DISCLAIMER: I do not own some of these characters and spun it off the original story of King arthur with my own twists. Yes, there is going to be some slight Slash but i don't know who yet. Im open to any and all ideas!
Times in the Caldicot manner were filled with change. The leaves were ripening into bright red and magnificent yellow as the birds made their mornning chrirps at passers by. Yes this was a grand day in the marshes of Wales, as it was young Arthur De Caldicots fifteenth birthday. Today they would celebrate around the manner by throwing a feast. Today was the day Arthur got to pick out a warhorse of his very own, and get a mail suit complete with scabbard and sword. Yet Arthur did not long for the life of a knight, no matter how honorable it was. No, Arthur De Caldicot dreamed of being a scribe, a poet of the languages, even though his mother tongue he did not know to write. Oliver, a local priest of the village had been secretly teaching him how to cursive write, away from the manner for fear of Lord Stephen, Arthurs father catching him studying instead of practicing sword skills. At this very moment instead of being fitted for a scabbard, Arthur was sitting on top of Tumber Hill, that laid inbetween Whales and England, writing in his liitle book of sorts. Merlin, a local townsman, had once said that he should write down all of his thoughts, unlike his father who had said that thoughts were meant to be kept in his head. "Arthur" Lord Stephen cried out from the bottom of Tumber Hill.
"It is time for you to practice jousting with your brother! And so help me God if you waste another minute of your life writing down in that book."
Arthur always feared his dads threats as he never really found out what the extent of his punishment could be. Maybe a twack upside the head or a good stern talking to...but nothing like what happened at the towns meeting last year.
No that was a day on its own, one of the local tax collectors had been acused of stealing a rack of lamb that was being prepared for the feast of the crowning of Sir Owean, from the Castle. Lord Stephen became infuriated with rage, Arthur even heard Gatty, a local maiden, say that his eyes glowed with the intensity of a thousand hot coals on a cold winters night. The Lord decided to hold a trial of sorts, and the townsfolk agreed. He then asked everyone to take a seat and stand up if they thought Lankin, had indeed stolen the rack of lamb ribs from the kitchen. Needless to say, Lankin was a well known theif and petty person, the only people in the Castle that respected him were little Arthur and Gatty. Everyother person inside the Castle ballroom arose to their feet. Lord Stephen as it were looked Lankin right in the eyes. Lankin cowered away but could not shake off the intensity. Stephen then asked for his right hand. The petty their looked up and made a very tense joke
"Would you like to marry me sir, because asking for my hand in front of thou maiden is very rude."
The Lord found this very disrespectful and demanded his hand once more. As Lankin outstreched his hand, Stephen drew his sword and brought it down, severing it just above the bicep.
No, Arthur was quite convinced his dad would never get quite that mad with him, but just the same he put his book inside a moss patch and hurried down the hill to the clearing. There, his brother Serle, waiting in full mail suit and helmet, was waiting impatiently upon his galliant steer. This horse had looked like something right out of the first hand fleet of war itself. His thick, black coat accented his white underlyings, with a braided mane and muscular legs. That was Serle though, always the elder of Arthur, and always getting the better of the breed. "I thought you would never arrive, now hurry up and grab a jousting stick from the rack. Your mail chains have not been fitted yet since someone decided to run out this mornning to Tumber Hill, so we will use the blunt jousting sticks." With that being said Serle removed his helmet to reveal thin hair matted with sweat. Then he threw his helmet towards Arthur but it narrowly missed his head and hit the jousting poles sending them falling from their racks.
"I guess you will have to clean those up then too" Serle uttered with a sarcastic snicker.
Arthur never knew why his brother always treated him with about as much respect he treated one of the farms pigs, but it had seemed to him that every passing birthday Serle became even more resentful. As he picked up the jousts on the ground he couldn't help but notice the other jouster that came by. A little older than Serle, his steed was indeed young. The white encrested spots on its back told the story of struggle. This jouster had long flowing black hair and fairly tanned skin. His thick, black coat accented his white underlyings, with a braided mane and muscular legs. That was Serle though, always the elder of Arthur, and always getting the better of the breed.
"I thought you would never arrive, now hurry up and grab a jousting stick from the rack. Your mail chains have not been fitted yet since someone decided to run out this morning to Tumber Hill, so we will use the blunt jousting sticks."
With that being said Serle removed his helmet to reveal thin hair matted with sweat. Then he threw his helmet towards Arthur but it narrowly missed his head and hit the jousting poles sending them falling from their racks. "I guess you will have to clean those up then too" Serle uttered with a sarcastic snicker.
Arthur never knew why his brother always treated him with about as much respect he treated one of the farms pigs, but it had seemed to him that every passing birthday Serle became even more resentful. As he picked up the jousts on the ground he couldn't help but notice another jouster that came by.
