Sir Galahad: the Peerless Knight and the Elf maid Elaina Elenwen

By Silmarlfan1

Warning mentions of Mpreg

Long, long ago in the age of the crusades, there were the Knights of the Round Table. All of these knights were the champions of the order of knighthood, but none was a truer example of a pure and peerless knight than the young Sir Galahad. Born of the Lady Elaine and Sir Lancelot out of wedlock, Sir Galahad's first years were simple and without much of the wealth that he would later acquire in his campaigns and quests on behalf of his king; the head of the Order of the Knights of the Round Table, King Arthur; whose tale has been told throughout the ages long ascending his name into immortality and legend. But this tale is the story of the time of young Galahad's life where he was bereft of home and family, no more than a beggar child on the street. Of this time there is little known about Galahad, but what is known is that he was taken in by a group of kind and pious monks in a monastery. But the time between his mother's death and when the monks took him in was a span of three years; each of which was hard on the young boy because of his birth status and among other things Galahad was born Hermaphrodite, with fully functioning two sets of organs.

There was a time when there were many hermaphrodites, but as Christian's became more ignorant during the dark age and relied on too many false teachers and not the Holy Scriptures the people began to call them witches saying that they practiced black magic and had them hung, drowned, or even burned at the stake alive. Those that were born to poor folk, with very backward practices done by the midwives, were killed upon birth. Many times the midwives drowned them in the water meant to bathe them in calling them the offspring of the devil. Other times they were quietly strangled by midwives that knew that the family would face excommunication and banishment from the community, hoping to spare them the pain; but there were those few that were fanatical in their practice of the religion, and upon seeing the child was hermaphrodite would throw it alive into the fire, ignoring the screams of not only the mother but the dying child as well. Galahad would have fallen to the same fate if it were not for the young Father that was to preside over the child's christening that wanted to witness his birth. This young ideological monk stayed the midwife's hand, stating that if she dares harm the child not only would the Holy Grail never be recovered, but she would damn her soul to all eternity in Hell for the sin of the thoughtless murder of an innocent. Thus Galahad was spared a gruesome early death.

As he grew, Galahad was surrounded by the nuns of the Abbey, and they barely acknowledged him, and the Fathers that traveled to teach. The Father that saved Galahad stayed at the Abbey until he was forced to leave by the death of a fellow man of the cloth and was given the man's old ministry over a town closer to old London. The Father's name was David Kai and he personally sought to Galahad's education in his early years. Galahad, he found, was a bright and attentive learner. He was reading early in his youth and was writing before Father David left for his new ministry. It was his hope to teach the boy to write with a calligraphic hand, and teach him the old Greek and Latin so as he could understand the masses that were put together every Sunday. Galahad floundered without him, and he struggled to keep up without his teacher's patient guidance. But it seemed as though he was beginning to recover when tragedy struck the young boy; his grandfather, Pelles, King of Corbinec of Listenois, had taken ill. Elaine, fearing her father's health was failing, left they young boy alone in the Abbey. This could not have been a worse decision for her son, for indeed the Maimed King was ill and seeming upon his death bed, when Elaine received word though, he was on the mend and recovering. Unfortunately it seemed that fate would not be so kind to the Mother of Galahad, for as soon as she returned to the Abbey she was struck down with the same illness, and never recovered. She perished within the course of a few days leaving Galahad, for all intents and purposes, an orphan.

With no mother to protect him and no champion to keep the wrath of the closed minded from stopping them, a Nun with a wicked heart and a poisoned mind, in the middle of the night, forced the young boy from the safe walls of the Abbey, and into the cold cruel world that would not hesitate to kill him. Thus began the Tragedy of his young years; for Galahad was but five winters old and had no idea of how cruel the world could be.

