Disclaimer: I do not own any King Arthur things except for the DVD and of course Tristan (laugh). I do own my characters though.
Author's Note: Okay, my last fanfics sucked but from now on, I'm going to try to make things different. When I think of better ideas and stuff, I will delete the old ones and do the better ones. This is the first of that stretch of better writing. My new King Arthur one that I hope EVERYONE thinks is better. And, I want all your honest criticism. I was a little peeved at some last time but please go for it now. It will help me.
Chapter One:
Arthur's carriage rode noisily along the road. He hated carriages. He was very troubled about something but could not figure out what it was. It was making him tired and depressed. His head drooped as he tried to get some sleep. The wheel of the unearthly contraption depressed in a hole, and his head, in annoyance, snapped up in the same fashion but did not descend again. His hand came to rest under his chin and he began to rake his mind to find this problem. It preoccupied him for so long that he did not realize that the carriage had stopped. He forced a smile to the horseman as he climbed out and walked towards the hall in which there was a gathering, a sort of party, being thrown in his honor. He tried to look happy when he entered. He looked around at all the heads of the bowed commoners and knights in the crowd and truly smiled, for he loved his people. Arthur lifted his hands into the air above his head and clapped loudly.
"Let the festivities begin!" The room was filled with joyous cheering and the band started to play and the peasants began to dance. He stood in the middle of the dance floor, everyone dancing around him. Lancelot danced by with a pretty girl in step already.
"Lancelot, I don't mean to be rude, but may I cut in?" Arthur smiled, a playful grin spreading across his face. Lancelot sighed mockingly.
"If you must!" He let the girl out of his grasp and Arthur moved in, dancing with Lancelot instead of the girl. She laughed, beating her hands together as if she hand never seen anything so amusing. Both Arthur and Lancelot broke apart, laughing and clapping each other on the back. Arthur took a deep sigh and decided that he was extremely thirsty and moved to the side to get something to quench his craving. He stood there, sipping his ale when something tugged on the hem of his purple cloak. He looked down and a young girl stood beside him, cloak still in hand. She spoke.
"Can you teach me how to dance?" She asked him bluntly. Arthur was quite surprised. He bent down on his knee to be on the same level as her tiny self.
"You do not know how to dance?" He repeated.
"No. My father never taught me." She sniffed and scratched the itch that was irritating her little nose.
"Well, that will not do. All proper young ladies must know how to dance. I will have to teach you then." He took her by the hand and led her onto the dance floor. Many looked on curiously as the little girl placed her small feet on Arthur's large ones and her hands in his. They moved slowly in the fast paced crowd.
From the other side of the room, a woman watched eagerly as these two danced. A plan already fully formed in her mind. She moved through the people and approached Arthur.
"May I cut in?" Her sweet voice sounded. Arthur looked up from the brightened and illuminated face of the child and into the beautiful eyes of an equally beautiful woman. He let go of the child's hands and she ran off to join her little friends. He observed her exquisite features. Her beautiful curly, chocolate colored hair, put up in such a way that only a few strands fell to frame her fair face. Her spectral gray eyes that bore into his own so deeply, her cheekbones, rising highly as if ennobling her to be royalty, her figure, petite and fragile, yet strong enough to show that she could take care of herself. She let him take all this in, smiling at his roaming eyes.
"My name is Morgana." She finally spoke. He could not reply back, only gaze intently. "You are Arthur, King of Britain." She answered for him. Once this introduction was out of the way, Arthur was fine, repeatedly telling her how beautiful she was. This eventually lead to him spilling his soul to her, including the fact that he now knew what was bothering him so, a wife, which he did not have, and thought she would suit well. Through all this she smiled politely, until he could bear it no longer, and they moved across the hall, toward more empty rooms.
Tristan was watching this scene unfold from his quiet and reserved corner. He did not like it. There was something odd about her that did not sit well with him. Tristan saw as they moved toward an empty room, he knew this all too well, from men that drank too much or from men who thought they were in love. Tonight happened to be the latter case. Deftly, he cut his way through the crowd to stop him.
"Arthur, wait." He hesitated, not really knowing what to say next.
"Tristan, what is it?" He tried to sound polite but could not hide the annoyance in his voice.
"You should not be with this woman tonight." He stated simply.
"Why not. It is my business, I think I will do as I please." Arthur sounded baffled that his friend would do this.
