The first snapshot is called: The Tale of Sir Bors
It was nearing sunset on a warm summers day when someone knocked on the door of the little three room cottage. The villagers down the road didn't visit the old woman that lived. The village elders thought that she was off of her somewhat rusty hinges.
As for the children of the village, they were a different story altogether. They thought she was a bard. The old lady told them stories of Camelot. Of great Lords and Ladies. Even ones of knights in shining armor at tournaments jousting for a ladies favor.
She even told them of a time when there was no famine or war. When miracles happened as often as the new dawn, and good deeds were a knights daily fare.
The old woman gave a heavy sigh as she rose from her old wooden chair to answer the door. Her dark hair had long sense faded to white and her joints ached with the cold, but she was still as alert as she had been when she a young maid of twenty.
When she opened the door it wasn't to find a child as expected. Instead she found an apparent man of the gentry on her doorstep. His long white hair was tied back with a thong and his blue eyes were shadowed with the wisdom of age. The lines of his face spoke of a had life lived with many adventures. It was obviously a face that spoke volumes to the right person.
"Seraphim? King's Champion? Is it truly thee? Has my long search sought thee out," the man asked. Relief was evident in his gravelly voice.
Seraphim, for that was the woman's name, was shocked. Who was this man? How did he know the truth of her past? Seraphim had thought herself successful in erasing herself from popular memory.
"Who art thou," she asked with a slight tremor in her voice that had nothing to do with fear and the frailty of age. While she may have sounded weak, you could almost hear the hidden strength that lay just beneath her surface.
"Do not you remember the Knight born of common blood," he asked in a soft voice.
"Born of common blood? Bors? Could it possibly be you that stands at my door?" Confusion was evident in her voice. This couldn't be Sir Bors. He hadn't been seen since he left on his quest to find the Grail with Perceval and Galahad. Rumors had abounded of his death for years now.
"It is Milady. Might I beg entrance into your cottage," he enquired politely.
"Granted Bors," Seraphim answered in the same tone. Bors walked humbly into her home. Granted her home was not a grand as the rooms that she had acquired at Castle Camelot but the cottage was comfortable and it suited her needs perfectly.
"Please arrange thyself to thy comfort. For I wager that our conversation shall last well into the next sunrise," Seraphim told him.
"Indeed Milady. For we have much to tell each other," Bors agreed. He spoke quietly as though he were afraid to disturb the memories she held. Bors knew that his friend held a temper most powerful and he did not want to be the one to disturb it should it be resting peacefully after all these years.
Even though his voice was quiet it was serene. Just as it had always been at court, where Arthur and Guinnevere had presided in days long gone. Seraphim thought she detected a note of weariness in his voice as well. If it were there it would be a first, for Bors wasn't known to be weary of anything.
"Before we begin would you care for refreshments?" Her town was polite, yet her eyes shone with merriment.
"I'll not turn it down if you've a mind to share your precious ale," he answered her with a slight grin. For in times now past it was almost unheard of for the Lady Champion Seraphim to share any ale or mead that was in her possession. It was just something that wasn't done.
Seraphim nodded her had as he went into her little kitchen. She returned with two wooden mugs and a jug of ale.
"Where have you been Bors," Seraphim asked after she sat down with her ale. There was more than a hint of sorrow in her voice.
"I shall answer your questions if you shall answer mine, Lady Seraphim."
"Name thy question, Sir Bors."
"What happened Lady Seraphim?"
"It fell apart. Her Majesty took to Lancelot's bed," Seraphim informed Bors gravely.
"The stories are true the? The tales told on peoples lips," Bors asked in confusion.
"They are, my friend. Everything from the betrayal of Mordred and Morgause to that of the king resting on the isle of Avalon," Seraphim confirmed. Her eyes bright with unshed tears.
"How? Why?"
"I do not know. It was a combination of many things. The battle with Lancelot for Guinnevere shook the people's faith in Arthur. Thus opening the door for the vile that was spread by Mordred and Morgause,
"Other than that I know nothing more," Seraphim replied.
Bors grew upset at the news. This was not what he wanted to hear. Especially not from the only female knight of the Table Round. She was the King's Champion! How could she not know hat destroyed the realm?
"How did you survive? You who were his staunchest supporter and protector, Yet there isn't a tale in all the land that bears your name or presence," he accused.
