The Librarians

And the Tarnished Knight

Chapter 1

Jenkins stood outside the Annex. The sun glinted off the sword in his hand. He was transfixed by this man who had left a trail of devastation in his wake that had spanned a thousand years. It left him in turmoil.

How could he hate this man so vehemently? And yet have his heart rendered in two with pain at the same time. Granted it was a pain this man had wrought. But still it was tinged with a deep loss, loss of what could have been, what should have been.

Jenkins had spent nearly a millennia running; hiding from his grief for all that he had lost after the fall of Camelot.

He was not as pure as he once had been. Oh, he would always be the incorruptible Knight that would never change. But his heart was no longer as pure as it had once been. It had become tainted by hate and the need for vengeance. He still found it amusing that in the Arthurian legends he was depicted as the virgin Knight when it was purity of the heart and soul that counted not the body.

He had never caroused like his fellow Knights although he had had his fair share of fun. For as Emrys (Merlin) had once told him "To deny that which is natural can be just as detrimental. It is the intent behind a deed that counts not necessarily the deed itself. To deny the body its natural desires and needs can potentially lead down a dark path too".

He had spent days in seclusion meditating on this and had realized Emrys was right.

From that day forward he had undertaken to make certain that every action or inaction, every thought was with his heart, mind, body, and soul filled with good intent. But after Camelot's fall, his intent had in his grief become vengeance, become a pain filled hate.

For a long time, he had thought himself insane with it. Until on one storm filled the night, he had come to his senses as he found himself shivering and drenched kneeling in a distant and nameless chapel. He prayed for death, an escape from his torment. And again unlike in the Arthurian legends it had not been granted.

Instead, he had been told his destiny had not been fulfilled. That his fate was to help save the world and so he had run. Denying this fate and he had kept running. For centuries never slowing until he could run no more and that's when the library had called to him with a promise of sanctuary and peace and there he had stayed until fate had come knocking once more. And 5 people had invaded his peace and his heart. He knew he would protect these people with every immortal fiber of his being.

Now standing here in front of his home, and the people who had become like family within. Standing in front of this man who had become the embodiment of everything he loathed and stood against, this man who once had been his mentor and friend, his father. He wanted to hate him still, yet all he felt as he looked into those eyes was loss and regret of what should have been.

Some small tiny echo inside him called out; wanting and needing him to be the man he needed him to be. Lancelot had been the best of the Knights. Jenkins found himself suddenly filled with a deep loss that the man he had loved and respected had been lost millennia ago and yet a glimmer of hope echoed somewhere deep within.

"Galahad" Jenkins looked up at the sound of what was once his name, a name only Lancelot/Dulaque called him, and to everyone else, he was Jenkins or Galeas to those of the old world. He knew his face betrayed his inner turmoil but couldn't muster the strength to hide it. He should have known it would be used against him but that echo grew at Dulaques next words. "Forgive me Galahad". Jenkins stood wide-eyed and shocked staring at the man in front of him. Whose face had crumpled and whose eyes had squeezed tight as if in pain.

"W...what", Jenkins heard himself mutter.

Lancelot looked up at him and began to speak. "After I had been defeated at the loom of fate. I found myself lost. It was dark and silent but for an occasional distant scream. My only companions were my own heart and mind. I found myself haunted by the devastation I had wrought and eventually I begged for forgiveness and a chance to redeem myself. I found myself flung from that place disorientated and alone. I endeavored to seek you out. You, the one I had wronged the most, to ask your forgiveness".

Lancelot began a slow pace towards Jenkins, arms held out in the ancient stance of meaning no malice or ill intent, "Galahad... Galahad please forgive me". Lancelot's voice broke as he quietly repeated: "forgive me".

The wall of ice surrounding that part of Jenkins' heart where this man was still held, began to crack and crumble. Tears brimmed in his eyes as he felt a hand grip each shoulder and he was gently pulled forward. Then a hand came up to rest on the nape of his neck as his forehead hit the other mans shoulder. He felt his heart tear open as the other whispered in his ear "ahh, I have wronged you so grievously my son".

An excruciating fire erupted in Jenkins side. He tried to rear up but the hand on his neck held firm. The voice began again cold and harsh and full of loathing, "I should have shown no mercy to your mother when I found she carried my seed. She was a lying hoar".

Anger boiled up inside Jenkins' chest like a volcanic eruption, an anguished cry of rage. His hand tightened on the hilt of his sword and with a rage-fuelled strength he rose up to his full height as he felt the blade pulled from his side.

Instinct took over as he saw the dagger sail towards his neck. He felt a searing pain slide across his shoulder when he didn't react in time, his own sword came up and he felt more than saw as it hit its target. On pure instinct, he swung the sword again and heard two thuds to the ground as his sword reached the end of its arc. Automatically his sword came up in a parry to ward off any further attack and when none came Jenkins tried to focus his eyes as his heart and mind were in turmoil and his side and shoulder burned, he became aware of sweat covering his brow creeping into his eyes and still no further attack came. He chanced to wipe the sweat away to clear his vision as his surroundings began to focus on each stinging blink.

Jenkins looked at the empty space were Dulaque had stood. His eye caught on something and he looked at the ground in dawning horror. Dulaque's body laid at his feet the head beside it with sightless eyes staring up at him accusingly.

Jenkins fell to his knees; his legs no longer able to hold him as the burning pain of both body and soul seeped through his remaining bloodlust (or so the surge of adrenaline from a battle was once called) faded and left him numb.

He could feel his immortal flesh fighting against the magic of the blade that had pierced him. He sought out the weapon used. Jenkins' heart tore even more as he beheld Carnwennen. It had been Arthur's dagger. He found himself laughing at the irony. That the blade Arthur had once used to save his life was now going to take it.

Jenkins sword slipped from his fingers and his head bowed as the laughter faded and a mournful cry replaced it. He heard pounding of many feet, voices calling out Jenkins and knew the Librarians were coming. But couldn't bring himself to care. The world around him seemed to be muted somehow as if he were bound in tight bandages from head to toe. Only able hear from a distance that which was close, only able to see the blade of his friend, his king with his own blood on it before even that began to fade and he fell into darkness.