The Cruel Years

The times of Galahad's life had been separated into before the Cruel Years and after; for although he wanted to forget them, he could not deny that they left their mark upon his heart, mind, soul, and flesh. Galahad's first months outside the Abbey were alright, the people were kind enough to give him food and sometimes shelter if it was raining and unusually cold. But as time progressed and winter began, Galahad first learned of the bitterness of winter's biting cold and of the suffering he had to endure.

At first he turned to the Abbey but he had changed in the months since he was driven out; his body became wane and thin, he could count his ribs and his face had become gaunt and sharp, trading the smooth soft roundness of youth for the sharp gauntness of hunger, and want. Galahad had never felt hunger before, and it was now a painfully familiar feeling in his sunken stomach; Instead of the nuns and monks helping him they saw a filthy demon to be driven away. One could imagine the utter devastation he felt when they hissed and spat at him driving him off with crosses in one hand and a large broom in the other; the very place where he was raised and grew up was no longer home. Galahad felt very sad and frightened that day. His heart was heavy with sorrow as he left the shadow of the abbey's walls and ventured out into the cold streets of old Guildford.

Galahad knew true hunger then, and true cruelty. It seemed everywhere he went people would push and shove him away. He learned to beg then; sitting on a street corner wrapped in whatever he could find to keep him warm, a small bowl cupped in his little thin hand, stretched out to those that walked by. On occasion a good Christian man of woman would take pity on the starving little boy, begging for some coins for food, and they would drop a small copper coin in the bowl, or if they felt especially guilty they would drop even a small silver one. Galahad would thank them and bless them as tears ran down his face knowing that he would have maybe a warm meal and a bed to sleep on, instead of a cold hard patch of alleyway near the baker's shop. It was warmer there at night, he had found; especially when there was a holiday coming. And fortunately for poor young Galahad, there was a holiday coming; in fact it was the most sacred of holidays: the day of Christ's Birth, or Christ's Mass as it was called then (this was later just called Christmas by some children who could not say it quite right, or to fast, and the name stuck). It was at this time each year that the baker would be working near non-stop until the new-year, baking breads and cakes and cookies and all sorts of Christmas treats. His oven was always on at this time and therefor his back wall behind his oven was hot enough to warm the alley outside. Galahad was grateful for this because it sometimes meant that the baked goods that were miss-shaped and over-baked were thrown out and Galahad was too starving to care. He ate still warm breads that had such large holes in them that the baker would either throw them out or, as of late, give them to Poor little Galahad. The baker was saddened by the sight of the boy; he was dressed in the same rags that had once been his Sunday bests and they hung off his skeletal frame, he no longer had shoes, but instead had wrapped his feet in wool and linen rags to keep them warm and dry. His once beautiful golden hair that flowed in waves around his head was now blackened with dirt and oil from the lack of washing, and hung stringy from his head; and his skin was darkened to brown in some places from where he could not wash. But his eyes stayed bright and clear, and for all the filth that clung to him, the Baker could not deny the poor child was still healthy enough to live; but without food the child would surely die in the cold of winter.

Thus with the baker's help Galahad survived his first winter, but it would not be his last. For as the months flew by and the year began to wane again into winter Galahad had returned to the Baker's alley and found some peace there. Alas, though, it was not to last. Two winters after his first the baker was forced to leave for the city to take over his brother's shop while he recovered from an illness. That year marked Galahad's eighth year of life, and also when he became desperate for food to quell the hunger and pain in his belly. That year Galahad stole an apple from a market stall and ate the whole thing, save the stem. Hunger had finally driven him to theft, as he grew weaker and hungrier, with no baker to give him scraps, and it was not long before he was caught.

Prison for the Hungry

Galahad was careful but he was caught by a stall keeper and had the boy hauled away as more complaints about his thieving turned up. The young soldier was much bigger than Galahad and was older too, by at least twenty years. The man said that he was to be taken to London to be tried for his crime.