A little older than Serle, his steed was indeed young. The white encrested spots on its back told the story of struggle. This jouster had long flowing black hair and fairly tanned skin. His bright green eyes contrasted his freckles against firm cheek bones. As he picked up the jousts on the ground he couldn't help but notice another jouster that came by. A little older than Serle, his steed was indeed young. The white encrested spots on its back told the story of struggle. This jouster had long flowing black hair and fairly tanned skin. His bright green eyes contrasted his freckles against firm cheek bones.
"Well well well, what do we have here I see, a new squire who can't even manage jousting sticks. I knew your brother was weak Serle, but never knew he couldn't even do a task my faible house-maid could." Said the stranger with an oddly familiar voice that sent chills down Arthurs spine.
Arthur was sure he had heard the voice once before, on an occasion that was less than unpleasent. As the stranger rode up beside Serle and gave him a friendly nudge, Serles horse snorted out a puff of clear smoke and started to grunt in a low, annoyed tone. It then threw Serle as it rampaged through the barn stables and into the pig pen, leaping over the guard as some fancy showhorses may do. The steer then collapsed under its own excitement and laid on the ground very still. Serle ran over to the side of his steer, never seeing it act this way he stayed cautiously behind the fence and picked up a nearby branch from a rather large tree that had once stood tall.
Oh how Arthur remembered that tree and how many good times he once had under it. His first real heartbreak had beenreceived under that tree, along with his first real injury. It had been when he was but the age of eight, he was sitting uptop a branch much like the one Serle had picked up, along with Gatty. They were having a wonderful time taling about all the wonderful adventures they would have when suddenly, Gatty had some news. She said that she was to be betrothed to her third cousin, Giles and for this, they could never be together. Arthur had but a single tear come from his eye as he started to hear a crackle from the branch Gatty lie on. Arthur noticed the branch was breaking, and just before it completely snapped he had managed to push Gatty out of the way only to fall himself. His injury would prove to be minor, but still serious to an eight year old boy who had just gotten his heart broken. A broken left wrist and two cracked ribs had gotten him bed ridden for the rest of the week. So why did he remember this as a good memory? Because with this heartache and misery came the lesson that life was never fair as Arthur was made stonger, and some how a little less voulnerable by this experience.
Now that Serle had jabbed at the horse a couple of times with no movement, the unknown but familiar stranger had come over on his young steer to check out the situation. He rode right up next to it, in the process grabbing the branch out of Serles hand. He then stopped and jumped off his horse to land firm on the dusty muddy pen. Taking the horse by the mouth in one hand, with his free one he checked for a pulse. None.
"Theres no pulse here Serle, I now must conclude your horse is indeed parished. I think he suffered heart trauma according to his reaction, some sort of heart attack took place. Thats alright, Lord Stephen said he had to go to the stables to see Markus the stable boy for your runt of a brother anyways. You can get another fine bastard there to raise your own again."
As soon as the words left his partially chapped lips, he gave Arthur a cold stare. At that instance Arthur remembered the face. A sort of flashback occured as he pictured himself with Oliver in the Cathedral, two years ago.
His brother was there too as they were preparing for the sacrement of Confession. Oliver had gathered about twenty kids or so from the towns of Caldicot manner, Gortanore manner, and Nightgale manner. All the kids were in a row as the choir started to sin. Each child had prepared a list of sins they wanted to be forgiven. Once they had received their pennance, they would quietly leave the line after confessing infront of the entire chapel. Arthur was nervous as a single sweat dropped and dripped down the tip of his nose. His hands took the form of the prayer hands as Oliver came round to the kid next to him. About two years elder to Serle, his hair and facial features had never changed since that day. He seemed perticularly calm for his list had nothing on it. As Oliver came to wave his hand above his head and chant
"What are your confessions young child?"
The kin just stood there, immobile, then he spoke in a clear, deep voice
"I have no sins, for I consider not sins as something that you can do, I consider sins nothing but acts of our life that deserve no pennence. I beleive not in Jesus, but in the Devil himself and for that I wish you to move on to the next child in this row who beleives for one second repenting sins is indeed the right thing to do."
Then calmly, the child lessed over the blank paper to Oliver and gave Arthur a blank cold stare. He then walked by Serle and put his hand upon his shoulder. The whole church went quiet as the choir, the pianist and even the priest went dead. The boy then spoke in that reassuring voice once more
"I will be seeing you again my leige."
Then he walked out of the church, the only noise made by his dress shoes tapping against the old wood of the church followed by a loud door slam and the sound of rustling feathers of the pigeons and blackbirds reajusting their wings in the rafters up above. That was the day Arthur became petrified of every kid from the other manners. Now, this child had returned little short of an adult, and ready to talk to Serle about his absurd ways. Serle had never really remembered that day, and even now, the way he blankly stared at this teenager, and gave short, blunt answers gave him the indication he was trying not to remember.
"Get away. I don't know who you are. Kindly leave the manner before I get my father here...an...and...how did you know who my...um our father was?"