"Tis not what ye think, for you see, I am still bound by orders," Seraphim stated simply.
"How is that possible?"
"Before the final battle during the last gathering of the Court I was ordered not to fight in the final battle against Mordred.
"Arthur gave that ordered at the beginning of the gathering in front of every surviving knight. I was furious. And I let my anger be known by storming off after he explained his orders.
"He said that I was to survive so that Camelot would be remembered,' Seraphim explained.
"In other words, he left the hardest task to you," Bors clarified.
Seraphim nodded her head in agreement. "And you Bors? What happened to your companions, Galahad and Perceval," Seraphim asked.
A look of sadness mixed with joy crossed his face before Bors replied, "They are no more Seraphim. Listen well and I shall tell thee of the holiest adventure of the Knights of the Table Round.
"Across the blue sea and the land of host sands there lies serene a hollow hill. Within it stands a glorious stone Cathedral dedicated to out Holy Father. It was protected by a silent order of monks.
"Before we reached the Cathedral Galahad joined the ranks of the eternals.
"Upon reaching the Cathedral Perceval and I were silently led to the bishop of the Holy Ground for he was the only one permitted to speak.
"He told us, Perceval and I, of how his ancestor Joseph came into possession of the Cup of Christ.
"And then we were told of Joseph's long journey from the land of milk and honey.
"After this he bid us to stay the night. And to receive communion the next day.
"So we stayed in the simple quarters provided. And truly we intended to stay but a single night. But that night turned into many seasons.
"Finally one day I awoke for communion to find that I woke alone. For in the night Perceval had ascended the steps of heaven.
"On that day the bishop told me that it was my duty to return to tell the tale of Christ's Cup.
"And so I returned only to find that Camelot was no more. Arthur and Guinnevere were non more. And absolutely no one knew of the Lady Champion Seraphim.
"Seraphim, I am most sure that when you were charged with keeping Camelot alive in the hearts of the people you were not supposed to erase yourself," Bros finished.
"You may be right but it was all I could think of so that they will remember the most important parts," Seraphim replied.
"Could you not have save Her Majesty's honor," Bors asked.
"In tried and tried true. But by the time I started 'twas already too late. She had been condemned in the eyes of the populace," Seraphim replied.
And so the two old friends sat there and talked long into the night. They talked f recent times and those long gone.
Come morning Seraphim knew she had more to add to the legend before she could take her eternal rest.
So when the children came the next day Seraphim told them a new tale. The tale told that day would forever be remembered as the greatest adventure for Arthur and his Knights.
It would come to be known as the Quest for the Holy Grail.
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Next up we have a tale from the end of Arthur's reign that will surely make you wonder where all the greatness has gone. It will also make you wonder if the greatness of fallen heroes is still what it once was or if that greatness is just another memory for the ages to wonder about.
A Call to Arms
Several seagulls flew around the stone castle making their braying call heard throughout its numerous halls. The outer walls of the stone castle had four parapets. If you were to stand atop the parapets you would see the ocean waves hitting the sandy shore. Atop each parapet was a white triangular flag with an embroidered raging blue lion on it. The flags were limp as there was no breeze to hold them stiff.
Inside the heavy stone wall was a modest castle. If you stood just outside of the main hall you could catch a whiff of a pheasant dinner being prepared.
This castle by the water was the famed Joyous Guard and its master was the most famous (or infamous, depending on your point of view) Knight of the Table Round: Lancelot du Lac.
Currently he had one guest in his castle and that was another knight of the Table – Palemedes the Saracen.
Palemedes was one of three knights of the Table from the country of Babylon . Where (and it was a shock to many a knight) even they had heard of the wonders of Arthur’s court at Camelot.
Even now when the glory was beginning to fade Arthur’s dream of peace and safety for all people was spreading. And that’s what the two men seated in wooden chair decorated with brightly embroidered dorsals on the backs were discussing.
“This I tell you true, Lancelot,” the dark skinned Palemedes began, “though Arthur will die, his dream will not die with him.”
“Talk of such a great man bodes ill for a splendid dinner of pheasant and vegetables,” said the fair skinned, dark haired knight. If one looked closely you would be able to see the fear in his eyes when talking of the death of a man he still considered to be his greatest friend.