"It would be best to admit your sin, boy," he had said, turning to look at him in the barred wagon being pulled behind him. "The court will be merciful if you admit it and will set you free." Galahad hoped this was true and was looking forward to seeing London, and maybe finding Father David. He hoped that the older man would show more mercy than the Nuns had, and would even continue his studies. When Galahad entered the court the men that stood before him were aged and stone faced, and did not seem the type to be merciful. He briefly glanced back at the soldier with pleading eyes, and the older man's stern face became soft and kind for a moment before Galahad was brought before the Judges.

"This is the young boy who was caught stealing from the market in Guildford, M' Lords," the soldiers said, as he brought Galahad forward. The spectators murmured and whispered to each other of how disgraceful it was, or how much a shame it was for the boy to steal.

"Order!" said the Chief Judge as he pounded his gavel on the table before him, and the crowd calmed, before he turned his gaze to the thin and dirty ghost of a child standing before him and his fellow judges in filthy rags. His hard eyes filled with pity before he cleared his throat and spoke loudly to the room, but mostly to the small child before him. "Well Child, how do you plead to this claim?" he asked. Galahad swallowed a hard lump in his throat before answering the Judge in a rough squeaky voice of a small boy who had not spoken for some time.

"I am Guilty, your honor," he said, "I stole an apple from a stall at the market. I am sorry." The judge looked to his fellows beside him on the bench, who all had looks of shock and pity for the honest child. Such honesty from the child was a rare thing for most young boys, and this one seemed as though he had been on the streets for some time. Conferring with the other judges, turned back to the child with his hands interlaced before him.

"It is refreshing to have someone so young be so honest," he said, " and since this is you first offence we will let you off with a warning, do not let us see you again, child; for the next time we will not be so merciful." And with that he dismissed Galahad and went to the next case with a bang of his gavel. The soldier removed the shackles from his wrists and led Galahad away toward an inn where he could be given a warm bed and a bath, and a hot meal. After a good wash and a warm meal Galahad slept in a soft bed for the first time in years, and he slept long and deeply, not hearing a thing in the room.

Such comforts though were not to last and soon Galahad was forced to the streets again. Begging got him enough to keep the pain from his belly but what little weight he had gained while at the inn was soon gone and with it nearly half again more. Desperation made him forget the kind Judges and his stole a small apple from a stall, but unfortunately he was caught. The soldier took him back to the Judges and again he pleads guilty, but although they held pity in their eyes the law was the law and the boy had been warned. With a heavy heart the chief Judge sentenced him to a year in prison, and the soldier had to drag to stunned and starving child away.

The prison was dark and stale and dirty but it was better than an alley. He was kept chained to the wall of his cell and could walk to the bars of the door and around the room; but before long he was so weak he could barely stand from his bed. His jailor gave him food to eat but what little good food there was taken by the rats before Galahad could eat any of it. It was nine months into his sentence, when the jailor went to the cell to check up on the boy and found him on the bed of straw on the floor. He was not moving but the man could see his chest rise with each breath. The man entered the cell and set an ear to the boy's chest, his hearing was poor but he could make out a faint and slow beating of a heart; but this heart was too slow and weak. The jailor sent for a priest to give him last rights, as he watched over the boy on his death bed. Galahad was dying.

But there was still hope; for the priest that the jailor sent for was Father David Kai, who ran the London Monastery that was closest to the jail. As Father David entered the cell he smiled at the man who blocked his view of the dying boy, and when the man moved he gave Father David a clear view of Galahad. Father David was so stunned at seeing Galahad before him that he dropped his chalice that was to be filled with water. Forgetting the cup he quickly knelt beside the boy and bent an ear to listen to his heart. It was faint but it was there. Father David demanded that the shackles be removed and the jailor did just that. Father David picked up his chalice and poured the holy water in it. Pressing it to Galahad's lips, he gently coaxed the boy to drink. The water helped him wake, and Galahad opened his eyes and saw Father David kneeling beside him smiling sadly but hopeful that he would pull through.