"She is not right. There is something about her that is not right. She is bad." Tristan stared at her with his unfaltering gaze and then turned it back to Arthur.
"You are jealous." He spat. "You just want Morgana to yourself!" Arthur raved.
"Women are not my specialty. I do not care for them. I am trying to save you from a horrible mistake." Tristan's gaze turned to where Morgana stood.
"I can judge that for myself." Arthur answered smugly.
"Suit yourself. She's gone now." Tristan walked away, a slight smile on his face, though he still did not like the situation. Before he was able to get back to the safety of his corner, a young adolescent girl pranced up, stopping him in his tracks, leaving him trying to figure out how he could walk around her.
"Sir Tristan, would you like to dance with me?" She blushed slightly but the ale in her made her more confident. He just stood there, dumbfounded, not knowing how to reply.
"Well, go on Tristan! She asked you to dance!" Galahad laughed as he swung by with a girl that looked like the other's sister. Slowly, he budged and thought he'd give it a try. He'd seen Lancelot do this many times, the other knights as well. It shouldn't be too hard for him. He put a steady arm at her waist and took her hand rather firmly. She gasped in pain.
"Sorry. It's my sword hand." He mumbled an apology. He knew he had to lead and tried to move. It started off fine but soon he found that he was stepping on her feet and they weren't moving very fast. After a few more attempts of this and failures in response, he let go of her hand and brought his arm from her waist back down to his side.
"You need to find yourself another partner. I can not dance." He slipped gracefully out of the hall and into the deserted village. He decided that there was one thing that was deserving of his attention and it was not a girl. In the stables, he picked up his horse brush and began softly stroking the horse's back as it neighed in reply. The sounds of two drunken men heading for the stables made him want to slink into the shadows once more but the audible sounds of "Galahad, you horse's ass stop walking into me!" and "You can't even walk straight!" made it clear that it was only Galahad and Gawaine and no one to hide from. Shuffling was heard at the entrance.
"Tristan! Your date told us you shied off from her!" Gawaine slurred drunkenly.
"She told us you could not dance!" Galahad smiled and laughed heartily. "Look, it's easy!" He turned to Gawaine and grabbed his hand and waist. Both started to sing a tuneless song and swinging each other around wildly, before they both tripped and landed in a pile of horse manure. They didn't seem to notice it. They continued to laugh harder than ever, inebriated to the point of no return. Tristan looked to the two buckets of water he was going to use to clean the tangled and matted blood from the horse's mane and found a better use for it. He picked up the buckets and splashed them all over Galahad and Gawaine, soaking them. After he did this, he decided just to go back to his room and sleep for the rest of the night, there was no point in staying awake when he was sober and everyone else drunk.
On his way to his chamber, the other knights had come out of the party and were headed for the Round Table.
"Have you seen Galahad and Gawaine?" asked Lancelot. He made a stabbing gesture towards the stables behind him and Lancelot headed off in that direction. Bors, who was already half drunk, him in on what was happening. Bishop Germanius had sent his trusted secretary, Horton, to deliver a message to the knights that they were to meet him at the Table immediately. Tristan could sense this was the end of the party for them, he couldn't even pretend to feel sorry.
After all the knights are collected and assembled around the table, the Bishop entered and began his speech.
"A little over a days journey from here, there is a village in need of your services. Many quarrels have been going on there and recently they have become more serious. Three men have died during these fights. You must go see what you can do and try to fix the problem. We cannot have Rome's people dying needlessly."
"You mean unless they are killed by your charge." Galahad lashed out. "You mean it is not okay for people living under Rome's command to die unless it's by the hands of the Roman leaders themselves." His comment was quite valid, even taking into consideration his state of mind. Germanius would hear no more of it and sent them on their way. They would leave at first light, sober or not.
As they poured out into the streets again, Lancelot spoke his mind.
"Damage control duty! Is that all we are good for now? Why do the Saxons not come, or the Jutes?" Tristan cut him short.
"Be careful what you wish for, we are all going to die some day, but you might bring your death into your own hands."
"He's right you know." Arthur seemed hard pressed to agree but agree he must. "We should consider it a blessing that all we are good for right now is curbing damage. Rome is at peace." Once again, Galahad made it known that he hated Rome with a string of obscenities and Gawaine and the others followed suit as they lingered off into the darkness.
Next morning, before the sun had a chance to awake in the sky, the knights rode off, they did not stop until it was night was more to eat and rest.