Serle said trying to keep calm but Arthur could tell there was tension and worry but the slight stumbles and tone of his voice.
"Of course you surely remember who I am Serle? If not let me give a brief explanation. I am from the Nightvale manner, I live there with Lord Humm, my father and the ruler. I am Lancelot, a knight in becomming. I am not much of a speaker in english as it was never my mother tongue, as latin was my specialty. That is all you need to be aware of at this time. I am staying here for a little while as my father has sent me to join your knighthood with a young boy named Serle."
Then Lancelot waved back his hair with his hands and picked up the stick once more, this time sharpenning the edge with a rock. He then took the newly fasioned spear and jabbed it through the heart of the deseased horse drawing blood. Arthur did his best to look away, but in the fuss his brain wouldn't let him. Serle looked with a black face, looking indifferent. Then, Lancelot took the blood that was pouring out and filled a cantine that had been attached to his horse that stay still beside him.filling the cantine he fastened the lid and strapped it back on to his saddle.
"Never know when this could come in handy."
He chuckled a bit insanely.Serle drew his tiny silver sword very carefully that had been hanging from his fitted mail suit. This fine interwoven peice had been made two years ago, Serle could feel the slight impression the welder had made when his father threatened to behead him if evey chain link had not been correct. his sword was now battered and used from all the sword fights he had against the trees to prove he could master his skills. His scabbard proved to also wear out from the repetitive uses to beat Arthur over the head, often like you would train a steer to turn by kicking his underbelly. The thought of this made Serle laugh just a bit everytime he drew his sword. This time was an exception though, because this time he was fighting a real enemy with tactics and skills unlike the defenceless, brainless animals out by Wales.
As Lancelot saw this, he drew back on his horse and rode up to Arthur.
"Young Sir, I beleive you are becomming a squire are you not?" Arthur just looked at Lancelot, screwing up his eyes a bit and not answering of fear the answer that comes out of his mouth would be the wrong one
"Well boy, do you answer your respected highers or will you just stand there until I threaten you of some sorts?"
At once Arthur said the first thing that came to mind, which might not have been the best idea
"Sir, no I would long to become a poet of sorts, a scribe and messanger on the upcomming Crusade."
Oh how Arthur heard aobout the Crusade praised in his household. To his father it wasn't just a war it was his war. He was the one to lead it and he was the one that would come out victorious. It was to be set four years from now, with the best knights foward and only his sons by his side. Yes, Arthur was supposed to be his left wing as Serle, the obvious right hand man would be his other. Together they would lead on a troop of over four hundred men into the siege of fire from the opposing manners. Nightvale and Gortanore would also be joining, but only with few men in a backup army situation. Sir Lancelot, who was now becomming a kinght and would enter Knighthood well before the Crusade, would most likely also be upfront. This idea seemed to make the two boys a little uneasy.
"A Scribe eh? Well then you shouldn't be jousting like us real men, you should be off in the field writing love poems and texts."
Gloated Serle who had never once heard this from his brother and quite frankly, was shocked such a thing could come from his mouth.
"I think it is very suiting of this young boy who shouldn't be called a runt afterall. His perspective on war is most admirable as the most importance is not the swords, but the plans that they carry out. With no scribes, we would have no Crusade."
Lancelot proudly stated as if he was speaking to a crowed of thosands of men, even though the only witnesses were the two brothers and the few wandering animals.
"I deem this runt, the noble scribesman of Caldicot!"
Lancelot pulled out his sword and lay it on Arthurs shoulder. This, tensed every muscle in Arthurs body, for suddenly the mysterious Lancelot became this happy outgoing man in a matter of minutes. Of course, Arthur was never one for turning down an exciting new opportunity to be looked at through eyes that were proud. Serle looked over to see the gleam in Arthurs eye. Oh how many times before he had wished to see, but it never quite came with him that way. It was always more of a leave me alone type gleam. This gleam towards Lancelot, this was a thank you that would never be seen by Serle. Then Serle took back his sword to his scabbard. The look of hatred was in his eyes, they burned now with the intensity of Lord Stephens that one night. Arthur failed to realize this until action was taken. Serle had taken a rather large stone from the ground, about the size of a newborn chick, and hurled it straight towards Lancelots head. Pouff. It had stuck the poor teen, sending him falling towards the ground from his steer. The horse made little fuss, then nudged the head of Lancelot to make sure he was Ok. Arthur was furious as he started to shead tears from his dialated hazel eyes
"I hate you Serle! Im leaving to go get Lord Stephen, when I get back you had better be gone. For good!!"
Serle knew that his father wouldn't understand. He wouldn't understand that deep down inside he wanted Arthur to respect him the same way he just did this stranger. Kneeling down beside Lancelot Serle gently lifted his head off the ground. The black hair, now matted in blood lay over the face of a helpless knight in trainning.
His blood is so warm,
thought Serle in a state of temporary shock. He then lifted the hair out of his face to reveal something that would change his very existance on earth forever...
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