such. jackalope op

alright with that out of the way, lets move on to what this would have changed in the show.

jaune's past in this would be a built up mystery with hints of his time as the rusted knight shining through for eagle eyed fans who pay attention and know the lore. the story of the rusted knight would be brought up a lot in the first season and the good professor would always be a bit cagey about whether he likes the books or not.

as for character changes? not much, yeah he didn't know about aura still and does have to go get it unlocked before he takes the job, but he's basically just a normal teen who got back from an isseki adventure. he's got more hobbies related to equestrainism with juniper and practicing his skills but for the most part he's still just a comic loving dork who wants to make friends.

that's another thing jaune's gonna be physically 17 in this still but being much more solidly built and having longer hair he looks more mature.

the main joke around jaune is how much his students wanna jump his bones. he's like the male goodwitch in how everyone who's into guys just can't look away. his amazing skills at teaching just make everyone want him more. and when he goes out of his way to help them? well they can't not fuck him now can they?

jaune himself still doesn't get the hints, or maybe he just doesn't wanna sleep with his students. either way main joke of those new rwby would be professor arc fan service constantly coming up.

on the other hand he's utterly terrifying in combat. literally pearless in everything except aura usage and he's learning that fast. his time in the ever after changed him so he's just built different now.

the plot would be a lot of the same at first, team rwby learning to deal with each other and ruby learning to lead. pyrrha might not be his partner but she defiantly seeks him out for some private training when she can. yang will not give up on the various pick up lines/ jokes she uses on the professor though and blake thinks jaune can see right through her and knows her past.

the joke there will be that he doesn't. he really didn't think it was his business to get into his student's private lives unless they wanted him too. weiss tries to be prim and proper around him but secretly ships him with winter.

nora and ren like him. he's nice and will even help teach them or train with them for combat class. pyrrha being the only one who consistently asks for training (everyone else is too caught up in looking at jaune lol) means that they spend a lot more time around him than the average students.

people just assume juniper is an animal from out in the wilds that they've never seen before and jaune unlocked her aura so that's why she's so fast, she got a semblance.

volume 2 is where the mystery of professor arc starts getting investigated each member of team rwby imagines his mysterious past from his paperwork differently (ie in different genres of stories) and as they investigate more their theories get more elaborate sometimes jumping to entirely new genres as well, but this is the b plot of the second season. the main plot is white fang stuff with jaune proving he's absolutely terrifying on the battle field and acting as a deterant. leading the two teams on various practice missions. to handle grimm, jaune and qrow have a bromance

volume 3 we get teases that jaune might be a villain but it's a red haring the fall still happens but jaune's much more proactive and pyrrha survives, cinder still becomes the fallmaiden but has to flee when jaune shows up. yang never looses her arm but still gets her ass kicked. blake still runs off, weiss is taken back home. jaune and tai have a bromance

volume 4 lots of side quests for jaune ruby yang pyrrha ren and nora. with jaune still teaching them they're now way stronger than they were in cannon and pyrrha finally gets her man now that he's not technically their teacher anymore. ruby sleeps with him soon after. yang doesn't feel like it, still down after everything and hunting for her mother. series finally is jaune fighting cinder and raven at the same time unlocking his semblance to be truly busted. jaune and qrow have a bromance

volume 5 jaune is asked by ironwood to protect the lower city with it's wall down. jaune's happy to help but dealing with the grimm is a full time job and no one is quite sure what to do without him. ruby is forced into a leadership roll with everyone back. and we learn that jaune really was the rusted knight. pyrrha and ruby both advance so fast the others start to joke it's because Jaune finally gave them the right motivation. ozpin calls ironwood from a land line, turns out that when he dies he reincarnates in a baby's body. no soul to absorb but even just sitting up and getting his eyes to focus right is impossible right now. he'll have to remain hidden until he's old enough to fight. all he can offer is wisdom. salem attacks but thanks to everyone working together is repeled. especially after jaune explains that they could just cut her to pieces and freeze the pieces as a win condition. sure it won't last forever but he figures they could get a cool couple of centuries out of it, and if they make it to space they can just leave her to drift out there forever.

volume 6 ruby want snu snu! pyrrha want snu snu! jaune thinks they should actually talk about what their relationship is.

... qrow and jaune have a bromance as they all travel to vaccuo.

main thing here is jaune doesn't actually change the plot points too much even being op, he's just one man and a jackalope at the end of the day. what effect he does have on the plot comes from pyrrha and ruby being more effective heroes since they have more training from jaune. picking up all sorts of skills from him even before the sex based power up.

but that's just me

@heliosthegriffin @howlingday @weatherman667

how would you write this version of jaune? specifically as a character in the show and what all would you change about the show.

also peerless plus dark teacher would be overpowered in the [Worm] universe for an alternate greg. yeah he's not a legendary king but he could lead an order of knights in the grim dark world of superheroes . at least stop things from getting worse. though greg would probably pull an eminence in shadow and be more preoccupied with playing superhero than truly fixing the world. such is the problem of being a 15 year old. that combination would be really interesting in a 40k character though, especially if he's not a primarch or space marine but a normal human able to train other humans to the same ish level

[r0ckstar00]

EXCALIBUR'S WRATH (Sonic and the Black Knight 2)

Everyone knew the tale.

The tale of a cobalt hedgehog, drifting in from another dimension, swooping down to rid the world of plague that had haunted them for years. The tale of a witch obsessed with immortality and afraid of the changes her kingdom may face. The tale of how the hero ended up the "bad guy", the opposition ending her delusion and restoring the world the way it should be.

Yes, everyone knows that tale. But there is one that no one ever speaks of - one far more significant than the former. One that changed the world for good.

This... is the tale of Excalibur's Wrath.

Do you dare to fight again?

When Camelot recovers from their gruesome battle with the Dark Queen, another sinister evil lurks from underneath. From the dark army reappearing from thin air to the disappearance of the all-powerful sword Excalibur (or Caliburn as he much rather prefer to be called), the Knights of the Round Table are at a loss.

Who is this enemy?

With no answers and far too many questions, they all decide to recall King Arthur otherwise known as the trusty cobalt hedgehog named Sonic the Hedgehog. Perhaps in their time of need might he shine the brightest.

But without the power of Excalibur, Sonic fears that he may not be able to stop the looming doom that taints the world with its dark color. With a dire situation lingering over his head, will he have the strength to push back? Or will he be overcome with powerlessness, unable to fight back?

A/N: Surprise. Sequel to Sonic and the Black Knight 2! This will be my home page for all the chapters and information you might need in order to understand some things in the book (and me too because I know NOTHING about old tales the sword in the stone).

This idea only came to me as a joke. I started saying like “what if I wrote a sequel to a game that doesn’t really need one?” and so then the gears in my brain started to turn and I came up with this.

And so, this idea has been nurtured so much that I would HONESTLY say that this could work as an actual game. I would put it on the switch for convenience (cause the Wii is a little outdated as of now lol), but it could so work. All it needs is Jason Griffith and a whole lot of coding.

Enough of me talking, though. I’m sure you want to know the cast. And might I say I’ve introduced nearly 5 new characters into the world of Camelot, a few you’d be surprised to see.

I also have a few more side notes; since this is basically fan-made there WILL be implied ships. Which ones? I’ll let you figure that out. ~

MAIN CAST (I’ll put descriptions for them later)

King Arthur / Sonic

The King of Camelot. Dubbed the Knight of the Wind in the past, this speedy hedgehog grew to take over the kingdom in a long, treacherous journey that involved various risks. Seeing his potential and bravery to fight for an unknown land, Caliburn - now Excalibur - had decided to grant him the title of King. However, nothing can keep this hedgehog in one spot for long, so he's unable to run his kingdom properly. Although he is the true King, Merlina manages everything he can't.

Merlina

The "co-ruler" of Camelot. Once a tyrant obsessed with the idea of immortality, she now spends her days rebuilding the kingdom that she almost destroyed. She makes decisions for the kingdom in King Arthur's absence and takes charge of the Knights of the Round Table. Merlina wishes to become the best mage in the world to protect her newfound kingdom from harm, and she will stop at nothing to do so.

Sir Lancelot / Shadow

The first Knight of the Round Table. He was the first knight that King Arthur faced, and perhaps even his most loyal follower. Sir Lancelot fights beside him chivalrously, ensuring that his King is not hurt in any way, shape or form. After Arthur's unfortunate departure, he finds himself introverted - perhaps longing for the battles he used to have. He takes it upon himself to fight for the kingdom, even if Arthur isn't around.

Sir Gawain / Knuckles

WIP

Sir Percival / Blaze

WIP

Sir Galahad / Silver

WIP

Sir Lamorak / Jet

WIP

Lady of the Lake | Nimue / Amy

A water deity residing in the Deep Woods, the adoptive mother of Sir Lancelot and Exalibur's original owner, Nimue has a lot of things going for her. She often guides newcomers, the Knights of the Round Table or even King Arthur himself with her words of wisdom, preferring that to the gruesome battles the others face. However, she is not unwilling to use her magic to protect the ones she loves.

Griffin / Tails

The townspeople's blacksmith. Although he's rather young and scrawny, Griffin has been known to be able to fix anything brought into his shop which often comes in handy when the Knights of the Round Table need it. He's known to have certain complex inferiority issues, though all that is pushed aside when he looks at his weapons and armor in action.

Orella / Rouge

A winemaker and a collector of fine jewels and rarities. She's independent, rather bossy, and knows just how to sweeten people over with only a few words and a certain look. She runs the largest wine business in Camelot and gets intel from every place on the map. Perhaps she'll share it with you... if you give her something in return.

Adelaide / Cream

A lonesome child wandering through the forest in search of her mother who she only has memories of. She's a master of the wilderness, knowing which berries are poisonous, knowing which plants you cannot touch under any circumstances, and she even knows how to survive on her own all at the tender age of six. There is also a secret she hides deep within her - one that she must not let anyone see, lest someone abuse it.

Raziel / Espio

Being a scribe and a poet isn't easy, especially when witnessing the downfall of both King Arthur and the Dark Queen. He has information about everything - whether it be the sacred legends of time, or even just about any place on the map. Any practical information he has, he's willing to share with anyone he deems acceptable and worthy. But if you also wanna listen to his poems too, that's acceptable.

Kazamir / Metal Sonic

An underling created by Mordred to keep the knights at bay. He was created with the speed and dexterity of Arthur, and to the naked eye, the two could even be mistaken as twins. It's only when they look up close do they realize that he's completely made out of painted metal - and remnants of dark magic.

Mordred

An ancient spirit set from decades ago, desperate to rule the kingdom that was selfishly taken from him by the original King Arthur. A master of dark magic, manipulation, and someone with a whole army by his side, he will stop at nothing to take back the kingdom that was rightfully his.

[dakukabi]

Sir Palomides, Knight of the Round Table

Lancer Class, 4*

While the story of Tristan and Iseult is often seen purely as Tristan having an affair with his uncle, King Mark's, wife, there was but another party involved in this romantic scandal. That was Palomides, Iseult's original lover - although perhaps these feelings were one-sided from the very beginning. While Palomides was flooding her with gifts and singing her songs, Iseult's eyes turned towards the man she rescued from the cruel clutches of her uncle's poison... a mysterious individual known as Ramtrist. So began Palomides's eternal love-hate relationship with this man, who came to be revealed as none other than Tristan, the slayer of Iseult's uncle.

But that's a story for another day.

This Palomides has manifested imbued more so with his heroic side than his romantic one. While he may fight mostly for worship, he never forgets his kind side, helping those who are unable to help themselves. He's deeply loyal to those who have assisted him in the past, being willing to even lay down his own life for them. Yet, his smug attitude and overly competitive nature are off putting for some.

Another thing Palomides can never forget is his mission, one that extends far beyond his knighthood - he must slay the Questing Beast, as it was foretold. Only he can put a stop to it for good. This duty, too, extends to the Questing Beast - it must eternally do battle with Palomides, until it's stopped for good. Thus, it has broken out from its icy prison, bearing the scars from the battles it has been through with many great knights in the past, and roams the land once more.

These two fated enemies, however, cannot bring themselves to hate one another, to truly thirst for the other's demise. The Questing Beast accompanies Palomides in his manifestation, providing support in battle. Its ever-changing form makes it difficult to grasp its true nature, and according to Palomides, who can see under its fleshy disguise...

"You don't want to know what it actually looks like."

[maxiwaxipads]

hangyon's visit in tuxedo sam kingdom! (1/?)

(edit: changed the 1st part because i wasn't satisfied)

Tuxam - “Milord, you have called for me?” Tuxedo Sam - “You may rise, Tuxam. My Knight of Fragaria—I have prepared a noteworthy gift for you.” Tuxam - “!?” Tuxedo Sam - “—A month-long vacation!” Tuxam - “A—A vacation?” “(Have I offended my lord in any way…? Think back, Tuxam! What was something that could have proved an offense!)” Tuxedo Sam - “Tuxam. You’ve served me long enough.” Tuxam - “(This is it…I feel so disgraced. I can already see myself in a secluded mountaintop where I weep my days away! Having to eat SEEDs for breakfast, lunch, and dinner…)” “B—But my lord, have I offended you in any way…?” “It’s regretful for me to ask, but… What mistake have I made? I will take all lengths to fix it! Is it my behavior? Have I not been thorough with my duties as a knight?” Tuxedo Sam - “Do not prostrate yourself, Tuxam. You haven’t done anything to offend me.” “I see a month-long vacation befitting of your hard work and your time as a knight.” Tuxedo Sam - “It’s in my best interest to see you—and this kingdom, happy!” “I want you to relax and loosen up.” “It is in my order for you to have fun!” “So don’t overthink it, ‘kay?” Tuxam - “M—Milord!” Tuxedo Sam - “T—Tuxam! Don’t cry! Is it an extended vacation you want? Two months?—No! Three months?” “Oh!—You there, could you get me the official papers finalizing the request of Tuxam right here?”

Tuxedo Sam turned back towards his knight.

Tuxedo Sam - "I didn't neglect to impose a paid vacation either!" Tuxam - “…No, it isn’t sad tears. I was just moved by your benevolence!”

The sky hanged drier with clouds since the last meeting with his lordship—the sun still ample with light.

Tuxam - “Loosen up… Loosen up…”

Pacing back in forth, as he repeatedly moved from left to right. “Loosen up…?” A simplicity in words revealed a complex underside that even Tuxam couldn’t solve. "...And to have fun?"

A round room as windows were watched at every edge. The center held a circular-clothed table with an empty chair. A tray of snacks and a piping cup of tea.

Tuxam - “…Even everyone in the palace refuses my help…” “Am I sure I haven’t offended Milord? Even the palace staff…!?” "(His lordship told me to not overthink this, but how can I not...!?)" [Maid 1] - “If I may, Sir Tuxam?”

Stopping his sporadic movement, he turned his direction to the maid who held her hand up in wait. Two maids stood idle by her sides.

Tuxam - “You may speak.”

The maid in question—placed her hand to her heart, smiling with repose.

[Maid 1] - “The citizens, and even the staff here are all thankful for your service—how could we be offended by someone such as you?” “So please, our precious knight—we all agree in Lord Tuxedo Sam that you should be at ease and have fun.” [Maid 2] - “Agreed.” “Why not—”

Whipping in motion, the door slammed!—A few words trickled throughout the halls in echo.

Hangyon - “Oh, Tuxam~!” Tuxam - “HA—HA…HANGYON!?” Tuxam, taken aback. Hangyon - “Ha-Ha-Hangyon~ That has a nice ring to it. But maybe add another Ha- for flavor?” “Anyway, I came all this way just to meet you!”

With pep in his step, he paced forward to Tuxam--clasping his hands together into a fist as he brought them closely to his cheek.

Hangyon -“I thought to myself, ‘I haven’t spent quality time with my dear beloved, TUXAM!’ So here I am!”

Tuxam - “FOR REAL!? …Is this really true?” Hangyon - “Oh, but it is! I relayed this heartfelt woe to Lord Hangyodon,” wiping away his imaginary tears, “and now his presence is with Lord Tuxedo Sam~” Tuxam - “Lord Hangyondon—what am I standing here for…!? What if this impoliteness causes unnecessary strife for Milord—this is unbecoming of me, I have to greet him!” Hangyon - “Calm yourself, little tuxedo knight ~ You weren’t told a thing because I wanted our reunion to be a surprise visit.” Tuxam - “Sur…Surprise visit?” Hangyon - “Yuh-huh! A surprise visit.” “Something to shake you up like a hula-hoop!” Tuxam - “(W—Wait! In the face of surprise, I should remain composed…!)” “Ahem. I didn’t properly conduct myself for a guest who came all the way here. My apolog—” Hangyon - “Relax~ Relax~” “Let’s spend the limited time we have together.” Tuxam - “Would Lord Hangyodon not be offended that I neglected to greet his presence…?” Hangyon - “My lord is the kindest in the world~” “So let’s just save the formalities for later!” Tuxam - “…I’ll take your word for it.” “But if we cross paths, I won’t hesitate to greet his lordship.” Hangyon - “Fine with me~” Tuxam - “And I’ll ignore your transgression for interrupting me.” Hangyon - “Hehe.” Tuxam - “Please. Prepare another chair for Sir Hangyon.” “I’d also like a refill on these sweets.”

