King Arthur's Knights

Book 1: The Once and Future King

Act 1: The Game Begins

(A/N: Finally, a long time after I started writing this - you don't even want to know how long - I'm posting it. I'm nervous about it too. You have no idea how long I've worked on this story, or how many changes I've made since I first started writing it, or how much research I've poured into it when I could have been spending my time on other things, and I'm still not happy with it completely. I don't even know if this story will be worth it, and I took a few creative liberties, but I certainly hope it will be. I hope the whole series will be, though goodness knows if or when I'll ever manage to finish it with all the changes I keep making and all the ideas that keep pouring in. Anyway, hopefully you'll enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed - enjoyed is a subjective term in this case - writing it.

Only the first chapter, and subsequent flash forwards, are in first person. Once again, enjoy. Reviews are very much appreciated, and thank you in advance to any reviewers/readers who find this story and give it a shot. A lot of names might be a bit unfamiliar, but hopefully they won't be for long.)

Prologue: In my Time of Dying

The swords are still clashing… Yep. Even with both army leaders dead or dying, the swords are still clashing… And here I am, laying on the ground in the middle of it in a pool of blood, bleeding out while looking up at the sky. It's peaceful up there. Wish it were so down here too, but the swords are still echoing, though I guess they're dying down. Which means either they've realized we've fallen, or they're on the verge of killing each other off. At this point I don't care anymore… They're all gone… Everything is gone… Soon I'll be too, I suppose. Yep. Arthur Pendragon is on his death bed…

Guess you're all wondering how such a beloved character as I—laugh, laugh—came to be here, lying in the middle of a field dying before I'm forty. Way before I'm forty. No, I'm not saying how old I am. Anyway, back to how I got here. Let's just say it's a long story. Some people think it really isn't. They figure the reason for my being here now can be summed up in one name, Mordred le Fay. One, Morgan wasn't Mordred's mother, Anna was. Anna was also known as Morgause. Morgan and Morgause being merged into one person didn't come about until centuries after this. Two, le Fay isn't a last name, it was Morgan's title. She was, is, a sorceress. Sue her. Three, Mordred is only a part—albeit among the biggest parts—of the whole. Those who say otherwise are ignorant and I would punch them in the face if I could right about now. Don't pin this thing completely on him. Seriously, I'm warning you, don't you dare.

I could pin the blame on Gawain maybe, for forcing me into war with Lancelot, but that wasn't the start of this. I could blame Lancelot and Guinevere, I guess. Would certainly be easy enough. It could be reasoned that if they hadn't started up their little affair, Mordred wouldn't have had such an easy way to drive a wedge into the works, the Knights of the Round Table wouldn't have divided so horribly, and we'd all be sitting pretty right about now like always, drinking and merrymaking. Considering, of course, that we saw Morgause and Morgan whispering poisonous words into Mordred's ears and put a stop to it. But like I said, though it would be easy to pin the blame on Lance, Gawain, or Mordred, that's not where it started falling apart; and honestly, my dying wish right now is that I had been able to make up with Lancelot for that disaster. It was… horrible… and painful…

Ugh, getting off topic again. Guess that's what happens when you're, you know, dying slowly and painfully and losing focus with blood loss. If I were to try and trace it back, I couldn't. It was insidious like that. It might have started chipping away with Daniel's death at Lancelot's hands, but I doubt it. That was an accident and Lancelot made up with Brunor le Noir and Dinadan in the end. The pain never left, sure, and maybe I'm wrong about that too, but whatever the matter we were starting to repair. It might have been the death of King Bors de Ganis. It might have been King Pellinore killing King Lot of Orkney. It might even have started falling apart after Morholt's death. He was one of the first Knights of the Round Table to die, and in addition to being one of the first, the guy who killed him was another Knight, Tristan. It's all speculation now, I guess, and in the end it doesn't matter. Tristan and Morholt… I still remember that day… It's seared in my memory like a brand. All their deaths are...

KAK

"Where's Tristan?" Arthur demanded.

"I haven't spoken to Tristan in days!" Dinadan insisted.

"What about Morholt?" Arthur asked.

"It's been a week since last Morholt was in contact with me," Meliot stated, a hint of worry in his voice.

"Look, this is serious! Has anyone seen Tristan or Morholt? Anyone?" Arthur demanded of his knights.

"We need to search for them. Something might have gone wrong!" Aglovale insisted. "Maybe they were attacked."

"Attacked?! This is Tristan and Morholt we're talking about! We all know what their relationship is like," Dornar said. "If they were attacked, it wasn't some outside force attacking."