“I do not mean to ruin our dinner, Lancelot, but surely you must see his mortality as I do,” Palemedes explained.
“After all these years Palemedes, do you still not what he means to us personally,” Lancelot asked his guest in slight confusion.
“Well I know that many of you consider him a friend and companion. I myself consider him to be a great friend. But what I am trying to impress upon you is that his dream will outlive him,” Palemedes explained as the servants brought the food in and set it on the long wood board table before the two middle aged knights.
As the servants backed out away from the dining table the two men began to load their plates although their conversation took on a different tone.
“Do you believe you far the fame of Camelot has spread,” Palemedes asked his companion.
“My friend, when you and your brothers first came to Camelot as emissaries from your father, “Esclabar, King of Babylon, I had trouble believing. As for this day his fame is almost inconceivable,” Lancelot replied truthfully.
“Yet Gaul is closer to Britannia than Babylon ,” Palemedes replied.
“True,” Lancelot conceded.
After a moment of silence Palemedes said, “Word from my home land is that even Belshazzar respects what Arthur has managed to accomplish in these times.”
Lancelot winced at the disdain in Palemedes quiet voice. All residents of the castle knew that Palemedes had little respect for his oldest brother who now ruled their father’s kingdom. Lancelot cold understand those feelings, they were after all, the same way he felt about Mordred.
Only with Mordred there was more hate than lack of respect. That base born bastard had nearly destroyed the kingdom. And while Lancelot knew he played a part in the near ruin of all that he held dear, he knew for certain that Mordred’s part was far larger than his own. Lancelot knew that many people would agree with him. Including his guest.
“It amazes me how one man’s dream can mean so much too so many,” Lancelot replied.
“He is a great man surrounded by great people who would do anything that he asked of them,” Palemedes told his friend.
At this moment a man with wild eyes and straggle hair was ushered into the room. The only saving grace about his looks was that he wore a red tunic embroidered with a gold dragon. This man was a messenger from Arthur.
Lancelot motioned the man forward. As the man approached the aging knight he extended a scroll secured with a black ribbon.
Lancelot opened the scroll and quickly scanned the contents of it. His tan face was pale when he raised his head to look at Palemedes
“What does Arthur say,” Palemedes asked, slightly alarmed at his friends paleness.
“He has asked for aid in a battle against Mordred. A final battle,” Lancelot replied gravely. The tone of the scroll told Lancelot that this battle would be one for the famed castle of Camelot itself. Because the man who controlled Camelot controlled the nation.
Lancelot and Palemedes looked at each other and hoped that they would arrive in time. Both knights knew deep in their hearts that with war between nephew and uncle this would be the final tolling of the bells for the greatest nation on earth. And in the backs of their minds they hoped against all hope that Arthur’s dream would live on in the memory of the people.
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Next up we have a picture from a point some time after Arthur and all that he knew is gone and barely more than a myth.
Already A Legend
In a German prison-palace sat a man with bright reddish-gold hair and eyes the color of the sky. It was in this palace that he resided since his capture by his cousin Leopold of Austria.
The weather had forced him to take the more dangerous land route back to a kingdom that he really didn't like and the only use he found for it was as revenue. This latest Crusade had been trying on him but at last Christians had more access to the holy land of God.
Here in this prison-palace he had basic rights and the assurance that his captors would not kill him due to his exalted birth (although his brother John would probably like for him to disappear permanently). His daily routines were not changed. He had one servant girl (more of a woman really) assigned to him. She had dark hair old blue eyes. Never once did she say a word to him and yet Richard got the feeling that every time the woman even glanced his way she said a volume to him.
The raven haired woman always bore him his meals but never once had she uttered a word so that he assumed her to be a deaf mute.
Richard would swear though, that even though she had never spoken a word that she was not dumb. There was too much intelligence in her aged eyes.
And in a few minutes Richard would once again see the raven haired woman. For the sun was about right for his midday meal.
Right on time the servant girl came into the room with his noon victuals. This time though, when she looked at him she asked a question, "Tell me Coeur de Lion, which would you prefer - the sword or the scabbard?"
Her soft voice was melodious. Richard looked surprised at the woman. Without a moments hesitation he answered, "The sword Milady. How else were I to defend myself?"