It took a slight poise to respond silently, as the maid left the room. A spare chair was seated by the table, while a cup of tea was prepared by a separate maid.

Three maids idled themselves, but there were two as the other left. Hangyon sat himself down.

Tuxam - “Hangyon.” “I’d like your advice on something.” Hangyon - “Advice? You want advice from me? ~♡” Tuxam - “…What exactly does it mean to ‘loosen up’?” Hangyon “Oh!—To loosen up!” “Having fun and being reckless~ That’s what fun means to me.” Tuxam - “Having fun? Being reckless?” Hangyon - “Is it too ‘loose’ for you~?” “Perhaps this is my moment to mentor you? I’d like to be called master from this moment forward!” Tuxam - “NO WAY! I refuse.” Hangyon - “At least an attempt was made~” Hangyon - “But you know this kingdom well, right?” “Maybe if you tour me around, we could find fun that way!” Tuxam - “It isn’t a bad idea.” “OK! It’s decided then!” “I’ll show you around the kingdom, and we’ll ‘loosen up’ when the opportunity arises!”

Hangyon - "Yay~"

Tuxedo Sam's Kingdom: What To Do As a Tourist!

Celebrated as a winter wonderland, even in the face of disaster and advent snowfall—the citizens carry themselves in elegance to honor Tuxedo Sam’s gentlemanliness!

Bargain Jeans will get you fined. But if you manage to pull them off so well, you won't get fined at all...!?

It’s a must-have to at least visit and buy something from the kingdom’s fashion district! Includes things such as clothing, jewelry, hats, shoes, and more!

Filled with specialty cafes and restaurants! The kingdom’s speciality is fish!

The kingdom used to host events outside of the kingdom, like playing hockey at a lake or having a sledding competition, but these events are often a rarity due to the threat of SEEDs.

Coming during December is the best time of year! Christmas within the kingdom starts early and ends at the end of the year. This is also the busiest time of the year for the Tuxedo Sam Kingdom.

Snowball fights, snow angels, and everything to do with winter is also a must-have ♡

[streetrat810]

Knight of Broken Glass, pt I

In the time after Arthur’s fall, when the land lay in ruin, many had lost their way. The lords, once bound by noble ideals, had turned inward, lost in their own power and greed. The Round Table was no more, and Camelot's glory began to fade with the sands of time. In the shadow of that broken age, a boy born of the streets would rise as a knight. His name was Glass.

Glass was a child of hardship. He knew nothing of his father. His mother, a poor widow, struggled to raise him in a world that had turned its back on them when she fell ill. The only moments of true peace that Glass could remember were the times when his mother would whisper stories of Arthur, Camelot, and the Round Table; tales of a world once ruled by honor, justice, and mercy.

Glass’s mother, weary but warm, would lay him to rest after a long day. She’d run her hands through his hair, her voice low but filled with the strength of one who had seen much pain.

"You are my little knight of Broken Glass. The world may be broken, but you have the heart of a knight. Even if the world does not see you as one, you are MY perfect knight."

When all felt lost, it was these moments that Glass would look back on.

Glass lost his mother early in life. They were left to rot while the lords' houses stood warm, their bellies full. His mother had worked hard, but because her labor was insufficient, she died poor and sick on a dirt floor, still telling stories to her precious little knight.

Since Glass was a child, he had felt a restlessness deep inside him, a fire in his chest that he could not put out. Every unjust act, every cruel word from a lord or unjust punishment from a slave owner made his blood boil, yet he was powerless to stop it. He was but one boy, a witness to the world's evil, a boy made invisible by poverty. As he aged, he could feel his hands begin to itch, to grasp at a hilt that wasn’t there. Someone needed to strike down those who had twisted the land and poisoned it against him. How could these weak and evil men turn Camelot into such a mockery of what it once was? 

Glass went forth and wandered the land…

…Many months later

Glass stood alone before the ruins of the Chapel of Saint Illtud, a place where Arthur’s knights once knelt in prayer. His mother had spoken of this chapel, where oaths were sworn in the name of justice and mercy. A chapel where a weary knight could come to seek guidance in times of distress. But those days had passed. The chapel, like the kingdom of Camelot, had been left to ruin.

The stone walls were cracked and crawling with ivy, their carvings worn away. Fragments of stained glass, once vibrant with the deeds of noble knights, now lay strewn across the floor. The altar, though broken, still stood. Above it, the crooked remains of a wooden cross clung stubbornly to the wall. Moonlight spilled through the jagged window frames, and the wind stirred softly, as though the ghosts of the past still lingered.

Glass stepped forward. He could almost see them, the knights who had come before him, standing tall in their gleaming armor, but they were no more. The lords of the land had twisted their memory, wearing the titles of knights while casting aside their oaths. No king ruled with honor. The people suffered, and no one came to their aid.

He approached the altar and knelt. As he looked around him, the shards of stained glass reflected the moon’s pale light and gave him but a glimpse of a boy he’d never see again. He clenched his fists and swallowed, fighting the tremble in his voice. He cried out:

"I swear by all that is sacred!

I swear fealty to no king!

 I will be a knight of the people, for the people!

 I will right the wrongs done to the weak, the hungry, and the helpless!

 I will fight against the injustice and tyranny that poisons this land!

 Though the world may never know my name, I will stand against evil with honor and courage!

 I will never falter, even when my hands are stained with the blood of those who would harm the innocent."

The wind howled through the open archways, and for a moment, it was as if the earth itself had heard his vow, bearing witness to the birth of something new. His words echoed through the hollow space, and then all fell silent.

Tears welled in his eyes, but he did not wipe them away. The burden of his oath weighed heavily upon him, yet he felt no shame in shedding tears. He had no lord to serve, no title to claim—only the memory of his mother’s voice, calling him her little knight of broken glass.

When the tears dried, he rose, the fragments of stained glass glinting like distant stars beneath his feet. 

"What am I to do?" He thought to himself.

"I must rid this land of evil."

[sanctifiedlance]

" Fae Knight Lancelot. Or would you rather I address you by your True Name?"

her words are neither malicious nor doused in mockery. the events of the british lostbelt are known to the king and though she could never truly be on the same page with Morgan, Artoria recognized her ability in being a leader. was it the best kind? to her, no, but she has no need nor want to pass judgement on the former queen nor any of those under her command.

" Whatever your answer may be, I hope we can exist together on friendly terms. Though you aren't the Lancelot of my Round Table, he was a noble knight." small issues, aside, that is.

@robustdragonheart

[nobodyssoldier]

i. a web weaving

ii. digging deeper

name: lydia mai longbotton (née mulciber) 

age: 24

former house: hufflepuff

blood status: pureblood

face claim: kaylee kaneshiro

allegiance: the knights of the round table

gender & pronouns: queer, she/they

your earliest memories are stained with shadows, fragments of a life that feels more like a half-remembered dream. you were born to death eaters who fled north after their master fell. they found sanctuary in the lands surrounding durmstrang, where sympathies for blood purism still ran deep. you remember so little of that time, just scattered pieces that surface in your nightmares. your clearest memory is your last: your mother's desperate pleas as aurors breached your sanctuary, begging them to spare her child even as they dragged her away to answer for her sins. you were six years old, too young to understand why they took your parents, too young to comprehend the weight of their crimes. but you understood love, even then. strange, how hands that dealt in death could cradle with such tenderness, how hearts can harbor both hatred and devotion.

then came salvation in the form of the longbottoms, with their steady hands and patient hearts. hannah's tender touch smoothing away tears, neville's quiet strength keeping nightmares at bay. above the leaky cauldron, you learned to breathe again, to trust again, to hope again. they showed you a different kind of magic — one that grows instead of destroys, that mends instead of maims. you became their youngest child, trailing after siblings like a shadow chasing light, desperate to absorb their warmth. now you pour yourself into healing, into protection, into saving lives. each morning you tie ribbons in your hair with trembling fingers, iron your clothes until every crease disappears — a ritual of belonging, a prayer: please let me be worthy of the love they've given me.

you see good in everyone because you must believe that if there was love in those who bore you, there must be light in all souls. after all, if some are truly beyond redemption, what does that make you? so you believe, fiercely and completely, in second chances, in redemption, in the power of love. because you have to. because you are living proof. but the weight of legacy is heavy, and sometimes guilt gnaws at you like a hungry ghost. you miss them sometimes — your biological parents — and the shame of that longing burns like acid in your throat. how dare you miss monsters? but that love persists, a splinter you can't quite dig from your heart.

when war came, something in you awakened. neville had always said you would grow out of your shell someday, but like him, it took a war for you to finally become who you were always meant to be — a steadfast member of a cavalry of knights. not the loudest, not the bravest, but still staunch and faithful. someone had to be, even when all you wanted was to quiver like a doe caught in headlights. in the knights, you patch up wounds but won't inflict them. your magic refuses to harm; your heart refuses to hate. you would sooner heal a dying wraith than raise your wand against them. you opposed the resurrection because you firmly believe that some magics should remain untouched. death magic is still dark magic, after all, and haven't you spent your whole life running from shadows?

when your siblings left, you stay with the knights — not because you agree with all their choices, but because you still believe in what they can become. because they need a gentle hand to guide them back to the path of righteousness. because your father would have wanted you to. because loyalty runs deeper than fear in your veins. they think you naive and callow, but you feel bone-tired, like all your childlike innocence has fled with the last autumn leaves. something whispers that it's time to be brave and true. you don't know if you're ready, but you straighten your perfectly ironed clothes, adjust the ribbon in your dark curls, and face each day with quiet determination. after all, isn't that what it means to be good? to stand steadfast when the world tilts beneath your feet, to choose light even when darkness sings in your blood?

iii. connections

one. WC , biological siblings — high in the halls of the kings who are gone / jenny would dance with her ghosts / the ones she had lost and the ones she had found / and the ones who had loved her the most / the ones who'd been gone for so very long / she couldn't remember their names / they spun her around on the damp old stones / spun away all her sorrow and pain / and she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave

two. HANNAH ABBOTT-LONGBOTTOM, DAISY ALICE LONGBOTTOM & OLEANDER FRANK LONGBOTTOM , adopted (& true) family — forgiveness is warm. like a tear on a cheek. think of that and of me when you stand in the rain. i loved you completely. and you loved me the same. that's all. the rest is confetti.

three. WC , a longing across enemy lines — i would stay up late with him just for a glimpse of his warmth. maybe he would reach for my knee in a moment where he forgot himself. these tepid exchanges, few and far between, always felt like victory.

four. WC , unlikely best friend — ENID: because we work. we shouldn't, but we do. it's like some sort of weird, friendship anomaly.

[libidomechanica]

Untitled Composition # 12726

A Meredith sonnet sequence

               I

I fell into a boy, and mollify   their own, advances virtues, let us   cull for this, to challenge, few would, or show they were single her mind. Exulting forth, wanting eye, does his dwelling in a new   increase, so long as men can infused, she   stay her weaving, either here comes to time, vague and on this worn bosom beats loud and funked; the wife was tied, did not know, a   man become of metals twain the golden   apples grow; and saying put according to the best of thy works of men—man’s song divine when around it, while the secret   sorrow cloy’d. She knew they could thy shame to   flow, and he liked her Am I your flocks, and darkly on my breast heavenly face.

               II

Quick was the sex were precious, just and sport   I sought fit wordes to pat the sea; and   I mine owne voyces siluer raye hey ho hollidaye, that set may rise again and dance at silver-shoed pale silver clear, the tufted   crow-toe, and Phillis refused into   the enlivener of the shore, in Diana’s stream by which he took her song, in the ground; but some branch of bursting grave forgive   ourselves, or one little boatman slept with   horror, that treasures of hair; inlaid table spread wide pinion’d multitudes she hold were in which thou shalt thou be distill’d: make   sure of raising God invention to die   with sidelong laughing Nature’s changing in his soul then? And the lettuce loved youth!

               III

To find abundantly detestable.   But fouler far than all other treasures   art, how shall remember matins, or, mind you, after night brings me low, makes blacke why wrapt she been content, the maids young Bacchus   through the other hand, as not to hold betwixt   the ill omens of the ragged beggar at another, would bar,—now tread we a measure he’d come down from your faithful   herdman’s art belongs! Love, I have his arm   is withered; next longinge. While Pan and outs of verb and no birds sing made of! Dove withoute longing the Pledge, which made them heart’s-ease   turn’d to thee and hate, if not to bed and   could that we have felt how can your fathers by the stock might give the relationship.

               IV

Together fly from the clime where were left   to solve the knight this a commends the Maker’s   art. But Lambro was a kindness. The time befall, that light the stretched her to my heart—as spring; begin, and sound of Phoebus   face, for aught else, youth, some seed is sown,   if I had stay’d to behold the things, that it will look at the bottom will I be, and nimbly following delight hour and   thee to command—whether throat, eye and knew   they like to the intention must be: where, haps on him? Then did them ran a yellow me the town and round its meaning’s plain truth,   thy constant torrent which in that not? Who   makes me sure, such a chaunge my cherelesse greefe I dye, hey ho the hues of heaven!

               V

Well, well, I neuer taketh rust; whate’er   heardest thou growest in one gentle soul   proceeded on to make so many, the door stands his wayward Babe, and sighing and kind is of a lover would gaze at him   with one sole act, transform’d in finished. You   go the rose, that harbors me and many a man of Onesti’s line, would sigh, with the world, not quite so great that she her milky   stones where they proclaim, till I may see   there was a man who seldom three loved there upon his chief waving settled, I get hungry care’s ane; a Scottish callan! The   good-morrow, hearing late and confines of   all-judging Jove has given by bounty of our best, with becomes a bleeding men.

               VI

And saffron soups, and we entered not true!   I love you. To the rest—save her warlike   mind, to raise and bonny, he shalbe mine. But still she knows! We only hag rejects the beach, a piano at her on my knee   to-night, beauty with his hat over her   behind us that they were a match yet made Anacreon’s song were done, whose shrieks and therefore, till say that a report. Are   skycolor. Let us pent-up creature hath   all the value on it. Had designed, the diapason clouds and impious. A rival place? Impossible musics to thy   self hadst better, knew, but misery? Read   a book through into eternal Wherein all I weep if a Poland fall?

               VII

My cherelesse grief is dim, sorrow cloy’d.   Since floods which in my heat, my blood!, Writ over   the Lady of Shalott. The sun; the palm, or playful lowers the brutal summer by with cypress branches o’er the earth.   These tears our eyes and pure as a patience   strook: for, not chattering while she spake a higher value and obedient wife, in all health perpetual night I feele   the sky; proud, shall remember pearls.—And   would retrace, our parting friend. And she loves and flow’rets of louers neuer known to dine. And did you, when a belovèd’s bed; and   even I, for once it was his fears for   the happy childhood blessed, throat. Till their images of love; and not one or I die!

               VIII

It must not girlish but zombie-lite through   the Levant; except it be nay, four. Phoebe,   his lucid bow, continuing thus invade a Lady’s quiet. Sisters and briers, over the learn some place of Heaven’s   pavement. A-painting hope, now more than to   prevent; nor was its smell the news; the middle of thy celestial song areede: for all the other streams? Your face that spring   sweets off—he’s a certainty, though sweet, and   wisely choosing, for they could a man who seldom fails to win who flatt’ring hope, of course a saint or two cheek a fading rose   shed its Ionian elegance, with the lightened   by his innocence? The silent stream was sent, down to Camelot: for ever.

               IX

Germ of new life, God wot, no villain need   not those dalyings, with wailing that then both   of youthful friends or what shape when Bacchus, young soul was forced away into all but look: already had her lover in motion;   he loved of men; but made the screwball   rocks. Two fan-like fritillaries scarce pluck’d, their sofa occupied three loved his magic sights he was she rode down to a hundred   grant but to his lady-sister Jane;   in bed she her mother, the sights he has number of Dian’s sigh alone in hourly robs from high, wherein the sun, his smile her   mother, the sun, the rest, the largeness of   her sin. Their upper sphere already we rock each other. One makes another way.

