A Few Notes Regarding This Tale: I have had a few questions, comments, and concerns about my structuring of this story, and why it skips around. I have decided to clear up a few things before we begin. Firstly, the story is told from the perspective of an omniscient narrator, so not everything is described as a blind person would see it. Many things are, but not everything. Secondly, the seven-year gap between chapters three and four and the gap between chapters four and five are purposely left up to imagination. Sure, we all know what happens in the movie, so I'm not covering it. As of yet, I'm not planning to fill in the three-four gap, so use your imaginations.
This story is a combination of a prequel, perspective-change retell, and sequel, so expect aspects of each.

Enjoy!

I Stand Alone

Chapter One: Get Out of Here.

"Garrett! Hey, Garrett!" A small, orange-pigtailed girl dashed across the central courtyard of Camelot. She dodged vendors, wagons, and pedestrians with ease, and, though she never did collide with anything, earned a few irritated comments, which she paid no attention to. Today, Lora had more important things on her mind than annoyed merchants. She raced for the knights' stables, where Garrett worked, calling out his name in her loud, clear voice.

The sandy-haired gangling lad raised his head and his pitchfork at the same time. One hand went to his forehead, shading his eyes, so that he could see his best friend running toward him. Most of the city boys laughed at Garrett for being friends with Lora, who, at age eleven, was a year younger than he, but Garrett didn't see any reason why it should matter. Lora was more fun to play with than the entire city's population of boys any day. Even now she was more interesting than they were, wearing boys' breeches and shirt, her hair in messy pigtails instead of the pretty braids worn by most girls. Garrett smiled. Lora was always going to be different, no matter how she did it.

"What's all the fuss about, Lora?" Garrett asked, bracing himself for some story about an adopted stray, some little child they must rescue from bullies, or some strange adventure on which Lora was sure they must embark. This was, of course, her usual set of litanies. Today, however, her tale differed slightly.

"Gerome's mother just sold six kegs of her best mulled mead to Sir Lucan, of the round table. Rumor is he's having a celebration with the other knights, rewarding themselves for rescuing that village two nights ago. What say you to that?" Garrett's eyes widened. Gerome's mother, Mistress Clare, ran a local inn, not the best known for the repute of its clientele. If anyone had strong brews, it was her. On top of that, Sir Lucan was well-known for his drinking problem. And the amount- what group of knights ever needed six kegs of mead? Two would usually be enough for any group, unless they planned to drink themselves to death.

"What are they going to do with all that? And didn't Mistress Clare even think about what she gave them?" Garrett asked, voice cracking slightly in surprise. Lora simply shrugged, and flopped down onto the half-formed pile of straw that Garrett was creating. He gave her a sarcastic smile, then dumped a whole forkful of hay on top of her. Though she emerged from the pile laughing, Garrett was surprised to see that Lora's usually cheerful face was suddenly serious, and her sky blue eyes had darkened to a stormy hue. He paused from his work, taken aback by her strange expression.

"I don't think you should work tonight, Garrett."

The sandy-haired boy gaped at his freckled friend, who stared back with a unique, driving force. His tongue stumbled on the words. "L-Lora, I can't. I have to work tonight and tomorrow if I'm to have Midsummer off. We're going to Port Anwes, right?" A sigh escaped Lora's lips. She loved the Port. "Garrett, some things are more important than that. I don't want you to be out tonight, with those drunks blundering about. Please?"

"No," Garrett replied sharply. "I can take care of myself, Lora." His tone was low and insistent. Garrett had never been one to take anyone's commentary on subjects like that. "You sound like my mother." That comment stung. Garrett went home only when he had to, for his parents were not very appreciative of his dream to become a knight. His father scorned him because he chose not to train to continue the family tradition of carpentry, and his mother, who stood by his father always, treated Garrett like the scum of the earth. To be compared with her, or any of Garrett's family, was almost as low an insult as you could get.

Well, why shouldn't I say that? Garrett thought angrily. She as much as told me that she doesn't think I can handle myself with a few drunks in town- as if people don't get drunk any day of the week. She knows I have to earn my keep, and she told me to not work just because of a small possibility of problems.

Lora watched him, small, angry tears growing at the corners of her eyes. Garrett could see that he had hurt her, but for now, he didn't care.

"Get out of here, Lora. Go home."

Without a word, the little girl turned on her heel and ran, her bright orange pigtails flying behind her like banners.

-

"You, boy! Get up!"

Garrett had barely opened his eyes when he felt the stinging heat against his face. He was up out of his haystack like a shot, looking frantically around the stable. Bright red and orange flames licked up the entire eastern wall, and smoke filled the air. Garrett ducked to avoid the smoke, raising one arm above his head to catch the wooden staff that the head stableman threw him. It was sheathed in metal at both ends, and generally was used to prod horses along in their exercises. From the look on the master's face, though, Garrett figured he was to use it as a club to help break apart the doors of the east-wall mounts.

He raced over to the far northeast corner stall, where one of his favorite horses was lodged. The mare's stall door latch had been fused, locking her in place as the flames creeped toward her. Garrett attacked the door with his staff, breaking apart the wood in a few crucial places. One more blow. With a sickening crunch, the stall door was broken almost cleanly in two, as the bay mare it housed leaped for the free exit. Garrett was unfortunate enough to be in her way. The horse's warm bulk smashed into his left side, sending him flying backward. He caught himself just inside the main doors, which were flung wide open.

"Garrett, move!" The cry reached his ears a fraction of a second too late. Four liberated mounts came thundering toward the boy, who had never felt more unprepared. Garrett didn't even have time to think before he reacted. He threw his staff to one side and tried to lunge after it, but-

A hard force slammed into him on either side. Garrett stumbled again, and managed to look up just in time to see the pair of thrashing hooves headed directly toward his face. He lifted an arm to shield himself, but was not able to stop the rearing mount's downward plunge. Garrett spun, and fell to the ground, clutching at his eyes, which burned like hellfire- very much like the blaze that surrounded him.

Colors and shapes whirled in Garrett's sight. Shapes became less sharp, colors began to bleed together. His head hurt worse than any headache Garrett had ever endured. Garrett closed his eyes briefly, then opened them again….the colors faded, shapes disappeared, and his sight went entirely black. The small stableboy did not even keep himself from unconsciousness after that, and allowed himself to slip into the darkness completely, where he could rest undisturbed. For a time.