Disclaimer: don't own it

So when I was home for Thanksgiving, I ended up amusing myself by looking over old stories I've written. I found this one on a disk from ages ago – in tenth grade English, my class was assigned to write the "lost chapter" of the Sword in the Stone, the book we were reading. I read over it, and it cracked me up, so I thought I'd post it here for a laugh. My personal favorite part is the name I gave my knight – I'm sure my teacher loved it

:-P

So anyway, enjoy!

---

In his little tower in the Castle Sauvage, Merlyn thumbed through one of his many spell books, grumbling aloud.

"Archimedes, I just don't think Wart is getting it," Merlyn paused, glancing at a spell in the book. "Why haven't I used this one? I should have, by now…" Archimedes read the spell over Merlyn's shoulder from his perch.

"Snylrem stnemilpmoc ot enutpen… Merlyn, you old fool, you have used this spell! Don't you remember? With the fish and the moat? 'Twas only a few years ago."

"Years, years," Merlyn said with a sniff. "But is it years ago, or years to come?" Archimedes rolled his eyes. Merlyn continued his thought. "But the point is, he isn't getting it! I've been here for well over six years-"

"Or will you be here for over six years?" cut in Archimedes. Merlyn ignored him,

"-and the boy simply hasn't gotten the message! He must be daft! He'd have to be if he hasn't gotten it by now! How many times have I shown him? How many ways have I shown him? The hawks didn't work, the fish failed, and the jousting was simply pointless! I thought I almost had him with the ants and the geese. Perhaps I should have left him as a goose for a bit longer…" The tower was silent for a moment. "Ah, Archimedes, I might as well admit it. I failed him. His destiny will be in shatters because of his inability to decipher my teachings. I might as well stitch it on his forehead! He might get it then."

"Try to be a little more subtle, Merlyn," Archimedes advised. "Children never listen to their elders. It must come from a peer, like Lyo-Lyok, or he must discover it on his own." The owl's eyes widened, as if struck by an idea. "I know, Merlyn! Why don't we show him the lesson, firsthand?"

"But, Archimedes, the jousting didn't work. The idea of knighthood has been pounded into his head, ever since he was young. Maybe Sir Ector wasn't the best choice of guardian…" Merlyn droned.

"No, Merlyn! By firsthand, I mean he, himself, the Wart, must experience this so-called chivalry."

"Ah-ha, Archimedes! I think you're on to something! Tell me all about it." And so he did.

---

"Merlyn, I'm bored," whined Wart, as he entered the little bedchamber. Merlyn glanced up from his book to look at the boy.

"Ah-ha, Wart! Just the lad I wanted to see!" said Merlyn, with much more enthusiasm than Wart expected. "Come for another lesson?"

"No," said Wart, mournfully. "You said that my meeting with the badger would be my last one."

"Oh," said Merlyn, his confusion obvious. "You mean that's happened already? Ah, well, forget what I said, Wart. This is to be my last lesson, although an unscheduled one. Wart my boy, how would you like to be a knight?"

"Oh, Merlyn, I'd love to be a knight!" Wart said eagerly, and then, looking downcast, he said, "But Merlyn, I can't be a knight. I'm not Sir Ector's proper son; you know that. All I'm fit to be is Kay's squire. But it's always been my dream to be a knight." Wart sighed happily, imagining knighthood. "I'd ride a jet-black horse and carry a shield with no coat-of-arms, so no one would know it was me, especially Kay," he said scornfully. "He'll never know it was me when I knock him off his high horse and laugh at him on the ground," and on a brighter note, he continued. "But I'd get to rescue pretty maidens from wicked knights and defeat dragons, and I'd be the best jouster in all of England –no, in the world!" Wart ended modestly. He noticed Merlyn and Archimedes exchange meaningful glances, but why, Wart didn't know.

"I see," said Merlyn, slamming his book shut. "Yes, Archimedes, I believe this lesson is a necessary one."

"Archimedes?" Wart said, dubiously.

"Yes. He has come up with a final lesson for you, and it's quite a spectacular one, I'd say."

Wart thought for a moment, and then exclaimed, "Oh, Merlyn! Am I to become a knight for this lesson?"

"Yes, yes my boy! Now you're beginning to understand!" Merlyn put his book on a shelf. "Shall we begin now?"

"Oh yes, yes, Merlyn! Right now!"

"Alright then," and Merlyn stood up, adjusted his magician's hat, and began waving his hands wildly above Wart's head, chanting,

"I deirt ot hcaet Ruhtra ot esu sih dnim,

I tnaw mih ot eb tsonoh, tneced, dna dnik,

I deirt ot wohs mih taht sleud

Erew ylno rof sloof

Tub ot lla fo ym snossel, s'eh neeb dnilb."