               X

And the news; the court shall be well then, that   had drunk himselfe onely by depart,   that your with, does either night, alone, O lake, ’ she sayes she builds up a formidable dyke between thy finger of Heaven!   Through they jests had been, yield up his manacles,   and triumph on the bride: was never tires? It fed. That it might shall be only to one extremest parts, with showers   of that such thy look on the night, we will   curse or muttered prayer; heaven shield of pleasures are as these dark valleys, am grown one of you! A quire of a gentle   lore: therefore with such firm depends up his   mutton. The bride to keep his helmet-feather, whom I’ve wander in the morning bright?

               XI

But by no crime, that should find. Fate; and where   many, and where those huge hamper altogether   is a given. To be their laps, scarcely the nerve of your thread, and the hour! He ask’d to sing, and standing storm. Tis hard   essay, or that’s here? Thick as they are his   world’s most articular fright but a possibility poised at the edge like to sustain immortality. The sea would   the true Hymen the first the island in   the evenings more than she; each under the green. Which we met! With it eternal in his turn: the rising on a chair, think; tis   being in dew limpid eyes and outs of   verb and nothing she did through it be to overtrodden vales, of rocks to where they?

               XII

To let a sisterhood; and, full of late:   o God, or down from above, on earthly   dunghill is freezing age, the wing, it goads me like the Shepherds is destitute the counselled heaven and earth teach or bribe   appear more bright, below the same heart beats   no more, but die at home! The Consul was ne’er refuse this we were a match yet made in them three-fold? Was hapless in her jungle   raging is awful Beauty fair from   him: You will fling the ashes of ours which the finest thing and dance, with such the sun’s decline: with a Bacchant air, present   century was sharpen’d slowly the lily   in the dear life, whom all wo can abide to side; I rally, need my beautifies.

               XIII

That Colin sing. And with the lofty cedars   as thou diedst unwept, and so kinde my   sleep on sight to issue out, and soft seraphic cheeks, crimson joy: and could his own— he was some kind wind shall be my love as   rare as any needless here-spent hours of   prayer-book ready, they safe shall events when yourself arriving at your ease, and told her wrist; it melted from a hook on   the least would at his display’d some I could   nothing, no authentic dew but infamy and view; remarked the fool, the burning Sappho loved but you, cat and good-bye! Upon   thy thoughts lay so as I was once free   burgess of the night, alone, reserving stirs again. Our hearth a little penance.

               XIV

And question, much I fear! And woman thus?   The sacred head of the spacious earth so   pleasing herds that least in th’eclipse, and empty road as you may find, when that molehills seem filled head had a rustic, woodlands   that vast disintegration still within   his sleeve! Black and peace, she to spangle think you have felt so faint moon, yet light to go on from self-defence save thee! And hear; your   thread in a moment in this, survive thee;   and festivity? The morning; long may she died, is no more of snarling, go back, the currant on this brains, how all the stars,   sun, moon, all shaped his parent longs on thy   wand’ring mowers shoulder, with it nor any drooping eyes redemption more the bed.

               XV

Too vehement light to witless majestically   take them. The isles of linger weeping:   what excuse will I sing, and build they are his life, she reader, then. But Shakspeare also says, I wanted thereby I did,   and clasping and daisy, salving thee to   my subject to Time’s hate, weeds among the rag of her head towards common cry, he doom which birth drawer of thee cannot miss, thou shalt   reuiued be, at her first the waste! I made an   atmosphere already familiar, could be country cried: and in lieu my lips to haue for no cause of her grave we played their   title spring, the walled to all meats, and   by old Saturnus’ forelock, by himself with the soul! By the beaty and pea!

               XVI

Thank yourself the year; all those holy antique   hours are the sleeves o’ her head. The chains   as hind towards the scar-tissue she had lost heart his poor treasure, drink one cup of window send flower inscrib’d with great gods! Like   him, to profit while I soliloquize   beyond their sabbaths here, while these valleys. Some this full, through the desert vast with spear and there is more spacious contented seem’st   pillow’d at last; that held her panting and   kissing some experience. Generative errors that only thought I; by no measure; t was wont to governe this I   know, is not bleed they thriue: neuer knew. Then   waiting for all that in the mouthful friend; nor the quiet home to bless us all!

               XVII

Full facing thee,—that if at least the web,   she left me in the hapless you with long   away, you write the white there the merriment of the wit to finishing more upon most fairest the taper fishing-rods   of gold that fine relish sweet, and then sink   downward to a feast, and wine ne’er a ane to peer her. Let the throne more her name, and by night strewn salt across the dove without   a bound, bade him not said I although dark   as night, your berries fairly do enclose of orient pearl and die as fasten’d with a Persian cat and kissed to each other   side of the sky; proud, shall stars are pleasures,   and come to harmony, from a captive, burst out into sudden. Oh, the rest.

               XVIII

So; I love the door, in your minds may suit.   ’Er his young Lochinvar. But bright, suff’ring   that tells the doomed to love thee by my side, to show it was a man who has thrown, still I sing ere long, and strike other what avails   the tears come—falling light, so lively   figures, and coverlet, all the nears, the pulse and clear day with the business well pleased the knight, and then ’twas Bacchus kept housewives   do cry. On her here, and smile upon my   books that after I found her old face new. Among the water-lily bud! Refer the thin clouds, sad children utter, and lines   to the fault or temperate notes, discover   the aisles shouts, I must have thee is laugh and trace its own shock, than to enjoy?

               XIX

—Better fare; and for Perigot is weak   and learned below the still peep of night,   or in her heard that from his helmet and to satirize or flatter, as these times do a fly. Which thy daynties growe, which lets   drop his body as he proffer o’ luve’s   an airle-penny, my tocher’s the golden morning several weeks,—but now of such a nag on, and ever be   beloved by a death like a bent finger-   length grew lucent as Job; and married in high rate, he shows soul! And nothing, lov’d thee, but now to the weary hed: and on my   breathed daffodil, be carefully, for that;   god uses us to help each of different nation shall see my future stately.

               XX

Let Majesty your lutes, and a dark   directed? Sister, seeing a man no doubt,   her first time, there, assembled hate, if not thee, fair maidens whispered out for you in my breast that ilka body too; but, his   gaine is our looks on that burden love’s yoke   is on, and she spread wide pinions; make me for even the shepheards, should more than the tide, so that sacred hymns of loving that   call a bird-understander the death or   of thy delights where it no boon. And solid ground; thus sprang direct!—Thwarted, weary— so I took an humble, but bad acquaintance.   Me dearly to thine to wayle my   word, they start upon a rock, catches the consecrate to this son, but now of death?

               XXI

Of rocks bewitch’d I sure must proue annoy,   all mirth hath proued, in the web was wonder   heard both together beyond the bed. Some said or doomed to see, each in its embrace. This son, we see, you are cooling around   the wellfed wits at Camelot: and if   thence would not a misty hill. On whose dear love, like the world, and me listening which oft hath Echo tired in my own the looks   familiar guest. And my home. Their love, for   I will go by. Nor their fragrant innocence which treats of thee—I am to following centre grew a wife. Or trots by   hazelly shaws and stars we send arrived,   by pure necessity. In hand away for maydens meete: a charming from his ire.

               XXII

Open door: heaven and fair Syrinx in   triumphant iron of how to foresee   them heart’s purest gold; she looked black.—I bade good-night blue hills and feels its lightness from time to be the grace to make the Prior’s   pulpit-place, when once tis hard essay, or   thriue: neuer knowne, a grievous feud hath let thy lip, eye, and climb into this fixed a day in spring-tides full songs thine. Tis something   spoke so still, and bristly bear a woman   can gird more to see which neuer the opening rubies but keep not soft palm— Not so fast! Tis like a hard-set smile, like   vinegar from high, arise, ye more she   was sometimes sleek forth with coral the bearded barley, the woes of hottest Sorrow!

               XXIII

That lives only at nights better have bethought   him vp without defence fro the sky   might pittie winne, and dew upon earth? I think in again, or holla for theirs; but one measure; all must beat her first, and abused   the sweeter it grew, for they appear. That   his return, then of thee—I am to folly and mortal muse thy prison me. Gray beginner; pleasure. When to th’oaks and   floating aught for love? One was full dominion   claim. The little worthy bidden rose, and lightly, sings and take the flat earth a band of lavishly are pleasure past thee   the wind and marked the girl he cast in the   shepherd swains she saw Menalcas come upon me, ’ cried o’er the slow offence’s cross.

               XXIV

And thou shalt, beloved daughters or her   husbandman his head with all were so blackly   fringed, the painted, the warm eve finds a joy above. What we have we, for on the bloom of heavens they shed alone, she   chasing came before his life, and hate, if   not to dig Love’s hate behind he lies by her sire’s; when in dire woe; just such a chaunge my cheeks of barley, the broom, take good   company invited. And so displays,   an Eastern wind, and then yielding to contain held thee for once in the cup with her majestic marrow banks of Earn, and the   hair with men, till they quicker than the restless   her mind. How silent are behind great causes green shall bring them from all ill deeds.

               XXV

Though I want them stupid collector would hinder   converse soft god of pleasant Spring   music,—why adverse parts maintained gloves—wheezed and religious wood; descends. Him vp without hoped to find out thee, young Lochinvar.   Heavily down; there, must descended.   But they say, who have no devotion wait,— haste, haste to blow! Masons, when power had stung the euils both even-song and wishing   more than thou art a lady in his mind   the human heart! And staid, pleased; perhaps, some few years for your victory is mine, when I came, crown’d with half alcohol, to that the   blest? To see his orders to be loved but   you departing man’s search after sunset; blades of Natures the needs, with gown tonight.

               XXVI

A red-cross knight there’s not a tooth in   her time of need I was designed, Heaven.   And to all of fire; and went bore it all alone. Was not to see and happy breast or the poisonous wave and is laid in   a clime where art thou, poor household spies, or   travel for thee they thus addresses even love and look, quite court and crossed, but by their cups with flesh, and endued, by old   Saturnus’ forelock, by himself he close   this morning turned the bloom of life—immortal eyes shall yonder heart the plain; nor, till from the first. About the gadding vintage   hotly pierce some enemy: far forth thou   hast such place, interpret God to all the featherless was bound, melodious tear.

               XXVII

Perhaps a hundred dollars. No bad   examples daily life, shall never a sunrise   mars the want relief, luxuriating on my lips and a long descend the small rate? Wert, that feele his plighted angels   watch the salt sea-spry? And the gesture I   love I shan’t have sung, yet in her bloom, she saw me move, that for the quarter-flowers pale as lips were white like pallid lilies,   flowing delight expired: for ere she leant   a crescent he had no tongue with mingled power, the world—sweet dewy blossoms camouflage for love were curl’d a purple   or pale, snake-like we can, the blockhead ask   for our master. When I lie down in black gowns, were for you in my arbour I die.

               XXVIII

As most vile, but faith in the Zodiac   run, ever in London, you are not   heroines, the innocence: and then decrees of anger, mislaid love, that silent dust, that himself to sing down to love, I have   turn’d as if perchance, and sighed the thunder   clear, there is that brings, with gossip, scandal, and runs not clear as crystal circlings when around her soul doth lingering in a lone   isle, among the nightly on, in some will   once again, where she gazed and what pastimes it was begotten in dire woe; just like what, and white, and sware deuoutly then, that   ear which is nourished. Ah, well for ever   choose but put out broad streams? But that lo’es sae weel his crew! No one dies before the like?

               XXIX

There the frozen,—o dool on the line, yet   should an arrows fly through link’d alike, as   for wealth, in heavenly harmony, this to wed; the walls: this murder half mellow; of azure, pink, and Phillis was the floors   were mine eyes and lantern—for their heads, and   serious matters well; for it had robbed us of immortal man, who bent his sluggish and look, but gazing; and her eyes   and laid her Maker praise, wilt shine envied,   I, lessen my desire, they but perfumed the people never lost will find me out of books, her forehead morning commute?   Let me but young heart, my lassie do wi’   an auld man? Midst other self, and who, and soul, abhorring at my feet the temple.

               XXX

From poets, or there unseen a private   way, at first approaching Friars, my joys&   desire? Therefore cannot be beloved but those who durst frame,—senses roll themselves do cry. Thing low, and there were ye, Nymphs,   when his tongue in its name. Thus strove quite a   picture of range and ugliness, no pearl will to the broad leave her had left the weanling her bell’s that questions to kill or mend   the fall i’d brush the hope of mourning   to habit. But zombie-like, let reason’s rule persuade, name but die at home: the sweet Infanta of the Blest. Clouds o’ertake me   in night, and if of one that Boy, that, or   this what now did her veil’s fine family is a Lambe in the declines, and wont to be.

               XXXI

—There was, and disease, did for changes, and   find a nosegay! Or laugh’d, or toy’d—most   like an injured bird We text, text, text our sight! Last came, but from his life is to a woman was the Jews from the first approach   Love’s hate behind, not let them free, the walls   a blank, his daughters or her feet you hence, a short an age to find, as was the sky, and hot, and in the grave, to be such a   grand sung the four corner when we meet thief   which grows with plumes and his large black and what good in woe, or learn from Heaven there’s its splenetic fire, the violent that b-   b-b-breaks. She found that free though upborne   with gazing; and here demand; here taste seen the rest, nor no day hath lesse quiet glooms.

               XXXII

Are the fire of perfection crowned, though   Epictetus with the bodies in sweetest   Sommer day. Stray: He countries, are in vain he sighs, tears, fits, flirtations bear assuaging, and all with Samian wine! Long night, oft   turning Sappho’s flames, how they loue. While   Europe’s eye is fix’d on mighty reasonable suit mighty titles inward, and what need your nipples in my breast. Wherein all   her home of me, I’ll softly go, like to   say. When, with heavy cheer, wandering round the last agreed, to see such breakes thousand other give, chance or natures, by swamping   them both, for hours my lost hear. I’ll look   at these forest wide is fitter must be gay let a tear. A chiel maun be patience.

               XXXIII

Riding two and twining, and play there was   all a sweet, whose faire a face of which maybe   a collectors always presence made, goodbye to the bath-house lover’s lute, where on earthly pleasant fields among the public   place, cease to secure all observed from its   velvet moss uprose; and let you help me at London, the liked your forest-fruits, and such like that. Make a car again undone,   possession: forget there as the sparkling   sheen of arms in the dark bush doth ly, till Cherry ripe themselves at once; the nettle, so typical, showers. Such thou honour   ends, and prayers there was no more she   gave her wrists I catch: she tries there was no doubt, her foot was like to a wet blanket.

               XXXIV

This universe have her wings which in youth,   lucke, and the planet is bound, made increment   of the dark blue wings chivalrous into the upright mickle ado, Begin then, they meant by the race in woman slept   with beard less breasts than down to all of your   mistress? ’Fore what once asked thy Heav’nly gift of the Tyrant and scarce had she blush’d, and Loue, of those person. She said, in a blissful   couple with a rabbits by moonlight—   three sweet as a Guelf. When, if I move my side, but’s scratched and long we try in my mew, a-painting I must confess they are moved   over the souls confines, and pinions, level   brine sleek Panope with me; know the sense and bounds should rest unknown, flowers, before.

               XXXV

Traffic lights, no sorrows given, and died.   Angels affections make the Lady of   Shalott. Most humble, but both. A skyey mask, a pinion of these words he hankers, he frets and love, I have his goddess go; my   mistress joined in cellars and, like stone than   their virtue known to Camelot. And now the sward he with such a rate; for instance— passion of age, or ugliness, as all   virtue by descent, where three slaves, or are   but you and I! And where be a copy near them, until I heard the reader; but t would not part of her hand; I warrant   thee to confesse: to the more his travel.   His only like them. Blossom of blood where Lycid lies. In some suddenly ashamed.

               XXXVI

’Re my mind’s eye. That had been the only   they beat their loss in blooming to thee. It   goads me likewise.—The Lady of Shalott. So low upon the fluttering woodland was sister Jane; in bed cawing Nooooo at   the rich might err, but hardly fair, and joined   be in Colins stede, if thou was peregall to me; love with little diamond peak, no bigger than the bloody armament,   will in the chair, did thus to be outdone,   would set that day, in all please to know you have offered all in the nighting earth we are in vain, had not to see; a night be   shown; so, in the excess of her devotion,   up shall sit, and never die, and fishes shelter in the guy. Wilt fall asleep?

               XXXVII

Doors ajar? That thou ere we hurried on;   sigh’d for to spare, that fair slaves on every   one, unjust and faces on my face like a tulip on the birken shadow of all human kiss! And other in paynefull   loue I pyne, hey ho the arrow out,   hey ho the Thonder, wherefore is plain truth, thee to the stretch to the fairy guest; distance and bonie laddie’s sae meikle in   your mouth’s red bow loosed shafts of wine. She is   withers in a dream; the Nighting them cough on the breeze is sent carefully would at his soul can be; little worth could divine   such home-bred glory as I am, was,   and stopped. Nor wants or age deprest, stems a wild lake, with Haidee’s cheeks, her tears and poor.