The dark-haired lady shook her head mournfully and answered, “Than I fear, brave-hearted one, that your demise shall be as sad as Charlemagne’s predecessor.” She ended this statement on a sigh as she set the tray of victuals down.
“The man you speak of was naught but a myth,” Richard replied haughtily.
“Arthur was more than myth and fable. But if it is the sword you want than it is the sword you shall get,” she stated with finality. There was a slight sneer on her face as she turned from him and left the room in something of a temper.
As the woman left she slammed the heavy wooden door as hard as she could and if Richard could have seen her blue eyes he would have wondered if the woman was mortal or one of the Church’s demons.
Once outside of the room the woman carefully worked a spell throughout the castle so that she could leave as unnoticed as she had arrived.
Oh! Why did the men of Constantine have to be so stubborn! Could none of them see that Arthur was right all those years ago. Even now not a sole believed him and that deplorable fact was the fault of Arthur’s final orders to his Champion. Why did she have to be so successful?
But there was no use in lamenting the fact that orders had been followed successfully so she’d best get on with the future, else it wouldn’t happen the way that the immortals wanted it to. So if it was Excalibur that the Kings of Albion wanted it was Excalibur that Elaine of the Lake would give them.
Next up we have something form the beginning of Arthur's reign. This one shows that some people already have a name for themselves.
To Roma
Sunlight filtered through the arrow slits of what was quickly becoming known as the king’s workroom to the denizens of the castle. The sunlight allowed enough light to see by and a slight breeze to circulate the air of the some what stuffy room.
In the light’s path sat a sturdy wooden table covered with scrolls. The paper was the papyrus that was imported from Aegypitos. It was extremely durable and versatile. While the cotton blend that was becoming available in Khitai was by far cheaper the papyrus was far more durable. It was one of the few extravagances that Arthur allowed his administration this early in his reign.
Behind the table of scrolls sat a man with reddish brown hair. The man was bent over the table carefully reading a scroll. There was a slight frown on his face as he stared at the scroll.
After several moments the sound of a man clearing his throat alerted the seated man to the presence of another in this his workroom. The seated man looked up and said, “Sir Gareth, come and sit for I have something of a quest for you.”
Sir Gareth entered the room and looked warily at the man before saying, “A quest, Your Majesty,” There was a slight hint of alarm in Gareth’s voice. Arthur may have been a new king but he already had a reputation for having an odd sense of humor.
“Of a sort,” his majesty confirmed with a half smile on his face. It was a smile that made Gareth nervous.
With trepidation in his stomach Gareth echoed, “Of a sort?”
“Yes. I would like for you to make a journey with the Lady Seraphim,” Arthur said. Gareth could have sworn that he saw amusement in the king’s eyes as he said that.
Gareth almost sagged in relief. Doing anything with Lady Seraphim was both refreshing and amusing for the fact that it was common knowledge that Seraphim acted like no lady that any knight had ever met.
Why you could take Lady Seraphim into a tavern and she would encourage one to act with pride amongst your peers. Of course she happened to think that she was one of the guys on a regular basis. That tended to help with thinking of her as a comrade in arms.
Taking a journey with her should be of little problems to be dealt with.
“What sort of journey had you in mind, your majesty,” Gareth asked his king.
“’Twould be naught but a journey across the seas, to the land of Roma ,” replied Arthur, his hazel eyes sparkling in mischief.
“Then thou wish a mission of secrecy,” Gareth questioned. The prospect of traveling in secret with the king’s champion sparked the knight’s interest. Gareth, like all other knights of the table, had never served with a female knight and the king’s chosen champion was a woman. This was a highly unconventional thing to have. Especially given the fact that the primary religion of the Roman conquerors was that of the Christ child. This was a religion that found that women were a frail lot that were to be protected and kept far from the fields of bloodshed.
And the King’s Champion, the Lady Seraphim, was anything but meek and mild. In many ways Seraphim was more of a knight than some of those that sat at the Table Round. For she truly did believe in and try to live by the ideals that the King had set forth for his Knights. It was rumored that the Lady Seraphim didn’t even know the meaning of the words ‘lip service’. That was something that Gareth found to be extremely true in the few dealings that he had attended with the Lady Knight.
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Next we have something a little different. The following is one of the Lost Scrolls of Morgan le Fey. And she appears to be quite chatty at the moment.