A thick fog began forming from Merlyn's hands, and it began swirling in a purple funnel above Wart's head, but Merlyn kept chanting,

"Tub ni eno tsal tpmetta, ot tes siht yob thgir

Tel mih ees eht eurt efil fo a thgink

Htiw sih drows dna sih dleihs,

Ll'eh og ot eht dleif,

Dna kcab yawa morf eht yltsahg thgis."

The purple twister had grown in size and force over the last verse, and it was now twisting ferociously. Wart nervously glanced up at the purple fury above his head, but Merlyn continued to ignore it.

"Ll'eh ees lla eht seidob fo eht daed dna eht gniyd,

Dna eht stnasaep, ni niap, era gnipeew dna gniyrc

Dna siht elttil esoog

Lliw yllanif esohc

A lufecaep efil sa tsom gniyfsitas."

The pint-sized twister was now a full-blown tornado, and suddenly the center of the tornado was over Wart's head and sucking him into the raging whirlwind. Wart began to feel drowsy in the twister, and was only conscious long enough to hear Merlyn call out, jovially, "Have a nice trip, Wart!"

---

When Wart finally regained consciousness, he was no longer in Merlyn's chamber. He was in a clearing, surrounded by the thick of the woods, but Wart couldn't recognize any landmarks from the Forest Sauvage. I must be lost, thought Wart, dumbly. But how did I get here? "I don't know," he answered himself aloud. "It must have been that spell of Merlyn's."

Wart moaned and clutched his head. It was still spinning from the tornado. "Well," he said. "I might as well explore this forest. Maybe I'll find somebody, and he'll tell me where I am."

Wart stood up, a little shakily, and began to head into the woods. He shuffled his feet in the floor of dead leaves as he went. He looked up at a big elm tree and recognized its bright orange leaves and gnarled roots, but his excitement died when he realized that he had passed the tree before, only a few minutes ago.

Wart pressed on. A rabbit leaped across his path. "I must have been walking for hours," said Wart to himself, who had no clear perspective of time, as he had only been walking for twenty minutes. Wart trudged onward and stopped short. He had heard the breaking of a twig and he knew it hadn't been him. A tall shadow fell over the boy and he looked up. There before him was a knight, in full armor. Wart's heart began racing. The early morning sun shown on his armor, illuminating the entire forest, and dewdrops glistened at his horse's hooves.

The knight pointed down at him, glaring, and his deep bass voice boomed throughout the forest, "Thou there. Boy."

Wart, intimidated to the fullest extent, managed only to squeak out a response. "Yes, sir?"

"Dost thou knowest not of the penalties of abandoning thy master?"

"Master?"

The knight was enraged. "Dost thou meanst to tell me that thou remembrest not whom it is that thou art serving?"

"Yes, sir."

" 'Tis I, Sir Paul McCartney, the greatest knight of all Logres! And thou, thou insolent boy, are my squire." The knight- Sir Paul- softened his voice. "Is it a possibility that thou hath hit thy head against a rock, and thy memory hath slipped thy mind?"

Wart seized the opportunity. "Yes, sire. I believe that I do indeed have amnesia."

Sir Paul looked puzzled at the word "amnesia," but quickly brushed it off as the workings of "those blasted educations." "Come along then, Squire. We had best make haste, as a battle is brewing along the coast of Lothian."

Wart knew now that he was not even in England anymore, but in Scotland. Thank you, Merlyn, for making me a squire to a real knight! Wart thought, but he said, "Oh boy! A battle!"

Sir Paul gave a sidelong glance at Wart. Of course, thought Wart, I'm a squire. I shouldn't be so excited about seeing a battle.

Sir Paul and Wart headed north, trying to reach the campgrounds of King Uther's knights before nightfall. They remained silent for the better part of the journey, but when Wart just couldn't stand the silence any longer, he said, "So, who is this battle going to be against, Sir?"

Sir Paul gave Wart a look as if to say, you don't know? but when he remembered Wart's "amnesia," he answered, " 'Tis against that blasted Lot of Orkney and all of his followers."

"Why are we fighting?"

Sir Paul's silence informed Wart that there was no true reason behind the war, but Wart didn't care; he wanted to see some action.

---

Night fell before Sir Paul and Wart reached the encampment, and so they were forced to sleep in the forest. The next morning, after a hearty meal of cold pigeon pie (compliments of Sir Paul McCartney), the two were off, and they reached to camp within the hour. Apparently, they had missed the first battle against Lot and his knights, but there were preparations being made for another battle. His Majesty, King Uther Pendragon, was in the camp, too, and Wart bowed down at his feet, and at Uther's command, he rose again.

King Uther turned to Sir Paul, and said, "So, McCartney, this is your squire?"

"Yes, Thy Majesty."

Uther gave a hearty laugh. "Well, McCartney, perhaps we should have the boy knighted. He seems of age. We did lose nearly a thousand peasants yesterday, and seven of my knights are too bruised to even consider fighting again today. Do you think you can do without him, McCartney?"