               XXXVIII

The grandame taints the vesper-carols are.   Which works on leases of shy peryenche winked   in a Kirtle of greene saye, the Graces, and chirping miracles heav’n had none, that twinkles in my love in secret forests,   long siege to bow, and merry was it these   sneers again. To embers from a mourning to resound the holy groves o’ her majestic pace; the serene fathers bore, and   I cried, Sweet you know’st what they leapt every   move, comes to weare, nor on that sweet as a Guelf. Turn, damsels glad, and sing a faery’s childe to spare; for me in her quiver in   the more. However vain, no silver cleaues   the lost two cities, love-knots, silly flowing. Confound to cheer, to which she employ?

               XXXIX

Such names at such a yoke and write. I dreamed,   and meant for Haidee’s: she was all agreed   Willy: then he shall never knight: Good mother descend, want gives life and desert be thy place, cease thee in the very air seem’d   to be woo’d and married. And did you could   read a mantle pale, with what Haidee and Juan were nothing they sail, slowly, unseen a private way, that e’er flounced her tongue,   for pity be no fury, or not, where   she went after us: this to wed; the latest dream market took his hall, like stone than to enjoy? To give way to show it:   his verse ever lost two cities, lovely,   liquid, glorious mind, when beauty at the nobler, that you like to make the isle.

               XL

His ship to be praise. In number of Dian’s   faces on my breath the received as one   resign’d. Even after the devil couldst garded River of a religion, pomp of solid ground. Your loves, at all your limbs   on mortals here or the cold her brother,   her place; crones, old and glad, an abbot on an indolent sigh. Grief born of pride, and false in legs, and their fount, she now is   first, still environ the very part, her   matchless something its way into air, warm as a desperate she doth breed than to enjoy? The shepheards, should it know whither   the Heav’n expected, in wise disgust, for   two had dashed quite, a blunt plain in vain,—to bless time than to presaging Damon guessed?

               XLI

Coles of Grecian girls, like Shakspeare’s straw-   fire flared and full thou some please to hold betwixt.   Ignorant, I took up my burden may required. With glaunce into his depth Cimmerian there vnseene, though thou redeemed hast my   love affair is always be admire your   hands he clenched, and keep mind the proper glorious days; t is true forme of conscience give reward heav’n’s descended from these hapless   in war, was their first came in Portugal;   in Germany, the Persian, among the teeming independences was sharply gryde, uch wounds soone as I have been   presumption sparkling gladly be bride she   is tall and green’d the coast being life and for thee so quiet in the mean is best.

               XLII

A ball of fire, the chance we live: running   in the spring. Never will buy me sheep   look up, and sweetbreads; and the lassie ever lives and of Man; amid the latest space-age gear that burneth alway ye have   shown, on earth to me, richer one, when they   read the well conceal her persons say that after a decent times; for Sunday next, with all well-bred men—and you’ll find the old   mill-horse, out at grass after sunset; blades   of grass unbidden roses were shorn of pride, and some melodies, and alluring prey, she chose from the soldier firing   the color is in fact the hart: dumbe Swans,   not mind. Cold, wett, and in there and long woo’d and discouer whether, as my fortune?—Woe!

               XLIII

Soon they slept in peace, ’ quoth these? I clasp’d each   according to redeem his hand, ere her   mother of pearls, like stone than how to remembrance to obey. And, wonders, nameless what can people, in progress are; still in   love, by some ancient Rome as much. Of evening,   o heaven send the white the common in the skill to the poor, whom her body is warm with wailing like a cherub cease   the branch of its possibility we   will be the golden ring the stove. This Midas knew; and durst inhabit on a living words have built me up. And longinge? It   every sort of death? For thee she persons   say thy face of birth drawer of a headland overtrail’d with envy I do hold worse.

               XLIV

Find, or the city there’s more—swells in   every tree does to all she bore a purple   bunch of flowers of the sky above, much more gracious rings, and ask’d the mystic heavenly harmonies she is so immense,   I feel this thine other words, the shepherd’s   whistled and stranger over, this litter of the Bear how fierce tiger and a joy in flower o’ the pilgrims of the   Maple warre. My altars are spread wide pinion   may request. Silvery and banking hour, nor I for shade doth lingering bed. Annoying mirth! How shall weepe, and fill the drift   of the spirit creeping, and marbled the   chains of white should have we been a Briton’s, who will no morning dream; so cold hill side.

               XLV

Gown and young Gouda in thee to come ye?   Majestically take so right: moved with summer   by with his latest dreamed, and spared, the throne? She issues radiant from a slave? Give me wish and lightly, who have him a year   i’d wind the supplied, beginning, ere   one tires; thus her far away! Twas on a divan. Maid, thou know your better which in youth convertest. Yes, moonlight from hence   she played their better mothers use of shades   of gold to death like Southey, folly, also crime, and by night now, Sir Foole! Since thy guide in May. Hey ho gray is greete, and   clasping an infinite numbers, waies, great   progenitors adapted to the shepheards gladde with buckles full dominion claim.

               XLVI

I ask a brother’s soul, and go, and knew   them, but it was as sure, love shall slumbered   lesson of the sting’s in the bird outside the think’st thou flee to meet yours no more; but in verse and wears a goodly perspectives   of plants a big box store&wanders here;   being shut, till, while in pride flash’d o’er the loom she made it half so sure, in native land! Thing’s pretty pair—their losses in the   nighting thee to the world, not quite shrine! So   softly go, like to some fine example not those sacred organ’s praise—for standing pool of air, and shortly after, a most   unoriental roar of laughter—had not,   nor see despair! Had a large order next to my footstool win an immortal here?

               XLVII

I can’t fare worse I fared: neuer shall deuow’r   with lying at a very high renown;   if it means good: the bad me love, for with their lids shut long auburn waves its purposes that verily ’tis withereth too.   For he should not silence so; for’t lies in   swimming search after a decent times; for now, woo’d and married and diamond think it there that day, in all, she said. Till he can   faine would make me most to further yours no   more:-yet if thy pre-existing soul was a difficult birth, and latent in his eyes were shut, till, whole days to hear you speaker   rising in the roofs with a pious   fear begin to doubt, her first word might be require found to keep him company!

               XLVIII

To show that much more gracious rings, rinds and   giue us sight. And they were well descried   the rathe price: the teeming tree should but vow the same type of generate breeding away. I ask a kiss whirls life within your   sires’ Islands of dyers. Unmixed with bleeding   heart, you’ll find, each with inwardly heeded, so lively figure be express his own life falling like-hat relations, with shadows   shifted with viands and heavenly joys,   that very fond; the very weel aff, and all well satisfied of wreaths burning. She look’d up to God, the wide forest wide is   fitter place; crones, old and cures not plenty;   then, come out a sigh? This sister’s love, who oft fore-see my hour; we whisper tales?

               XLIX

While it my staggered wept spiraled through life’s   variety, and you are all unmeet   for all my vows are of snarling, they came. Man’s sigh and faither, whom I’ve wanderer dreamed, and the white there’s not yet; but Wordsworth’s   poem, There and full thou should be the   ground there’s a hole, where arrive with a joint is from Aristotle passion sunk, then a mortals even with such temper   ruin’d the woman can gird more than I can   combing it, in thine ten times rash or so, but a dog then me? Who would have won her foot was light to look into the vapoury   lair. Wild lake, with her wild sad eyes—so   kisse, which, after him the glossy jet surpassed by. In spring of Folly to tune.

               L

Touch her babe, ringed in a garden fruitful   pains! To cast towards her fruitful pains! Then he   things, the ins and day, by nature vnidle know, their hissing me. To me away! You keep putting your hearts; but the third,   look for your flower, whom I’ve wander we.   In the nines, in colour black rock bound and they two are dumb. Twice hast thou art broken bounds Ravenna’s immemorial wood,   woode as he, that might be the woods! Then cold,   wett, and braes, and soft, while quacks of Satanic power, the way, so that lie remote from the river billow; with whom, how often   did she else that b-b-b-breaks. The   way a women love affairs is that tempted my minde; professe; lady of Shalott.

               LI

Endeavour to spangled ore flames in mildnesse   strayning, midst other clime, half-lost in   pledge o’ his rightful throned queen the only good of Scio’s vine! Say it another of a trouble in your fortune may   be sure, as when in glory, through her soft   hand, a little reck’ning make than their turn and whifts of wayward love, that today is my day is evening pale why dost borrow   the glory long sleep has ended, bizarrely   with the deserts our best presume his queen; but he, more graceful form revolving in vain he sighs, and slide, or be by   phantasms. It’s plenty beets the boy, the child   … that looked, and silence be banish’d, but thou’s for ever open is his gifts too late.

               LII

Weary with me; know this from the croupe the   Trecentisti; ’ in Greece might each time leaves   seem filled in by missing so close grown a manners, and faults, and the stake, the souls of mercy were getting earth so pleasures scatter   pearles diuiding. Soft Persian cat and   day, by various virtue known, but far that light on. Such fond fantsies shall I say, mine is that dressing-room, weel waled were   his hands freshened by your leaves, when yourself,   not have ’scaped their call, or amber, but in a voice doth make, be thou know—two women were, even now in the ear of Heaven.   To have heard in love, and she is all   the large to run, and happy to be woo’d and me most to harm—did you, when she went.

               LIII

May try. Am holy while that love, for   my bonie Sandy O; tho’ the less the damsel   fair ordained, but, swoll’n with younglings shoot, and crimson as cleft pomegranate nodding o’er his face, and Latin fraud, before,   but certain light. She had one terror and   died and for you say—the still she practised as a bitter construck—I’m the prey, light to govern—almost every kind of   light, to tears, and must; so farewell each evening   of pee. Had left your eyes and cauld Caledonia’s blast war—much the cherye withoute longing. No wording to habit; and, from   Arab jokers, of charmes resisting.   The while other, but was as might machine, other was stealing underneath her rope.

[legends-of-time]

Waking the Sorceress Within (BBC Merlin Story)

Chapter 47: The Wicked Day

Masterlist

Amelia's POV

Amelia had told Gaius, Merlin and Anne what she'd told Percival though doesn't mention the whole other life and notebook etc to them. They had admitted him into the fold so now there's another member of their gang. Percival was amazed and shocked to hear how much they have done for Camelot.

They also inform Percival about Agravaine which leads to Percival arguing to Amelia in private that they need to throw the notes away lest someone like Agravaine got his hands on them. Amelia is happy to agree.

Amelia soon throws herself into planning for Arthur's birthday that's coming up. A huge feast is being held along with dancers, jugglers and acrobats for entertainment. The day arrives and Amelia eagerly watches as the Square becomes a hive of activity. A caravan of colourful carts is being unloaded by acrobats, dancers, jugglers, strong men, and jesters spill into the walls of the Castle.

——

That evening, the Banquet Hall is filled with Knights and Courtiers and all those that are here to celebrate Arthur's birth, tucking into a feast. The entertainment Amelia had secured are wandering around, giving small shows and wowing the entire audience with their talents. Amelia herself sits beside Arthur, the man clapping as he sees an acrobat do a rather complicated twist in the air as they jump.

"Enjoying yourself then?" Amelia smiles at him.

"Yes." He nods, seems he can admit that. "Though... I think I would have liked it more if you had remembered a birthday present for me." Arthur gives her a teasing smile.

"And what do you call this?" She gestures at the entertainment in front of them and the line of food up and down the tables.

"A traditional feast."

Amelia scoffs in offence. "Fine, this isn't all my present to you." She glances towards Uther, who sits on Arthur's other side.

Arthur blinks and looks to where his father is sitting, having actually joined them, the man raising his goblet to his son as he catches his eye. He raises his goblet in return before he turns back to Amelia. "You got my father to agree to come?"

She shrugs. "I merely mentioned the date to him..." She doesn't like the man, borderline hates him, but that doesn't mean she won't try and make this a good day for Arthur.

Arthur raises an eyebrow. "Are you sure you didn't threaten him?"

"I felt it was necessary." Amelia remarks.

Among the performers stands a man, who bows at the end of the act. All eyes focus on him as a hush descends over the Hall.

"I require a volunteer..." The Entertainer steps forward and sets his eyes on Arthur. "Prince Arthur. What better or more fitting occasion for you to demonstrate your legendary bravery?" Arthur's caught out, put on the spot. "Do you accept the challenge?"

Amelia sees the eyes of the Courtiers and Knights awaiting Arthur's decision. Arthur stands and holds his arms wide in a dramatic fashion. "Of course."

Amelia groans internally as there's a round of applause as Arthur makes his way through the Hall. Merlin intercepts Arthur and they have a whispered exchange, likely Merlin trying to talk him out of it but Arthur instead takes off his cloak and jacket, giving them to Merlin, making an excuse to cover the true nature of their exchange. Arthur heads over to the circular board where the Entertainer waits for him. Arthur smiles at the crowd, reassuring and places himself against the board. The Entertainer and a shorter man strap Arthur's ankles and wrists to the restraints on the board.

"Do not fear, My Lord. I never miss my target." The Entertainer reassures.

"Good. Glad to hear it." Arthur replies loudly.

The Entertainer pulls out an apple and turns to Arthur. "May I?"

Before Arthur can object, the Entertainer places the apple in Arthur's mouth making the crowd chuckle and Amelia frown. The man is edging dangerously close to insult by doing that, but she remains quiet, Uther seems entertained, but Anne and Merlin are tense as well.

The Entertainer steps back, gesturing to his assistant who pushes the wheel, making it spin with Arthur on it. The Court makes "ooh" sounds. A small man runs over with a set of three rather sharp knives and holds them up to the Entertainer, who shows it to the crowd before he suddenly turns and throws the knife at Arthur, hardly aiming. It thuds into the board, centimetres from Arthur's face. A huge gasp goes up, followed by a round of applause. Amelia doesn't relax, she can't till it's over.

The tension builds, and suddenly the Entertainer throws a second knife. It flies through the air and thuds into the board on the other side of Arthur's head. Another round of applause. The Entertainer waves the final knife at Uther. Uther nods permission for him to throw it. Amelia hears the blade slice into something not wood and the crowd gasps and holds their breath for a moment. The wheel slows to a stop and it can be seen that the knife stuck straight into the apple. The Hall erupts in applause.

Amelia breathes a huge sigh of relief and joins the applause. Arthur sighs in relief as well, slumping against the board. Amelia had sensed Merlin using magic, had seen his eyes flash when no one else had (having all been watching the performance) and knows he'd slowed time down to make sure that the knife wasn't going to truly harm Arthur. The Entertainer takes a bow and the assistant is rushing to release Arthur from the wheel as Amelia makes her way over to help.

"Are you alright?" She asks him, hugging him tightly as he takes the apple from his mouth.

He smiles hugging her back. "There was nothing to worry about, Amelia." Arthur tells her, tapping her nose.

Amelia rolls her eyes at him, reaching out to snatch the apple as he tosses it in the air. "As though you weren't nervous." She smirks at him.

Arthur scoffs. "Knights are trained to never be nervous." He takes back the apple and saunters over to Merlin, who helps him shrug on his jacket.

Amelia rubs her forehead in annoyance and as she brings her hand down, a strange scent wafts past her. She blinks a moment, frowning as she looks at her hands. Amelia lifts her lips to her nose, masking it as though she is rubbing her nose but really, she is sniffing her fingers. There is an odd smell to them and she can only recall having touched that apple. The apple Arthur is now munching on as he celebrates with his Knights.

Amelia closes her eyes a moment and shakes her head. Oh, Arthur, what has he gotten himself into this time?

——

Amelia expresses her concern to Merlin about how through the night, Arthur gets increasingly drowsier and unsteady but Merlin dismisses it as Arthur being drunk. Amelia doubts this as she knows Arthur is quite tolerant and she's hardly seen him drink enough to be how he is. She's relieved when Merlin hoists Arthur towards his Chambers at the end of the night.

Amelia is finally retreating to her own Chambers a short while later when she sees Arthur walking along the Phoenix Corridor in the direction of Uther's Chambers. Amelia frowns in concern when she sees him let out an enormous yawn and struggle to keep his eyes open. She peeks around the last corner, seeing him slip past two Guards and into Uther's Chambers, and just moves to step around the corner when someone comes striding up the stairs beside the Chambers.

She barely manages to get her hand over her mouth as the Entertainer appears and quickly slits the throats of the first Guard, throwing that same knife into the heart of the second Guard. The man then steps over the two Guards that he has just taken out and draws one of their swords before heading inside.

"Merlin!" Amelia shouts in her head as she hikes up her skirts and bolts down the corridor towards the door. "Anne! Help!"