"David," Galahad rasped, and Father David hushed him and bade him not speak. When Galahad had drunk all the water, Father David gathered him in his arms. He weighed nearly nothing and that frightened Father David; for he knew that Galahad could die easily by being so slight and had seen it happen before. Father David rose up and carried Galahad back to his carriage to take him back to the Monastery and hopefully, with some hard work, nurse the poor boy back to health. And as soon as he was back in the Monastery, Father David had the Nuns pull a spare bed into his room so he could keep an eye on him as Galahad recovered. After he settled the boy on the bed and spooned fed him a bowl of thin but rich soup, he sat down at his desk and wrote a missive to the Abbey where Galahad was living before he left, and another letter to the bishop of Glastonbury, to inform him of the horrendous atrocity that had been done to the little boy he had taught himself. He ran a hand over his forehead and down his face with a heavy sigh. Galahad was safe for now, and as long as he ate well and regularly he would gain weight and strength, but it would still be a long road ahead before that happened.

Safe Haven in the Monastery

In the monastery Galahad was given the care in needed to grow strong and wise. Father David made it his personal mission to ensure that Galahad was given a good life and education. Their lessons picked up where they had left off and Galahad began to flourish under his care as a rose does under the care of a gentle and patient gardener. Galahad was taught to read and write in Ancient Greek, in Latin, as well as Hebrew and some Aramaic, but he said he spoke it better than he wrote it. Under David's kind and patient care he began translating old texts into common English. His calligraphy was near perfect when he reached the age of thirteen, and it was upon the day celebrating his birth he learned what had happened to the Abbey where he had once lived. Father David made a personal crusade to ensure justice for the young boy, in doing so many of the Nuns and Fathers were removed from their station. Through it all Galahad recovered under David's kindness, but the years of cruelty left their mark on the fledgling knight: scars from the shackles on his wrists, and a small brand on his left hip and forearm branding him forever as a thief. Galahad never wore cloth tunics without long-sleeved shirts under them, and even then he had taken to wearing vambraces to further hide the scars. Galahad never forgot how cruel Man could be to a starving child, a homeless child, an orphaned child; and he never wanted to feel that way again. So Galahad took a solemn oath that he would never let his heart turn to stone before someone in need, and he vowed that he would follow Christ's example of what all of Men should be like; kind, compassionate, selfless, merciful, caring, and loving to those in need. He swore to be virtuous, and would take the oath of abstinence if need be, so he would not let his heart be turned by the whims of the flesh. But it never came to that; for David told Galahad, that although it was a noble thing to take a vow of chastity, one day he might find himself in love, and it would be an unrequited love if he remained virgin his whole life. So Galahad never took the monk's oath but he still swore he would never lay with another until he found himself in love and wed.

Virtue was Galahad's purpose for a long time. And he was determined to have the Word of the Lord with him and near his heart at all times to sway it from the evil of Men. So with the help of Father David, Galahad went about translating a Bible into English, and into a small leather bound book that he could carry in his pocket over his heart. It took him nearly two years before he was finished, but when it was, the book was simple, with no illumination, but with careful calligraphy and small footnotes on as many passages as he was taught. The leather was a stained red, with delicate tooling and upon its cover Galahad had inscribed "The Holy Scriptures of the Bible", and had inlayed the tooled inscription with gold-leaf.

Galahad had learned much from his time with Father David, at the monastery, but his time there was coming to an end. Galahad was sixteen when he met his father Sir Lancelot, and needless to say none was more stunned to see him than Lancelot. The boy was his living image, with but a few features taken from his mother, such as his warm smile and his bright and gentle eyes. Of all Galahad's features it was his Lavender gray eyes that were his most striking feature; they seemed to shine with an inner light and were in such contrast to his tanned complexion and his honey colored hair with gold highlights. Lancelot knew in this moment that Galahad was his son, and as such named him so, and made Galahad his heir.

To be continued…

AN/: hope you like this, I will try to get into more detail later. This is all coming off the top of my head. it is part of the Fire of the Great War Universe that I have made. This will all make more sense later when I have fleshed out the next part.