"If it pleases Thy Majesty."

"Then it's settled!" Uther chuckled, and pounded Wart on the back. "So, boy, what's your name?"

"Wart- I mean, Arthur, Your Majesty."

"Arthur, eh? Well then, Arthur, kneel down." King Uther drew his sword from its scabbard. "I now dub thee, Sir Arthur of…of…say, Arthur where are you from?"

"The Forest Sauvage, sovereign."

"Ah, very well then, Sir Arthur of the Forest Sauvage. There's more that goes along with it, but that'll do for now. You there, Page!" A small boy of about eight or nine stopped in his tracks, and looked up at King Uther. "Yes, my liege?"

"Show this here knight around the encampment." Uther went to attend to other matters, and the boy said to Wart, "What is your name, sir?"

"I'm Arthur, Sir Arthur. And you?"

"I'm Willy. Would you care to see to campgrounds?"

"Certainly."

Willy escorted Wart to a cluster of very grand tents. "That's where the knights sleep, sir." Wart peeked in the bigger tents, seeing that the knights had soft feather mattresses and a little dressing table.

"Where are all the knights now?" asked Wart. Willy pointed to a pavilion where a minstrel was seated, singing about Tristram and his fair Iseult. The knights were sitting on benches in a circle around the minstrel. Wart listened for a moment to hear the minstrel sing, but the two moved on.

Willy led Wart to more tents, which now appeared more small and ragged than the grand tents of the knights. "This here's where the peasants live," said Willy, indicating the torn tents.

Wart poked his head into one very torn tent, and he nearly retched at the sight: peasants, lying on pallets of dirty straw, were bloody and dirty and dying. Their wounds were left open to fester, and, if they were lucky, they had a dirty piece of cloth to close a cut. The eyes were swollen shut (that is, if they had eyes), and all cuts everywhere were openly bleeding. Their hair was crawling with lice and ticks and fleas, and those who were able were scratching their heads. Wart saw a rat, the size of tabby cat, nibbling at the intestines of one man. Most were crying out in agony, and those who weren't screaming were already dead.

Wart dashed to the adjacent tent, and threw open the flaps to behold…the same thing; dying, bloody, gory, dirty, filthy peasants. No, thought Wart, This must be a mistake. This couldn't possibly be how the peasants are treated. Wart knew that the knights weren't being treated like this. King Uther said so himself. The knights were only bruised. Wart's head was spinning, as his world shattered. No, no, no!!!

"Something wrong, Sir Arthur?"

"Yoo-hoo! Sir Arthur!"

Wart looked up from his delirium, red-faced, to see King Uther and Sir Paul riding towards him, leading a brown horse.

"Ah, there you are, Arthur. I've brought you a horse," said Uther. Wart must have looked like a wild man, for Uther was startled at the sight of Wart's flaming face. "Well, Arthur, we must ride into battle. The fighting shall soon begin."

Wart couldn't very well refuse his king, so he mounted the stallion, and silently rode to the appointed battlefield. King Lot of Orkney was there already there, with his extensive army, and he looked ruthless and callous. His knights shared the same hard-faced glare. Wart gulped. Maybe he wasn't ready for this.

King Uther's mount reared up, and Uther lifted his sword into the air, and he bellowed the command, "Charge!" Instantly, all parties galloped to meet the knights of the other side. Wart urged his mount to the back of the line, only wishing to be a witness to the cruel practice of war, rather than an eager participant. He heard screaming, shouting, and knights throwing insults to one another;

"Hey! You can't use your sword that way! That's cheating! Cheater, cheater…"

"You yellow-livered rogue! How dare you scratch my new armor! I'll fix you…"

"You swine! You're not fit to shine my boots…"

"Ha! You insolent fool! You fight like this is a tavern brawl. You…"

Wart galloped away from the battle, and soon enough, he couldn't hear the childish knights acting like, well, children. But what Wart couldn't block from his ears were the blood-curdling cries from the peasants, begging for mercy under a knight's rapier.

Faster and faster Wart rode, not caring where he went or what happened to him. How could the real world be so merciless? How could knights, the heroes of all England, turn out to be the enemies?

Perhaps, Wart thought, this is what Merlyn wanted to teach me. Might is not right. Knighthood isn't grand, not at all. How could I have been so stupid, for all of these years?

All of these thoughts were floating through Wart's head, when he heard Merlyn's pleasant voice in his head.

"Ah-ha! Wart, my lad! You did it! You finally picked up my lesson! Your destiny has been restored forthwith, and all will be as it should. You can come home now." And Merlyn's voice chanted in his head,

"Eht esoog yam snruter morf eht llihtna."

The purple tornado appeared from nowhere, and the twister swallowed Wart. The tornado dashed him back to his home in the Forest Sauvage, and to his peaceful new future.