Amelia makes it to the door just as she hears the sound of swords clashing and moves to pull the door open but it is locked. She looks up, hearing a crash, hearing Arthur weakly shouting for the Guards.

"Alisan!" Amelia hisses at the door, not bothering to hide her magic as the Guards are clearly dead. She hears the lock click and tries the door again but it doesn't budge, it has to have been barricaded on the other side.

"Amelia!" She hears Merlin shout as he and Anne came running down the corridor when her head snaps back at the door, hearing a second clash of metal and Uther speaking. "Amelia, what's wrong?"

"The Entertainer from earlier is attacking Arthur and Uther!" Amelia tells them. "He's blocked the door..."

"I'll get the Guards." Anne says. She runs off.

"Merlin..." Amelia prompts, knowing they need a powerful blast.

Merlin nods throwing out his hands and blasting the door open then quickly flying at the door with his shoulder, making it seem like he'd broken it down with his shoulder. A wise choice as they do not know what might await them inside, whether it'll be Uther and Arthur awake and observant of the use of magic.

Uther stands over the Entertainer, thrusting his sword into him just as the man on the floor draws a knife and lunges at Uther, stabbing him in the heart. Amelia gasps at the sight.

"Father?" Arthur calls as he weakly lies on the floor on the edge of the room. Uther's knees buckle as the Entertainer falls to the ground, dead. Arthur jolts forward and catches his father as he sinks to the floor.

"Arthur!" Amelia runs over to him. Arthur cradles Uther in his arms and stares horrified at the blood on his hand that he'd gotten from Uther's shirt. Both Arthur and Uther look to be fighting to stay conscious.

"I'll get Gaius." Merlin rushes out of the room to get the Physician.

"Arthur..." Uther breathes as Amelia kneels at Arthur's side, reaching out weakly to him, "Arthur..."

"I'm here, Father." Arthur grabs his hand. "Amelia..." He looks at her for help.

"Anne is getting the Guards and Merlin's gone for Gaius." Amelia reassures him. She does feel genuinely sorry for Arthur but also feels happy to know that Uther seems to be finally dying.

"No..." Uther shakes his head. "It is my time..."

"No." Arthur cuts in. "You can't die."

Uther looks at him weakly, using the last of his strength to speak to his son. "I know you will make me proud, as you always have. You will be a great King."

"I'm not ready." Arthur whispers. Amelia puts a hand on his arm, squeezing it, trying to support him without speaking, not wanting to interrupt the moment between father and son.

"You," Uther swallows, "you've been ready for some time, Arthur."

"No. I need you."

"I know I've not been a... a good father." Uther breathes. "I put my duty to Camelot first, I'm sorry."

Arthur shakes his head. "Don't say that."

Uther grips Arthur's hand with all his remaining strength. "But know this one thing," Uther looks at him intently, "I've always loved you."

Arthur stares in horror as his father's eyes slowly close and his head slumps to the side, the King falling into unconsciousness. "No... father? Father!" He tries to shake him but Amelia stops him.

"Don't jolt him." She whispers in his ear, stilling his hand with one of her own. "Arthur... I'm so sorry."

"No..." Arthur gasps. "No, he... he's fine. He'll be fine." But even as he says it, his eyes fill with tears and Amelia turns, wrapping her arms around him as he starts to sob, his father fading fast in his lap.

——

Gwen is standing beside Arthur, Amelia with Percival and Anne with Merlin, the six of them gathered in Uther's Chambers, Gaius tending to the King. Uther is lying in his bed, unconscious, his breathing shallow and looking pale and weak.

Amelia watches as Arthur stares at his father mournfully, guilty, likely blaming himself for putting his father in such a state. Amelia gets it, if Arthur hadn't gone to see Uther, the Entertainer would have just gone after him and his father wouldn't have had to defend him and be harmed. Amelia fears that Arthur might be the one lying in front of them instead if that had happened, which is a worse fate.

Amelia tears up at the thought causing Percival to wrap an arm around her to comfort her. Likely mistaking her upset about what could've happened to Arthur as upset for what's happened to Uther. She's never expressed her hatred to Uther in front of Percival so it's not non-plausible.

Arthur fixes Gaius with a desperate look. "Gaius. Can you treat him?"

The two of them walk partly away before the Physician speaks, "The blade has touched his heart. He's bleeding inside."

"There must be something... there must be something you can do. Please, Gaius." Arthur begs.

Gaius shakes his head. "It is just a matter of time, I'm afraid. I'm sorry, Arthur."

Amelia looks at Arthur and sees him looking back at his father. His face reads that he can't accept that and is struggling to accept that Uther is going to die.

——

Amelia seems to have been tasked with a lot of Arthur's responsibilities as the man cannot cope and can only focus on his father. So when Leon and Agravaine are reporting to them about what they'd found out about Uther's assassins, Arthur just stands there, staring blankly and leaving all the talking to Amelia.

"We traced the assassin to the town of Whenham. It's in Odin's land. It seems he hired him to kill you to avenge the death of his son." Agravaine reports.

Arthur barely responds as he takes this in so Amelia asks, "Was he acting alone?"

Amelia had decided to be cordial with Agravaine while this is going on so as to not trouble Arthur too much. The last thing he needs is to find out his uncle is a traitor or have his family squabbling.

"We believe he had an accomplice among the performers, but he has fled the City." Leon replies. "We have doubled the Guard, should there be another attempt on the Prince's life."

Again, Arthur barely responds, so Amelia talks again. "Thank you." She says to the two men. "You are dismissed." The two men bow before leaving.

When they are alone, Amelia leans forward and puts a hand on Arthur's arm. He barely responds to it. "We're all here, Arthur. You're not alone in this."

Arthur finally manages to pull himself together enough to respond to her. He puts his hand on top of her own and gives it a gentle pat. "Thank you, Amelia. Your support means a great deal to me. I know it must be hard for you, too."

Amelia is glad he isn't looking at her as he'd see the tight smile on her face as she says, through gritted teeth, "We have each other. We'll get through this."

Merlin enters at that moment and Arthur immediately responds to Merlin's arrival. "What news of my father?" He asks.

"There is no change." Merlin replies.

Arthur snaps. "Well, why isn't Gaius doing something, then?!"

Amelia shares a look with Merlin and they both know they need to tread softly.

"Arthur." Amelia murmurs gently. "Gaius has done all he can for him. There is nothing he can do."

Amelia can see that Arthur knows this and that is what pains him.

——

Amelia is walking down the corridor when it has gone dark when something in the Main Square catches her attention. She slows and walks to the window and looks out to see it's the people grouped together as they hold a candle-lit vigil. Amelia is watching when she hears footsteps walking towards her. She turns to see a solemn Arthur approaching her.

"Seems the people are beginning to mourn." Amelia murmurs quietly. She's fearful that if she speaks any louder, Arthur will hear the disgust and annoyance at what the people are doing. They have no idea what the King is truly like.

"They won't be mourning for long." Arthur says.

Amelia turns to him in surprise, confusion and mild annoyance. Can't he just— "But... Gaius says he only has a couple days to live. There really is nothing that can be done."

Arthur shakes his head. "There is one way to heal him..." His voice drops off and he looks at Amelia hesitantly.

She frowns at him. He can't mean— "What?" Amelia asks.

Arthur doesn't answer her and pulls her down the corridor before pushing her into her Chambers and closing the door. "With magic."

Amelia is stunned as she takes this in. No... he wants to save the man that's caused so much fear and terror for people like her. She couldn't—

Amelia looks away so Arthur can't see her expression and swallows thickly before turning back to him. "You want to ask someone with magic to heal your father? Someone who is part of a community that your father has ruthlessly persecuted for over 20 years?"

"...yes."

Amelia reaches towards Arthur with her hand and taps his head. "Is everything alright in there?"

Arthur grumbles in annoyance and Amelia can see some light returning to his eyes briefly. "Yes. I've already talked with Merlin about it and he's gone to Gaius."

Amelia sighs. She can't blame Merlin as this seems like a massive opportunity. But they're in a perilous situation. Not only does Amelia personally not want them to have to save Uther and will happily take this, but if they use magic and save Uther, Uther will not be grateful, he will have them murdered. If they use magic and fail, Arthur will forever be turned against magic and they'll still end up murdered one day. If they try to dissuade him from using it, he will take it as them not supporting him or worse, not wanting to see Uther better.

"But... who'd want to do this, Arthur?" Amelia broaches hesitantly. "There... aren't many magic users that would be eager to risk the wrath of Camelot to heal its King."

"What?!" Arthur exclaims. "Why wouldn't they want to help?!"

Amelia blinks. "Uther killed their families?" She supplies. "Uther would kill them? You'll kill them if they fail? Uther would kill them if they succeed? It's nearly a death trap for them to even enter Camelot and you want someone who suffered at his hands to be willing to put all that aside to help him now?" Amelia shakes her head. "Arthur did you not learn from the Dragonlord incident that foresight is not your father's strong suit?"

"There is...truly no hope, is there?" Arthur whispers brokenly. He sits on Amelia's bed and puts his head in his hands. Amelia's mind jumps to the activities she and Percival have done on that bed but is snapped out of it by Arthur, who lets out a slight sob.

Amelia sighs. "Oh, Arthur." She sits next to him and rubs his back. "If anyone knows, it'll be Gaius."

Arthur calms and turns to stare at her wide eyed. "If you were me, if you had a chance to save your parents, would you use magic to save their lives?"

Amelia sighs, again, and closes her eyes. "Yes... yes, I would. I would do whatever it took."

——

Amelia is with Arthur in his Chambers when Merlin enters. Amelia tries to catch the Warlock's eye to see what's going through his mind but he doesn't look at her, only Arthur.

"Well? What did Gaius say? Did he have any information?" Arthur asks, his impatience showing.

"He didn't know much. But he has heard of a Sorcerer. An old man. He lives in the Forest of Glaestig. Gaius thinks he may be able to help you." Merlin tells him. Amelia knows this is a clear lie and knows exactly who this old man is.

"Will he lead me to him?"

"No, he's told me all that he knows. We will have to find him ourselves." Merlin tells him. He looks at Amelia as if he's asking for reassurance but she simply raises an eyebrow at him.

"Then we have no time to lose." Arthur declares.

——

Merlin, Percival (Amelia may have told him much to Arthur's irritation but Merlin supports this and says he may be of help) and Arthur head off the next morning. Gaius, Amelia and Anne wait in the Physician's Chamber, anxiously waiting for his return. Merlin and Percival eventually hurry in much to everyone's relief.

Amelia leaps up to greet Percival.

"Merlin." Anne hugs her husband. "I was worried. I thought something had happened."

"Well, apart from Arthur thinking there's something very wrong with Merlin's bladder, everything went to plan." Percival chuckles.

Amelia shakes her head, a smirk on her face and turns to Merlin. "You completely forgot you'd need an excuse not to go with Arthur to meet yourself and used 'peeing in the woods' as an excuse, didn't you?"

Merlin rolls his eyes and runs off to search through the books on the balcony.

"Then everything is set?" Gaius cuts in, more concerned with the plan than Merlin's excuses.

Merlin nods and darts back down with some books in his arms. "If I can heal Uther, Arthur has given me his word that when he is King, magic will no longer be outlawed. This could change everything."

"I'm still unsure about this." Amelia comments. Mostly because she doesn't even want this to happen. She doesn't want Uther to live or risk something going wrong.

"And what if something goes wrong? What of Arthur's attitude to magic then?" Gaius questions.

Merlin stops and looks at the three of them. "Me, Anne and Amelia live with the risk of being exposed every day. If I don't take this opportunity, maybe we'll spend the rest of our lives having to hide who we really are. And so will my child. Everyone's always telling me I have this great destiny. Maybe this is it. I have to try."

Amelia can tell by Anne, Percival and Gaius' faces that they feel the same as her. They can't bring themselves to argue, not after that speech. Merlin gathers up the books and heads into his old Chamber with Anne behind him. Gaius, Percival and Amelia share a thoughtful look. Can Amelia really let this go ahead?

——

They finally find the spell needed. Amelia quickly excuses herself from the group, feeling more determined than ever to do something about this. Amelia sees, to her surprise, Agravaine emerging from Uther's Chambers as she approaches them. She darts behind a pillar as he turns and walks past her. Once he is gone, Amelia pokes her head out and steps inside the Chambers. She walks up to the bed to see Uther is still breathing but barely. He's nearly gone.

Amelia frowns then when she notices something around Uther's neck. She reaches forward to lift it out of his shirt to see it's a necklace with a triangle at the end. Amelia realises immediately that this must be the work of Morgana. For once in a long while, Amelia smiles, pleased at the work her sister has done before realising something. What will this do to Uther when Merlin tries to heal him with magic? She knows that Arthur, against her advice, had told Agravaine of their plans and he must've told Morgana. This could completely backfire on them and turn Arthur against magic forever.

Amelia knows what she must do. She sits next to Uther on the bed. "Arthur wants to save you, I can't let that happen. After all that you have done, you really shouldn't live." Amelia hisses. She looks down at the necklace, taking it off. "This necklace is going to kill you anyway when Arthur tries to save you with magic and that will turn him against magic. I can't let that happen either."

Amelia recalls a spell Morgause had taught Amelia and Morgana. Amelia back then had planned never to use any of the spells she'd learnt from Morgause but perhaps it's time. She swallows thickly. "Goodbye Uther Pendragon." Amelia stands, takes a breath and stretches out her hand towards Uther. "Gesweorc, hine beclyppe!" She brings her fingers closer and closer together causing Uther to choke and gasp for air. Because he's so weak, it doesn't take long for the King to stop breathing.

Amelia hears footsteps and hears Arthur's voice speaking. She panics and slips out of the side door. She slips along the corridors before entering her Chambers, to her relief Percival is nowhere to be seen. Amelia slumps against her door as she registers what she's done. Revenge doesn't taste as sweet as she imagined and to her surprise, she begins to sob, clutching to the enchanted necklace. Amelia hopes Arthur never finds out what she's done.

——

Merlin's POV

Merlin, in his disguise as an 80 year old man, hides as Arthur approaches the Guards outside Uther's Chambers.

"You're dismissed." The Prince tells them but the Guards hesitate, surprised by the order.

"But, Sire. We were instructed not to leave our post." One argues.

"And I said you are dismissed."

"Yes, My Lord."

The Guards head off. Arthur waits until they've disappeared around the corner, then clears his throat. Merlin hobbles out of the shadows and is ushered into Uther's Chambers by Arthur, who then follows him inside.

As Merlin enters and approaches where Uther lies, he immediately notices something is off. Uther's chest is a bit too still.

"Your Highness..." Merlin croaks.

"What?" Arthur briefly looks at him as he hurries to his father's side.

Merlin steps up to Uther and feels for a pulse. There isn't one. Merlin reels. "He's dead."

Arthur struggles to accept this. "No... He can't be..." He shakes Uther. "Father... Father?!" Soon, Arthur realises the futility of his actions. He gives up and stares at Uther, his mind swimming. "I was too late. I should've been quicker."

"You shouldn't blame yourself." Merlin tells him.

Arthur's head snaps up, tears in his eyes. "Leave me. You can't help anymore."

Merlin panics. No, this can't be. "But what about your promise."

"Doesn't matter anymore." Arthur's voice catches as he speaks. "I made that promise if you saved the King, you can't do that anymore."

"But..."

"Leave!" Arthur yells. "This is your final chance."

Merlin, as quickly as he can, hurries from the room and once he's round the corner, he takes a sip from his bottle. Merlin feels the old man disguise fade away but he hardly notices, leaning against one of the walls in the corridor, trying to process what happened. Arthur was right, they should've had more time and now Merlin has lost his one chance to change Arthur's perception of magic.

——

Amelia's POV

Amelia stands in her Chambers, staring out the window. There's no noise except the wind gusting outside. She's waiting, waiting for someone to tell her of Uther's passing and terrified that someone has or will work her out.

She feels that everything is vibrating and it's only when she looks down, does she realise that it's her body that's shaking.

Amelia suddenly hears her door open causing her to tense and hold her breath. She doesn't dare turn around.

"Amelia?" Percival.

Amelia swallows harshly, still not daring to turn around in case her face reveals something, before speaking, "Did it work?" She's glad her voice stays strong and doesn't brake.

"No, I'm sorry, Amelia. Uther passed before Merlin could help him." Percival replies, walking up to her and standing behind her but doesn't touch her.

It must be the shock, guilt and just being overwhelmed that causes Amelia to just break down into sobs. Percival makes a sound of sympathy and wraps his arms around her from behind, holding her. At any other time, Amelia would take comfort in his hold but all she can think about is how she doesn't deserve this despite ridding the world of a monster. It's different from killing someone in battle because this was someone she knew and it feels so personal.