Just then the doors opened. All of them turned and gasped, stiffening. There stood Tristan, panting and covered in blood. Some of it was his own, that was true enough, but most… It was the blood of another. Their eyes were wide. "Tris, what happened?" Dinadan asked, concern coming to his eyes as he began to approach.

"Don't," Tristan said. Dinadan froze. Tristan looked at his arms a long moment. "I could have let him go…"

"Tris, what are you…?" Dinadan began.

"He's dead… I killed him…" Tristan numbly said. They all stiffened. Morholt!

"No… No!" Meliot exclaimed, eyes wide as he caught on.

"T-Tris… You don't mean…" Arthur numbly began.

"The tributes end. The slavery… It ends… King Anguish will not try again… So why do I feel so miserable…?" Tristan asked.

"You bastard! He loved you like his own," Dodinel le Savage—heart dropping like a stone—furiously yelled, trying to attack Tristan immediately.

"Pinel, don't!" Percival exclaimed, catching his cousin and holding him back.

"Stephen, calm down," Lancelot added, helping Percival to keep the Knight of Many Names back.

"What did you do, Tristan? What did you do?" Meliot quietly but dangerously demanded… And then Tristan burst into tears and fell to his knees, pulling his hair.

"I killed him! I killed Morholt! I killed him!" Tristan screamed. Shortly thereafter, the rest of the hall was plunged into mourning, as well. Not long after that, Tristan, fearing for his life at Dodinel's hands or Meliot's, had realized it wasn't a good plan to go for medical aid in Camelot and had retreated back to Ireland to be healed…

KAK

Tristan didn't last another two years. He might not have even lasted one. I can't remember, exactly, when he died. If I tried to remember I could, I just… I don't want to remember… What I want to remember is him alive, all of them alive. I wish I could forget everything else. Tristan didn't cry. A manly tear here and there, but he never cried. We used to joke that the day Tristan cried would be the day the apocalypse was nigh... He cried that day… More than cried, he completely broke down sobbing… Granted this isn't the apocalypse, but it sure feels like it to those of us who were involved.

You know, I don't think Tristan wanted to do it by the end. I think… I think he wanted to stop, to let it go, to let Morholt live. He probably should have… I mean none of the subsequent events were his fault either just because he killed Morholt and wept, heck if it was anyone's fault it was probably mine, but it showed us painfully that even fire-forged friends could suffer a fatal division. It sobered us. I still don't know what drove Tristan to go through with it. Just one of those things, I guess. Besides, he could be stubborn as a mule when he was really passionate about something… I miss him… I miss them all… They're all dead, you know… Well, not Lance, and I have no idea where Bedivere and a few others are, but yeah. We're pretty well all dead now say for a handful. Maybe not even that. There were over seventy flipping Knights of the Round Table. Over seventy! More than one-hundred renowned knights of Camelot, aka Far Far Away, when counting my general court and my allies... Now I may just be able to count on one hand - hopefully two, but that's being optimistic - how many are left still alive. Just don't quote me on that. After all, I'm not thinking clearly anymore.

It's funny… All my life all I ever wanted was friends… Now all I want is to be the loner and loser I used to be… It would make all of this so much less painful. That's not the story you want to hear right now, though, is it? You want to hear it from the beginning, where it started. Oh who am I kidding? You probably couldn't care less. Not like the name of King Arthur will be remembered. Will probably just fade into history silently and never be thought on again. But if you're into hearing a dying man's story, then let's begin. I'm seeing my life flashing before my eyes anyway, so it should be easy to tell it. It all began after Charming's defeat…

Long Ago...

Once upon a time there lived an ogre named Shrek, and his beloved wife Fiona. Fiona was the only daughter of the King and Queen of Far Far Away, and so when the day came that the old king was no more, it would be the princess and her husband to take the throne. In time the King became ill to the point of death. He called Shrek and Fiona to his bedside to give them his last blessing and farewell.

Fearing the people's reaction to an ogre king, and not desiring to leave his swamp, Shrek begged to know if there was any other heir. In his last moments, the dying King told him of a boy by the name of Arthur, who lived in a place called Worcestershire, and so Shrek set off to find him; but in his absence, the evil Prince Charming seized control.

When Shrek returned, together he and Arthur faced Charming and all his followers and defeated him. Arthur was named king, and Shrek returned to his swamp with Fiona and became a father to triplets. With that, Shrek's story came to a close, for a little while at least, but as to the young King Arthur's? His was just beginning…