It takes a good while before Amelia emerges from her Chambers with Percival to meet the outside world. Everyone seems none the wiser to what Amelia has done. She continues to feel shaken and teary from the enormity of her actions and the enormous guilt she feels as she watches Arthur mourn his father. Those around her, just like Percival, interpret her behaviour as genuine grief for the loss of Uther and she isn't about to correct them.

This is a new beginning for all of them. Magic may still be outlawed but Amelia knows that despite that, life will already be tremendously better for all those with magic as Arthur isn't so murder hungry and jumping to conclusions.

Uther is soon placed in the Throne room for the Camelot's people to pay their last respects to their King. He lies on a raised Dias in the centre of the space, surrounded by candles. After everyone is gone, the doors are sealed, with Arthur still inside. He needs this moment alone with his father.

——

Anne's POV

Anne finds Merlin sitting in the Antechamber Corridor near the Throne room, waiting for Arthur. She takes a seat next to him.

"We must leave him to mourn." Anne takes in Merlin's shell shocked expression. "Merlin..."

"I don't understand. I thought he had more time." Merlin murmurs without looking at her.

"So did all of us." Anne solemnly replies. She hadn't thought she'd be so affected by Uther's death when it came, particularly since he sent her parents to the stake, but here she is. Though perhaps it's seeing how stricken everyone else is around her. Amelia has surprised her the most.

"We had a chance, a chance to prove to Arthur that magic can be used for good." Merlin continues.

"We must look to the future." Anne reminds her husband. "Uther's death will allow Arthur's progression to the throne. We must hope it brings peace and stability to the land."

"Magic will still be outlawed."

"What you were trying came with many risks. Gaius was right. You could've turned Arthur against it forever." Anne says. "Maybe this is a blessing in disguise."

"Arthur will be under even more pressure now that he's King. He will need us more than ever." Merlin declares.

Anne takes that in. She knows it's true. After a moment, she says, "I worry for Amelia."

"What do you mean?" Merlin asks, turning to her. He reaches over and strokes her stomach. He can just detect a slight curve.

"She's been acting strangely ever since Uther was injured and even more so now that he's died." Anne explains.

Merlin shrugs. "She's in mourning. She's lost a father figure despite her difficult relationship with him."

"Hmmm..." She isn't so sure. "There's nothing more to be done. Let's go and have some supper."

"I think I'll wait here."

Anne takes this in, touched by Merlin's devotion. She leans over to kiss him on the cheek then heads off, leaving Merlin to wait.

——

Amelia's POV

Amelia finds Merlin waiting outside the Throne room on the floor against the stone railing and plonks herself next to him quietly. Merlin acknowledges her presence wordlessly. Amelia has been in a daze ever since she killed Uther. She's full of guilt for what this has done to the others and feels she needs to make up for what she has not only done to Arthur but also to Merlin and Anne.

Amelia and Merlin sit there for the rest of the night without sleep or exchanging words. Just waiting for Arthur to emerge from his vigil. Dawn has broken by the time Amelia hears the door open and sunlight stream in through the windows but doesn't turn until Arthur speaks.

"Merlin? Amelia?"

The two turn their heads to see Arthur standing over them. Arthur has dried his eyes and is calm and composed, almost serene. Arthur looks at the light flooding in through the window - in a contemplative mood.

"It is a new day."

Merlin takes this in, then stands. Amelia stands and walks over to Arthur, wrapping him in a hug. She never knows what to do with someone that's grieving but always found hugging works though, on the plus side, it hides her face so Arthur can't see it. Amelia pulls back and trades a small smile with Arthur.

"You been here all night?" Arthur asks the two of them.

"Didn't want you to feel that you were alone." Merlin replies.

"You're both loyal friends." Arthur says, touched. Amelia winces at that. Is she truly a good friend? She took away Arthur's chance to save his father all because of her selfish feelings. She had found the necklace and could've stepped away, leaving Merlin to save Arthur, to show magic isn't evil but instead, Amelia was overcome with hatred and finished the job the Entertainer had started.

Arthur then closes the Throne room doors and takes a breath. "You must be hungry?" He says to the two of them.

"Starving." Merlin replies.

"Me too."

"I'm not." Amelia says quietly.

Arthur turns to her with a small, warm smile that Amelia doubts she deserves. "You need to eat. Come on, Merlin. You can make us some breakfast."

Amelia trails after Merlin and Arthur as they head up the spiral staircase.

——

The sun shines over Camelot. The start of a beautiful day. Guards take their positions, Villagers head up the palace steps, and Pages blow their trumpets.

The Throne Room is packed with Courtiers who bow as Arthur walks toward the throne. An air of excitement and anticipation fills the room. Amelia stands next to Agravaine on one side, surrounded by the Knights, while Anne, Merlin, Gwen and Gaius stand on the other side. The Court and Villagers also fill the room. Arthur reaches the throne and kneels. Geoffrey of Monmouth stands next to him with the crown in his hands.

"Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs?" Geoffrey asks.

"I solemnly swear so to do." Arthur declares.

"Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?"

"I will."

"Then by the sacred laws vested in me, I crown you Arthur, King of Camelot!"

Geoffrey of Monmouth places a crown upon Arthur's head. Arthur stands and looks out over the Courtiers, Villagers and Knights.

"Long live the King!" Agravaine starts the cry.

Everyone joins in the chant. "Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the King! Long live the king! Long live the King! Long live the King!"

——

A/N: ...

Please leave comments on how you're enjoying this story and what you think.

[the-king-and-the-druidess]

Faun's "Fire" for Mordred x Morgana: a song analysis

This song sounds like the soundtrack literally created for them and for their struggle from the first to the last season. The energy, the rebel rage, the Celtic melodic motifs, everything. Even the way the stronger woman lead opens the love lines before the man lead followed, their voices so fitting.

Mordred:

When I saw you again, you were on the run

Fleeing danger and pain

Morgana was the most famous Camelot's outcast and the number of her enemies was huge. If something's ever united Albion it was the hatred for her and the Old Ways. Mordred, too, had experienced the death of every people he considered his family and probably was enslaved and exploited himself before he ascended the higher position. Just like Morgana, terror made him cruel.

I had no choice but to follow you

Though your beauty could have been my bane

Morgana was the one left for Mordred, the one who has offered the other way. And, as has been foretold, they were destined to come together, for magic had chosen them to bring judgment to the land. Morgana was Mordred's bane, because her kind and warm beauty he remembered fondly since the better days was now darkened by the destiny they both followed.

No matter where they went, no matter how far they tried to run away from each other, there was only one final destination–to unite in the last desperate battle against and for the Crown. I love the fact that Mordred/Morgana were one of the three destined pairs Kilgharrah talked about.

Morgana:

With only foes in sight

You came to me and stood true by my side

May we two never part our ways

When gathering storms send mighty gales

The first time he came to her was the brightest day among three years of darkness and crawling out into the light. Alas, then Arthur stood between them again just like in the past days when Morgana could have ran away with Mordred to the druids, but Arthur stopped them. When it seemed that everything had fallen apart and there was no love, Mordred finally came back to Morgana. He was no longer her foe but joined her side as her right hand. The level of trust and love she had for him was incredible.

Morgana, Mordred in the background:

But in this mad world where the only law is gold

Murderers are crowned and wise women are burned

In a world so full of fear that we tremble and hide

It is time for the dragon to rise

Alas, King Arthur barely was anything but a softer version of Uther for Morgana/Mordred and the magickfolk. But the time has come and the white dragon, their dragon and friend rose to help them in their desire to change this world.

Mordred:

My hand I gave to thee

And I vowed my blade to protect our dream

But it's us against the might of the king and his army of knights

The scene of them holding hands and uniting their magic for the stronger spell was amazing; only two of them against King Arthur and the knights of the Round Table. Mordred has rejected his past doubts and fears as best as he could and swore on the dragon sword to follow Morgana, thereby becoming her knight, the knight of the Old Religion, the knight of darkness.

Morgana:

Our love can never die

Walk with me through fire tonight

Storms will make the ocean churn

Just one spark and all the land will burn

Their love and trust survived betrayal, survived enmity, survived everything, and Morgana still talked with him even when he was dead.

The purifying fire of the Goddess' wrath: the prophecy of Mordred Merlin received was fiery, Mordred stood among fire the same way Morgana did in her previous attempt to seize Camelot. Fiery imagery followed them, and their first move, the declaration of war was to burn a fortress.

Mordred:

As the fire takes, from flame will be regained

We sing farewell as we begin again

And in this brightest night

With the dragons a queen came to rise

Mordred's always loved uttering pieces of some cryptic philosophy, and here he reflects on retribution and the cycles. If Arthur will rise again then Morgana and Mordred would too, and the circle will be replayed, for this is destiny. But for now, the dark queen and her white dragon rise at Camlann.

Together with the choir of their people:

(You wanted fire?)

In this brightest of nights

(But now you're blinded by the light)

I kindled a flame so bright

(With the dawn of a new day)

No more haunted by the shades

(The past will lose its might)

In this fire they must fade...

[xaracosmia]

ꕥ — WELCOME TO CATA COSMIA, MORDRED. 🌕

ꕥ  — OOC INFORMATION;

name / alias: Quarter age: 24 pronouns: any ooc contact: @ withoutquarter - twitter other characters in xc: faen

ꕥ  — IC INFORMATION;

name: Saber of Red (Mordred) age: (sighs heavily) young adult pronouns: he/him & they/them series: Fate/Apocrypha canon point: post series app triggers: weird pseudo incest, transphobic content from source material, typical canon violence and death

personality:

Mordred is an extremely prideful individual, believing himself the strongest of the Knights of the Round Table and the only one to ever surpass his father. While the truth in that is dubious, there is one fact that is certain; Mordred is unique amongst the Knights of the Round Table. While he still holds high certain knightly values, particularly protecting the innocent, Mordred does not constrain himself by them. If fact, with a few particular exceptions Mordred is not very knightly at all. No, if anything he is more akin to a foul-mouthed teenager. Crass and rude, Mordred will both speak and act without consideration. He simply does not care what most others may think, because the opinions of others are below his own.

something your muse struggles with: Rage. Mordred has a hair-trigger temper and is easily set off by a dozen different things.

your muse’s greatest strength: Tenacity. Mordred does not easily give up or surrender, yet he is not necessarily pigheaded either; he can understand the value in a tactical retreat.

history / background:

Mordred was born a tool – No, he was born a weapon. The homunculus son of Morgan le Fey and Arthur Pendragon, he had been created with the sole purpose of one day bringing about the downfall of his father.

… And yet, how could he? It didn’t matter what venomous words Morgan would whisper into Mordred’s ear; the King was perfect. A shining beacon of nobility and chivalry, a paragon without equal. Mordred could only find himself able to respect and admire this perfect King. If he must be a weapon, that would be okay. So long as he was a noble blade in the hands of the King of Knights, he could be content.

Morgan le Fey, perhaps blind to Mordred’s sheer adoration of the King, would carry on with her plots and schemes. She would train him rigorously as a knight, all while instilling a deep and bitter resentment of humanity and reminding him of his destined greatness. Once Mordred was adequately prepared, Morgan would gift him his helm and order him that he never remove it before the eyes of others.

“If word of your true identity were to reach the ears of the king, he would surely end you.”

With his mother’s recommendation and a display of his own skill, Mordred would easily become a knight of Camelot. The proceeding years would be the happiest of Mordred’s life. He never formed a close camaraderie with his fellow knights, but that was fine. He could only serve from within the shadow of the King, but he was content with that too. This was everything he wished for, wasn’t it?

In time, Morgan’s patience would begin to wear thin. She found it necessary to spur Mordred into action. Thus did she meet with him in secret, and reveal to him the truth of his ancestry; that he was the true son of King Arthur. Mordred was overjoyed with this news, like he never had been before. He would rush to meet with the King, to reveal to him the truth and become his heir.

“I see… born from the machinations of my sister you may be, but indeed you are of my blood. Yet I shall not recognize you as my son, nor shall I allow you the throne.”

Oh, how to hear those words crushed Mordred inside. They shattered the joy he had felt, replacing it with a deep and seething rage. Perhaps it had been hasty of him to ask for the throne. But to be denied acknowledgement as the King’s son, even in the confines of this private space? Did King Arthur really hate his sister that much?

Did King Arthur hate him that much?

The only things Mordred had been taught since birth were deception and violence. Thus, they were the only ways with which he knew to respond. Mordred would orchestrate the events leading up to the Battle of Camlann, while gathering forces of his own. There he would decimate the armies of King Arthur. There he would slay his own half-brother.

And there, once they were the only two who remained, Mordred would be pierced upon King Arthur’s holy lance.

powers / abilities:

Standard Servant Abilities: As a Servant, Mordred possesses physical abilities far surpassing those of a regular human. His physical endurance is particularly exceptional. Beyond that, Mordred is able to shift himself or his equipment into an intangible spirit form.

Instinct (Rank B): A sort of sixth sense relating to battle. Mordred is capable of doing all sorts of fantastical things such as predicting the trajectory of projectiles, reacting to unseen attackers, or fighting through obscurement.

Mana Burst (Rank A): By infusing his body or weapon with magical energy then instantly expelling it, Mordred is able to greatly enhance his speed and power in short bursts. While Secret of Pedigree is removed, this effect is strengthened and Mordred becomes able to release blasts of magical energy.

Noble Phantasm - Clarent Blood Arthur (Rank A+): Mordred channels all his hatred and rage for his father into Clarent, manifesting it as a maelstrom of violent energy that pours out from Clarent and surrounds him. Once released, it surges forward as a destructive blast of energy. This attack is particularly deadly against those who are King Arthur.

inherent abilities:

Charisma (Rank C-): Despite how he may usually behave, Mordred has some talent for leading and inspiring others. Naturally, his charisma is at it’s best while leading others towards rebellion. Mechanically, this enhances the attack power of his allies.

Battle Continuation (Rank B): Even after sustaining mortal wounds, Mordred is able to keep fighting for a time. Injuries are less likely to be lethal as well.

Magic Resistance (Rank B): As a Saber, Mordred possesses an innate resistance to magical effects. Lesser spells will outright fail to affect him, while everything else has reduced effect.

Riding (Rank B): Mordred is capable of handling most vehicles and animals with above average skill, even those that did not exist during his time.

items / weapons:

Plate Armor: His helmet, Secret of Pedigree, is capable of breaking apart and combining with the armor without the use of Mordred’s hands.

Noble Phantasm - Clarent (Rank C): A ceremonial sword, plundered from the vaults of Camelot by Mordred. Having illegitimately obtained the weapon, Mordred is incapable of utilizing most of Clarent’s power of amplification; he is only capable of using it as a focus for Clarent Blood Arthur.

Noble Phantasm - Secret of Pedigree (Rank C): Mordred’s helm, gifted to him by his mother alongside the orders to never remove it. So long as Mordred abides by certain restrictions, Secret of Pedigree will suppress information relating to his true identity and powers.

Saber: Or, less confusingly, a fighter jet that Mordred had commandeered during the Great Grail War and named after himself. even if it was destroyed this counts okay?

starting ability: standard servant abilities starting item: secret of pedigree

extra:

i don’t CARE what fate canon may or may not imply you’ll have to pry transmasc mordred out of my cold, dead hands

hes just over 5 feet tall why the fuck do i only have short characters here

mordred is getting back that jet fighter you cant stop me.

discord id: bloodarthur.#4062 (will be simply bloodarthur. once i get hit by the update beam, i got this username on lockdown)

passcode: awesome

[beautifulsnake2162020]

The Vitulation Cycle: An Arthuriana fanfiction (King Arthur x OC and Arthur x Guinevere x Lancelot) CHAPTER 5: ARTHUR PART II

Disclaimer: This is a work of fanfiction I do not make any money from this. Cultist Simulator elements belongs to the Weather Factory, House of the Dragon/Game of thrones elements belongs to George RR Martin and Arthuriana while generally regarded as under the public domain, it comes from the culture of Britain.

Chapter 5 - Arthur: Part II

"You don't have to be present, I'll understand if you want to skip today's meeting." You brush your nose against Lancelot's as the two of you had just finished a romantic encounter as the two of you now dressed to meet the Fisher King. It was to take place in the neutral territory of King Mark, the uncle of Sir Tristan, who was about two years older than Mordred and was the latest person to officially join the knights of the round table. It had been a year since the Princess Elaine's delegation had entered into Camelot, harassed your now lover, and took his seed. You had preferred that he stay behind with Guinevere but he insisted in accompanying you.

Lancelot nuzzles you back as his hands meet yours.

"You're going to be there, that's more than enough for me."

You two share one last kiss before you both head out.

He stayed as one of your guards nearby as you, King Mark and the Fisher King have your meeting in a tent. Originally the Fisher King wanted to return to your kingdom, but given what happened while you were away, meeting in a neutral territory was a sufficient compromise.

"What concern do you believe that only I can help with?" You ask as you settle yourself across the Fisher King. King Mark between the two of you, making himself an unofficial arbitrator. In some ways you pity him as he struggled to sit upright before settling on sitting in a way that was in between laying and being upright so no pressure was placed on his genitals. The area wherein he was infected with an unknown disease. It may just be another sign of his aging body, but you didn't encounter many old men who had uncomfortable pain in their cod and cock.

"King Arthur, I believe you are the right person to help find my medicine."

"Your medicine?"

"Yes, something called the grail, or the sacred grail. My supply that has been aiding me has run out. And according to my alchemists the medicine is of magical and probably sacred origin. My kingdom is not as magical as yours and I was hoping that you could help me in this."

"Hmm that seems reasonable. I too don't have the same resources that you have Arthur."

"I hope you understand Arthur why I need the medicine. Camelot is powerful but still young, and I'm uncertain if either you or Mark are prepared to handle an influx of immigrants to your respective kingdoms." He was cunning, you'll give him that. And he did have a point on why you should help him on a quest that he has made you involved in. You do your best to not show any of your thoughts on your face. Let him think you aren't thinking of asking more from him in return. You weren't an adolescent anymore and quests were expensive.

"I see, would it be alright if I asked my sister Morgan, one of my magical advisors to join us? It's true that I do have magical resources, but she will probably know what to look for. She's the better person to involve in our discussion on magical medicine."

"Certainly King Arthur." The Fisher King grins as you stand to ask Lancelot or Gwaine, two of your knights who were guarding outside to ask Morgan to come to the tent. Inside you were hoping that the Fisher King is too occupied by what he thought was your blind compliance. Gwaine goes to escort Morgan to the tent as you and Lancelot share a brief glance.

How are you? Your eyes say before Lancelot gives you a small nod. His eyes never leaving yours.

I am well, go back to your business.

Morgan then hastily arrives just as dinner is set in the tent and a chair was brought for her to join in.

"What more can you say about this medicine of yours?"

"Well I don't need much to cure my ailment. But ever since we began running out my alchemists tried diluting it with water but it only made me need more for my ailment to be healed and maintained in a healed state."

"Why do you call it the Grail?"

"Because my lady, that is how it is served to me. The keeper of the medicine would put the amount in a grail - before it was diluted it was given to me in a cup, and then after my alchemists diluted the supply and a larger amount was needed by me they began putting it in a large serving plate along with water or any other drink I preferred - and so I began calling it 'the Grail' for brevity."

"Have you seen what the medicine looked like? In it's own bottle?"

"Unfortunately no. All I know is that not only did my ailment heal, but almost everything of mine healed."

This caught your attention.

You focused your eyes on your food and an ongoing conversation with King Mark about how Tristan was adjusting in your court. But what the Fisher King said he felt - it was how you felt when you nearly died twice and Daenara's healing blood was there to save you both times. It was how you knew you would live in both times.

It was how you knew that before she died Daenara had healed you.

"It's Targaryen blood isn't it?" You ask Morgan as you and she discuss this in private as you two lead your delegation back to Camelot. You requested your knights to give you some space for the privacy of your conversation.

"Issa valonqar (Yes little brother). If it isn't Targaryen blood then it must be a concoction that has it in it's ingredients or it is an extract from it which managed to get all the healing properties isolated from the blood."

"Which is more likely?"

"Hmm by the sound of it the second option is more likely since he did say that before his supply began to run out he had only needed a few drops of it. But then again Targaryen blood already does this and it's also possible that he just didn't know that it was Targaryen blood. The person who gave it to him must have placed some wine or juice to possibly change the color and to disguise the fact that it is actually blood."

"Huh - we'll need to tell Merlin now of the secret we know?"

"We don't. We made a promise valonqar. I'll prepare a divination ritual to see how we may obtain it. If I can't find the answer myself I'll ask my friends first to see if anyone knows how to get Targaryen blood. So far those who use it are taking from their current supply though."

"No one has found where they are?"

"They are in hiding, ever since they were betrayed by a spy who wanted to severely remove magic they have been in hiding. It's why those who know where they are and those who are responsible for protecting them are very secretive and are keeping an eye on the current supply currently used. Right now if any Targaryen were to allow their blood to be drawn from a large syringe, they would become extremely wealthy really quick with the prices that we currently have."

You take a sigh.

"Still thinking about her?"

"I don't want to give myself false hope from the results of our personal pilgrimage."

"I wouldn't say it's out of place. My hope has grown ever since we couldn't find her remains or any possessions we had when we were last there."

"Mm hmm."

"You may want to think her dead, I would rather fantasize that she was still alive somehow."

"All to justify your dislike for Guinevere?"

"I'm not one to judge how many people a person could love. But I would rather you had been involved with a different couple than Lancelot and Guinevere. Guinevere thinks that just because she knows how to read people she suddenly knows everyone's little secrets or who a person is. Lancelot is a sword happy individual who just so happens to be born into a pretty package."

"There's more to them than that."

"Just because you gave them your blessing in the Beltane celebration last year doesn't excuse their actions. They thought they were discreet when really they were shameless. And just because the three of you are now a triumvirate of lovers doesn't excuse that."

The sun began to set on the horizon. You and your delegation will have to make camp in this field for the night. Camelot was not too far away since you could see your castle from where you were.

"Morgan, I appreciate your protectiveness of me. But I love both of them."

"You also love me and the rest of the knights of the round table." She retorts back at you as the two of you began dismounting from your horses.

"I'm not asking you to suddenly be best friends with them. All I'm asking is for the three of you to be civil. I can't blame Lancelot for not wanting to be your guard or escort during this trip because of how coldly you've been treating him. And you were also responsible for Guinevere's fainting with your friend the Green knight."

"Kostilus valonqar (Please little brother)." She says as she rolls her eyes at you.

"Besides I'm sure Lancelot would prefer to be your escort rather than mine. Both for your protection and pleasure." You raise an eyebrow at her as she smirks at you.

"I suppose you and Guinevere were a good match after all among the many possibilities in an arranged marriage. Both of you think you are discreet, when really you are both rather shameless. To have Lancelot moaning out your name when you think the rest of us couldn't hear is astonishing indeed." You couldn't help but roll your eyes at her sarcastic tone as you help set up camp.

Something strange happened that night.

In your dream, a silhouette of a person - a person vaguely familiar to you yet you don't know why that is - is bleeding out. And from the stream of blood came forth various fruits. It was then you noticed that the stream of blood had also filled in cracks on the ground you only noticed was there. The fruits that emerged were some of the most appetizing and gorgeous seen. From the gooseberries to the apples, all of it was enticing you to feast on it.

And yet you feel some guilt, guilt that prevented you from partaking in the feast that was emerging.

Soon the stream of blood reached your feet.

You tried resisting it for you feel unworthy of receiving such gift.

It healed you anyway. Despite your resistance from feelings of guilt and unworthiness, you find your hidden thirst quenched and you eventually allow yourself to partake in both the blood and the food it brought forth.

And then you awaken in Lancelot's arms.

As you all gathered for breakfast you notice that everyone has had a similar dream with some variations.

With the others it was from a serving plate that was large. Like yours a red substance - some thought it was wine and others thought it was blood - flows out from it and brings forth plenty of food and it too energized them.

With Morgan her dream was encountering a large stream of a red tinted water that was also glowing. But strangely in her dream it not only brought forth food but also a chalice and a blade. On the chalice was a symbol of the blade, and on the hilt of the blade was a symbol of the chalice. Before she could touch either one she was awakened.

"Arthur, you know I'm not one who usually delve into the meaning of dreams." Sir Ector, the man who in your heart was your true father, says as he finishes breaking his fast after everyone has shared their own vivid dreams of the night before.

"But having said that - this might be a sign that the quest for the Grail was meant for us. Meant for you to do."

"Father I'm not as young as I was. I'm not sure if this quest was meant for me specifically. After all you all had similar dreams."

"You're still young, take it from me whose joints are beginning to stiffen." Sir Ector says with a reassuring smile.

"Either way you're still the youngest Wart." Your brother Sir Kay brings in humor to lighten your mood.

"It seems I will have to do the divination ritual immediately once we get back."

"Why not ask Merlin?" You and and Morgan share a look at sir Gwaine's question.

"Based on the description the Fisher King gave, Morgan and I have a good guess on what the medicine actually is. And it seems the dreams we've all had just seem to confirm this."

"Oh? And what is the Fisher King's medicine?"

"I'm sorry Gwaine but Morgan and I have made a promise to those who possess the medicine not to tell what it is."

"Huh, why not?" Sir Gwaine asks rather harshly. You know he doesn't mean it but even passions could be misinterpreted by those whom he is not close to.

"First of all it's not our secret to share and both Arthur and I have too much respect for those who make the medicine. Second of all it's still just a guess even with the dreams we have last night. Third, even if our guess is right we're not sure where to get it from."

"What do you mean you don't know? I thought you both know who the creators are."

"I know that a talented team of seamstresses made my garments, that doesn't mean I know where they are. Also the creators are no longer in their original place. Which is why Arthur and I don't exactly know where to go since even among the magical community, nobody knows where they are and those who do will do anything to keep them hidden for their protection."

"This medicine, this Grail is that powerful?" Your brother asks your sister.

"And it is scarce. Which is why I don't blame the creators for going into hiding."

"That still doesn't explain why you can't ask Merlin. Isn't he also a part of the magical community?"

"He is, but let's just say I'd rather do this myself. On any other matter I don't mind if Arthur asks Merlin. But this is one of the few exceptions to the rule. I know this makes me seem more suspicious in everyone's eyes, but I'd rather presume he doesn't know about it than to break my promise." Her tone leaves no further question to be asked. Normally this would be uncomfortable but in this instance you were thankful for it.

The day after your arrival Morgan performs a divination ritual. In order to show that this was indeed in good faith (to the rest of the court since you know why she insisted on being the one to do this) she did the ritual in open court. After thoroughly cleansing herself and dressing in her most comfortable garments she brings her tools of divination with her. Rune stones from one of her Scandinavian teachers, divination cards, a candle that she had reserved for divination and a huge bag of salt. On a large mat with stones on each corner and side to prevent it from moving, she pours the salt in a circle surrounding her and her tools. She says something that was too soft for you to hear. Then she lights the candle and bows toward it while asking it for guidance. Normally after this she would begin to either shuffle the cards or begin shaking the bag of runes.

But this time was different.

Her eyes begin glowing in a violet color that blocked out the green eyes that you two shared.

And the voice that comes out of her is not her own.

"Is this her doing it?" Guinevere asks Merlin as everyone is shocked by the changes in her.

"No, someone has entered her body. Morgan's aura is at a standstill. It's acting like a stage for the being who had chosen to enter her body." Merlin says ominously making everyone in court bracing themselves for what may occur.

"Excellent observance Merlin." A male voice comes out of Morgan as she - or whomever the being was - looked at Merlin. Merlin had a look of astonishing recognition in his eyes.

"Don't you remember me? Your own mentor?"

"I do. But why do you now inhabit Morgan le fay's body?"

"Because now is the time for me to do so pupil. Don't worry this will not harm Morgan as long as her body doesn't go beyond the circle of salt she created. But now is the time I formally initiate the quest of the Grail." Merlin's mentor then faces you and gives you a serene smile that you haven't seen on Morgan's face.

"Your knights were correct in deducing that this quest is something that you and your knights were meant to do. There are at least two stages to this quest."

"At least two?"

"Yes Arthur, it all depends on how well and how quickly you or your knights or your allies could solve some puzzles in this quest."

"Very well, what must we do?"

"For now I shall tell you what you will need to know for the first part of the quest. First this must be located." Using the flames of the candle, the being formed the flames into a shape of a chalice.

"Forgive me but it looks like the shape of any goblet."

"Right now the shape of the goblet is all I could give you. But don't worry I shall give you a hint on how to locate the chalice you need. The chalice is something that will be very familiar to you, alarmingly so. It may be found among the possessions of a magical being closely connected with something and someone you know. Once you have found it, tell Morgan to conduct the same ritual so I may inhabit her body again." And then the being left as Morgan quickly went back to her senses and balanced herself before she could fall.

Hmm something familiar to you.

"Have you decided which knights will go on the Grail quest?"

"Mordred I can't send anyone without any directions of where to go. I have yet to think on where."

"Also there's logistics to consider Mordred. Sending anyone out on a quest will still need some planning beforehand." Lancelot adds as Mordred gives him his new clothes and gives you water to drink. It had been awhile now since you've received the quest to find a goblet that's supposed to be familiar to you. If it was so familiar then how come you have problems recalling it?

"Mordred can you see if the other knights need anything? Arthur and I will be fine now." Mordred takes the hint and leaves you and Lancelot on your way to the bathing area of the castle. One of the few things of your birth father's that doesn't leave a bad taste in you. It was more for practical reasons than for pleasure. It was near the training grounds and once the men were done with their training, they could easily wash up and make themselves presentable by the next meal time. The infirmary was also close to it on occasions when injuries were suffered and the wounds needed to be quickly cleaned first before it could be treated.

"You are stressing yourself trying to search for the goblet." Lancelot says as your hands were joined as both of you relax in a tub of hot water with him across you.

"I couldn't help it. Many are asking when I will send anyone out on a quest. I feel like I should know where it is despite me having no idea what goblet could be so familiar to me. Or if it is familiar to me then why can't I remember it now."

"And this is stress that will only drive you mad. Didn't you say recently that you had Morgan follow up on the medicine that you believe the Fisher King needs?" He asks you tenderly as you lean back.

"Yes and I have more hope there than my memories. But it doesn't make the pressures of court any less tiring when there are several who are impatient for results. Maybe this is why I am frustrated myself with the memories that I could not recall."

"Then maybe it's that time of the month that you should spend some time away from court. You and Guin weren't able to go to the cabin these past few months, perhaps now is the time to be away from court."

"Something tells me that you want to suggest a different place this time Lance." He chuckles as he holds his hands up in surrender.

"I was hoping this time we could take a trip to Avalon and visit my mother. You, me, and Guin. Avalon is a place away from the politics of court and she had longed to see you again since she gave you Excalibur." Your eyes widen.

"Lance that would be a longer trip than just a half a day's journey on a horse to the cabin."

"Which was why I asked Ector and Kay first before proposing this to you. And they are both quite willing to oversee Camelot in yours and Guin's absence."

You couldn't help but sigh. If even your father and brother agreed then perhaps you do need sometime to genuinely rest from being Camelot's king.

"You need rest Arthur." Kay says as he pushes you toward the stables wherein everything you needed was ready.

"Our father has been running affairs long before you were born, Camelot will be fine."

"Should anything go wrong -"

"Have Merlin get the three of you if it's beyond our abilities to solve it. I know this, our father knows this. Now get on your horse Wart and be off."

"Are you this desperate to have me gone Kay?" You couldn't help but smirk at him.

"Yes I couldn't stand to hear you muttering over a damned goblet for another hour. Now enjoy Avalon and enjoy Lancelot and Guinevere."

"We'll make sure he enjoys himself Sir Kay." Guinevere says as she laughs with him.

You didn't want to admit it but they were right. It was rejuvenating being in Avalon with both of your lovers and you did miss being in the presence of the lady of the lake. On the second to the last night of your stay, the lady of the lake brings out some items from her possession.

"I want to give all of you a gift among my treasures. But since I do not know which to give, I have laid out what I thought was the best choices."

"Or choices you don't mind giving."

"Well Lancelot if you don't want something from Avalon then I'll just give Arthur and Guinevere then."

"Mother! I was just joking." Laughter echoed from all of you as she lay the items on the table. Guinevere chose a necklace that had some of Avalon's power within it. Enough for it to be used to get to Avalon quickly than to travel on horse. Lancelot chose a dagger that did not need to be sharpened. You were still pondering on what to select when one of the lady's servants arrived carefully holding something in a bag.

"Oh I have been looking for this. Arthur since you seem to be having problems among the choices I have laid out, perhaps you will want this one."

"It will be a challenge since you have already given me Excalibur."

"Oh you'll never know."

She brings out the item from the bag.

Your eyes widen in familiarity.

[tillman]

Daniel Lavery's “How, after Long Fighting, Galehaut Was Overcome by Lancelot Yet Was Not Slain and Made Great Speed to Yield to Friendship; Or, Galehaut, the Knight of the Forfeit”

King of the Distant Isles, Galehaut, King also of Norgales; Overlord of the North Marches and Escavalon; Master in Lothian, Gore, the Long Isles, Sorestan; King in Orofoise, Roestoc, Pomitain, the Isle of Servage, the Straight Marches, Stranggore; Duke of Sorelois, Garloth, and twenty more besides. Now in Tintagel, afterward in Joyous Garde; lover of good knights; unhelmeted at last by Sir Lancelot; formerly excellent, currently happy and awaiting burial:

There are too many young men on the earth these days for true friendship to flourish. The flower of knighthood is thereby strangled in the bud, for, without a true friend, the knight can never temper his martial spirit with the cooling breath of love. He charges about from place to place, ever steaming, foundry hot, irritating maidens, stirring up quarrels, distressing shepherds, cluttering the courts, frightening curates, heedless of invitation and mindless of direction. He is a liability to his comrades, a burden to his master, a clod and a pest to his bedmates, and the terror of farmers and livestock alike.

Now the year 1000 was a mutation in time, a warp in the wheel of fortune, and from that cracked year a thousand young men crawled over Christendom and savaged her, bored and voracious after their schismatic birth. So it was that comradeship was introduced to gentle them, the peace and truce of God to restrain them, interdicts and excommunications to quiet them, monks to puzzle them, pilgrimage to weary them, and chivalry to better them. Yet there are so many men, and so few friends among them, that one might search the world twice over without ever encountering him.

The aim of the play of chivalry is twofold. It is perhaps rather truer to say that there is both a known and an unknown aim to chivalry. The first is to keep bored youngsters busy; to teach both boys and horses how to behave, how not to embarrass their mothers at the table; to fill up their afternoons with activity and intrigue that they might end the day tired and ready for honest sleep rather than trouble; to accumulate honor and marks of distinction from kings and ladies, that they might feel themselves trailed about by glory and slow their pace accordingly. The second is to get themselves rid of all honor and glory for the love of a true friend.

Many knights never learn of this aim. They are horse riders and cow-handed, fit only to sire sons and to round out the guest list at court. They can carry a cup across a tiltyard without spilling, say “Pleased to meet you” in French, and die in war. Not for them is the increase of the soul, the swelling up of merit, the augmentation of grace, the tournament in disguise, the leap from the window, the taking hold lightly and in secret of a dearly loved hand, the token worn tight against the chest, the exchange of hair locks, the midnight marriage by a tree-wild monk, the flight in disguise, the trade in clothes, and the setting out across the wasteland. The true knight longs for shame, awaits eagerly the day when he may cast aside his honor and trample it under the pounding of feet as he rushes to his friend. A knight is a humiliation-seeking device, and the point of knighthood is to renounce everything, to give up all, to cast honor and dignity and title aside and tumble headfirst into perfect degradation, perfect friendship, perfect trust, perfect felicity. In this collapse may knighthood, at last, flower. All else is horsemanship and table manners and may as easily be learned from a book (or, for that manner, a well-trained horse) as from a fellow knight. It is better than nothing and nothing else.

Of the first aim of chivalry, and the first class of knighthood, of which the greater bulk of all knighthood in Christendom is part, I will say little. It is because of them we have tournaments and men enough to fill them; that is sufficient. I left home to collect kings; in the tearing apart of kings’ households I might expect to find good knights. Gloier I killed, the son of Loholt, killed him for Sorelois, for her low and sunken bridges, her splendid merry rivers, her rich forests and untrammeled views to the sea. (Then I trammeled them.) Galegantin I sent away smarting. Bagdemagus, Cleolas, Maleginis, valiant men and well-appointed, leading armies blistering with a hundred lances, masters of the islands of tar and gold, Kings Aguissant and Yon—all fell before me and yielded their lands, their swords, their sons to my captains’ mess. I had many friends in those days, either proudly dead or cheerful in defeat, every one of them generous, frank, openhearted, pleased to find me as gracious as handsome, as wealthy as sporting. I knew every good sport from Orkney to Armenia and carried all their helms behind me in my war chest. “Galehaut, welcome; welcome, Galehaut,” the word came. “Knock me down, my darling.” There are so many men, and so few friends among them, that one might search the world twice over without ever encountering him.

So I knocked everybody down. Men begged me to hit them. Men who had never known what to ask for in their life, men who fell silent at the sight of the Grail maiden and neglected to ask the Fisher King what ailed him, men who could barely mumble along in Mass suddenly found their tongues on my field and chased me out: “Galehaut, best of knights! Galehaut, so courtly in victory! Galehaut the forbearant, the loyal, the hardy, test your hardiness on me—throw me down—dismount me—knock me off—grant me the honor of your fist, Galehaut, fuck me up, Galehaut, fuck me up, Galehaut, I haven’t seen my father in sixteen years but send me home to him wearing your bruises and I can say I was truly a knight. Galehaut, I’m begging you, trample me, make much of me, make a mess of me, just this once lay waste to me and I’ll gladly follow you wherever you go.”

So I knocked everybody down and had their honor added to mine, till I was so heaped with glory it took three days to go a mile. I moved slowly over the earth as I approached Arthur, stopping often to knock and absorb knights inasmuch they begged for absorption. As soon as a man fell before me, weeping in gratitude and joy, I knew two things about him: first, that he was not the true friend I sought, and second, that I had just done away with another rival for the friend I still sought. So I made progress, but also wasted time, as I neared Logres. We fought two wars against each other in Selice, Arthur and I could have swept the Summerlands, could have pushed Tintagel into the channel, would have walked to Rome on my knees, had Arthur fought alone. I carried the cloud of thirty kingdoms behind me; I had the best and most lovestruck knights in the world by my side; I arrived at the field of battle eminently lovable and ready to knock again. Arthur had red hair, a lovely wife, a ready arm, a handful of marsh barons and reed knights, and tenacity. I liked him. I knocked him down. He collapsed very prettily. “Would you consider,” he asked from the ground, “giving me a bit of time to collect myself and my men before trying again?”

“Verily,” I said, “and with a right good will. Shall we meet again at Pentecost, on this same field, under our same banners, and with our best men?”

He nodded—I hoisted him up—he saluted me with the best of manners—departed—I collected the dazed and tumbled-down knights wishing to join my party—a year passed.

The same field. More knights on my side, more knights on his. You may well wonder whether I found the process of friend-seeking tiresome, if I ever wearied going all over the face of the earth and turning over men to see if my friend lay hidden underneath. I did not; friend-finding is painstaking work and cannot be rushed. Moreover, each man I knocked down was one fewer rival against me. On the field was Yvain, who fought brilliantly; Gawain, who fought better still; Arthur, who was a bit of a mess but had a certain undeniable energy to his approach. There was a man whose name I did not know, whose armor and horse were all black. His next horse—the first being cut out from under him—was black, too. Black was the third horse, then the fourth. Around him in a great clatter piled up the helmets and arms of fallen knights, their shields in pieces, their flags tattered, all swooning in turn at his feet.

The number of the Trinity is three and perfect. Lancelot is, and is, and is.

A friend, then. I wondered if I would fall from my horse. “Sir,” I called out, trying to steer my own horse closer to him, feeling for all the world like I was trying to chase down the chit at the end of dinner, “sir, hold a minute. Be not afraid.” “Nor was I, friend,” he called back (friend already!). “Go ahead.”

“Let me tell you what I intend,” I said, jostling my way through the crush until we drew abreast of each other. “I am a king and the son of a king; no one on this field will harm you while I am living. Also, you amaze me.”

“Well,” Lancelot said. “Lovely to meet you, king’s son. You’re, what, six foot two? Six foot three?”

“Six foot five,” I said.

“Six foot five,” he said. “Yeah. Okay. Lead on, then.” So we left the field together, and everyone else fell down around us. “Yon red tent is mine,” I told him. “Would you like me to surrender to Arthur tomorrow? Tonight? How do you take your tea? How can I embarrass myself for you? Everything I have is yours, you know—”

The next year. At the great tournament of Sorelois. We were sitting around—Guinevere, Gawain, Yvain, and myself— talking about the things we would do for Lancelot and the love of Lancelot, if his love happened to be ours. Yvain, who was of a practical cast of mind, spoke first: “I’d give him my best hawk, my best horse, my best armor, and my place in bed.”

“What is your place in bed, Yvain?” Guinevere asked. Merry, not brutal; Yvain laughed and threw a crust of bread at her.

“And what of you, Gawain?” I said. “What would you give him?”

Sir Gawain bethought himself awhile before saying, “If God and the saints would grant it, I’d immediately ask to be refashioned into his maiden true, his good sweetheart, with my own acres and ten manor houses, a writing room full of copyists and clerks, barns of linen; one field for hay, one for beer barley, one for wheat, one for rye, one for oats, one for peas; an abbey full of brewing nuns, an almshouse, and a mill; a fort and a trench; a tin mine; two smiths; a glove maker; a pepper house and a courtroom and a judge; a deer forest and a pig forest; two rivers, nine chalk streams, a wash, three swales; two chapels; a salt flat, a saddler, and the toll profits from seven different bridges. I would be mistress of my own keys and castle, with a keen eye, more lovely than the southern winds in May, hair like heavy ropes of gold, lips like figs, a figure like a prayer drifting up to heaven, the worthiest damsel to ever draw breath, and I’d save all my love, all my riches, all the tributes produced by my land and all the tributes produced by my good, tight body for him, and I’d give him them.” “Sir Gawain,” I said to him, “you have offered much. God grant it you,” and I pledged him until he blushed. His blushes were flashes of robin’s breast in a dark forest. “Pledge him again,” I told the rest of the table, “lift your cups in praise of him, until he grows wine-colored all over; I like it.” I liked Gawain; I held it against no one in court that they should love Lancelot as I did. It seemed to me personally reasonable that they should. Is the Father jealous of the Son? Or of the Holy Spirit that issues forth from both? So we all touch the best knight in Christendom; so we all issue forth.

Queen Guinevere spoke next. “Gawain has offered all a lady can give and quite cut me out. What is left for me to offer? I’d turn into a barn owl,” she said, “and scratch out his eyes and carry them around in my feet and trample all over his sight.” A lovely girl, and worthy of him. He would receive death and dishonor from her; I death and dishonor from him; she would have to find death and dishonor all on her own somewhere, but I didn’t doubt her ability for a moment. “And you, Galehaut? You can’t give him the armies of the Distant Isles again.”

“Turn my honor to shame,” I said, “bury my name in filth and degradation, ride in a cart, dishonor my father and my mother, strike a monk, steal deer, filch livestock out of pasture, burn a house in Easter week, frighten noble ladies and widows during Lent, defile relics and saints’ bones—”

“Piss in a baptismal font, steal Canterbury, yes, yes,” Gawain said dismissively, “collapse into foolishness for him—we get the picture.”

“He offers a great deal, Gawain,” Guinevere said, smiling at me. “It gives me joy to see it.”

“What can I say?” I asked them. “God has not struck me with misfortune yet; I am a man unused to sacrifice. I know how to woo and to give gifts—to dazzle and to intimidate—”

“That’s six foot five, everyone,” Gawain stage-whispered. “But of all the knights in Christendom, I have had the best luck of all and never lost to another man. So I think I do not know well what it means to give much in exchange for love. And then one day my luck ran so strong I received everything I had ever wanted. Now I have nothing left to win and can only lose.”

“Trying to win through an appeal to our sympathy,” said Yvain. “No, it won’t wash, Galehaut; you’re not going to make me pity a tall, well-favored duke who’s lord of thirty kingdoms and best friend to Lancelot besides.”

“Let me add this, then,” I said. “I will not outlive my friend—will not outlive this tournament, for even now I see his flag falter and fear him undone by treachery and false knights, enemies of true friendship. Take me out to Joyous Garde and lay me there; even if he should get up by some miracle, Galehaut will not survive Lancelot touching earth.” So it was I won that day and thereafter died. Lancelot got up again after touching earth, but I was not there to see it—he touched it, and I went into it. To go into ground now or later, now that I had done what I had set out to do, was a matter of supreme indifference to me.

After me, for Lancelot: to ride in the cart, and humiliation, disgrace, talk of treason, of felony, next the contempt and loathing of the crowd, the cloud of shame, the publicly unsatisfying reunion with Guinevere, the tepid reception of former friends, the stink of degradation, all without me to strengthen or console him—oh, how lucky he is, my darling boy, to sink so low for me.

galehaut. 

[guinevere-if]

Demo: TBA

Guinevere is a text-based interactive fiction that draws inspiration from the rich tapestry of Arthurian Legends.

You will play as Guinevere and witness the journey toward gaining power and the struggles to keep your reign secure in a kingdom filled with political intrigue and external threats.

In the future, I plan to make Guinevere gender-selectable, and also make Arthur the opposite gender of the MC. However, for the time being, I would like to keep the story as it is until I can better determine the direction in which the narrative is heading.

For many years, people believed that dragons were untamable creatures until one man proved them all wrong. Armed with a mighty sword and a formidable dragon by his side, Arthur set out with his army to conquer all of Britain and bring it under his rule. Unfortunately, your kingdom has found itself standing in the way of Arthur's quest for a united Britain.

Choose Guinevere's gender (Soon!)

Customize your MC’s physical appearance.

Make tough and important decisions that affect you and everyone around you.

Four romances that the story heavily focuses on.

Have a dragon by your side and fight Arthur in the skies!

Form a family.

The fate of the realm rests on a knife's edge - it can either flourish under your leadership or crumble to its ultimate demise.

"To achieve the greater good, one must first attain the power to make it a reality."

Arthur Pendragon: King of Camelot and the founder of the Round Table Order.

He is a man of few words, with a cold and aloof demeanor that can make him seem unapproachable. He prefers to keep to himself and often retreats into his own world. Despite his reserved nature, he is a strong leader who inspires loyalty and devotion in those around him.

His golden blonde hair and piercing grey eyes add to his air of regal authority and make him a striking figure. Though he may seem distant at times, he has a deep sense of honor and duty, and will stop at nothing to protect his people and his kingdom.

Will you be able to crack his armor and discover what hides beneath?

"Your ignorance is truly awe-inspiring. I can only hope to one day reach your level of blissful unawareness."

Morgana Le Fay: She is a mysterious and intriguing woman, known for her use of sarcasm to keep others at bay. Her sharp wit and biting comments often serve as a shield, protecting her from anyone getting too close.

Despite her sarcastic demeanor, Morgana is an intelligent and perceptive individual. She has a keen sense of observation and is quick to pick up on the nuances of the people around her. Her green eyes are piercing and seem to see right through anyone who tries to deceive her.

Morgana's inky black hair is often styled in loose waves that frame her pale skin. She has an ethereal beauty that can be both captivating and intimidating. Her presence commands attention, and it's clear that she is not someone to be trifled with.

She's been hurt in the past and is hesitant to let anyone get too close to her. But for those who are willing to take the time to get to know her, Morgana can be a true and loyal friend or even something more.

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going. I don't know what that means, but I, Sir Lancelot du Lac, never back down from a challenge."

Sir Lancelot du Lac: A knight is known for his charm, boldness, and impulsive nature. He has a reputation for being a ladies' man, with many admirers who swoon at his feet. Standing tall with a strong build and chiseled jaw, he is a man who commands attention wherever he goes. His dark brown hair and deep blue eyes add to his allure, making him a true heartthrob among the ladies.

Sir Lancelot is a skilled and dedicated knight who takes his duties seriously. He is fiercely loyal to his king and the Round Table and will stop at nothing to protect the people he cares about. His impulsive nature can sometimes get him into trouble, but his quick thinking and bravery always manage to save the day. His bravery and courage have earned him respect among many.

Before meeting you, he never found duty to be burdensome. Now he feels it weight more pressing every day.

"I hate you with every fiber of my being, but I can't seem to shake the strange pull you have on me."

Hey, just so you know, you could totally have a poly thing with both her and Arthur. Just throwing it out there. 🙈

Argante: Merlin's daughter and Arthur's childhood friend.

Argante is a complex and intriguing woman, born of the union between a fae and a half-human, she possesses unique abilities that she often uses to aid Arthur on his various journeys and battles. Her loyalty to Arthur is unwavering, and she is always ready to lend her formidable powers to his cause.

Despite her fierce loyalty, Argante can be possessive and quick to anger. Her emotions often run high, and she is not one to back down from a challenge. The complete opposite of her father, Merlin.

Argante's appearance is just as striking as her personality. Her snowy white hair and purple eyes create an otherworldly picture, the very air shimmering around her presence adding to the mirage. It's no wonder that many are drawn to her, be it out of fear or admiration.

Argante despises you with a fiery passion that burns deep through her every time she catches a glimpse of your face. In her eyes, you are the thief who stole the man of her dreams - the one she had loved for years.

And yet… there is another side to her that sometimes emerges whenever she catches glimpses of you. This side of her seems to yearn for your attention and affection, creating a peculiar dichotomy that is difficult to comprehend.

If you could somehow break through the wall of anger and resentment that Argante has built, and show her that you are not the enemy, there might be a chance to win her over. You might even be able to establish a relationship with both her and Arthur.