Chapter 2 – Arise as Knight

Shafts of dying sunlight shone through the tall narrow windows of the King's Chamber in Camelot. There, right before the marble dais, knelt a knight with night-black locks and wearing a splendid white armor, offering a great lance to the figure sitting on the high throne, hidden in shadows. A keen unsheathed sword, about three feet long and four inches thick, which hilt was adorned with gold, shone like a bright star against the creeping darkness of twilight.

"I assume you still remember, Sir Lancelot." The shadowy figure said gravely.

"I still remember, my lord," answered the genuflecting knight.

"You owe no birth allegiance to me, my country, and my people," the other recounted, giving weight to the words. "Yet you succored us in our hour of dire need. You were lord of Joyous Guard and of a great nation, were you not? And yet you chose to forsake your domain and be a Knight of the Round Table.

"And now you risk yourself by undertaking a most perilous quest." The speaker's tone was as cold as the winter blasts. "Why so, Sir Lancelot? Do you truly wish to throw your life away?"

A proud smirk played through the knight's lips. "You already know the answer to that," he replied with a rich, confident tone. He had always spoken like that. "And besides, I live my life for adventure's sake."

"If so – very well, then. You have my blessing." Then, the other continued in a more powerful voice, "Now, arise, knight! Fulfill thy oath!"

The knight, Sir Lancelot, got up to leave. But before completely passing through the archway leading out of the King's Chamber, he turned back to the shadow-cloaked figure.

"Arthuria Pendragon."

"What?!" the other suddenly gasped. Iron fists wavered upon the mentioning of that long-forgotten name.

"That name has long been unused, right?" The long ebony hair of the great knight danced like a wave as he walked out of the chamber. "Perhaps you ought to forget about your country too, if only for a while."

The other's face caught the last saffron beams of light. Her narrowing eyes flamed like emerald fires.

And Excalibur in her right hand shone like the evening star.

Away from the castle…

A tall knight, Sir Hector, walked into the stables. It was dark inside, and it reeked with the scent of the warhorses' manure. But thank heavens that he did not have to linger there; he needed only his horse, Morengo, and the stable lad was already there, gearing his steed.

"Haste, lad!" ordered the knight. "Morengo must be readied for the long journey!"

The stable lad finished fitting the horse's harness. "Yes, sir," he answered.

The stable lad looked very much like Sir Lancelot.

Sir Hector returned to the Court of Camelot, accompanied by his friend, the great Sir Gawain. They were discussing about provisions for the long search when –

"See that seat yonder, Sir Gawain?" Sir Hector exclaimed upon viewing the Round Table. "Methinks I never saw it before."

The seat was truly newly arisen. It was of pure white marble, adorned by a gold-embellished frame, and on the frame was an inscription:

Siege Perilous

"Siege Perilous?" uttered the tall knight in awe. "How can such a beautiful chair hold such a great danger? Perhaps only a great knight can dare venture sitting on it."

"Is that so?" There was a strange gleam in Sir Gawain's grey eyes. "Then I must attempt to sit on this Siege Perilous."

And Sir Gawain would indeed set himself on Siege Perilous had a friar not stopped him.

"Halt, Sir Gawain!" the friar cried out. "Do you know not your own peril?! Only the best knight may sit there, my son! Death would be the price a vain knight must pay for claiming the Siege Perilous."

The crimson-armored knight furrowed his long eyebrows. "And I, Sir Gawain, am not fit?"

"Nay. But nor is Sir Lancelot, nor Sirs Perceval, Bors, and Lionel – nor the king himself."

At that the friar left, leaving the two knights in awe.

Word of the mysterious chair spread throughout the court, reaching the ears every knight – and even those of the king.

The stable lad searched for Sir Hector, desiring to tell him that Morengo was ready. He went up into Camelot. Camelot, the Golden Castle of the King! Had he not often wondered what was it like inside, with the noble Knights of the Table for company? And the king! True, some claimed that he was a cold-blooded tyrant – but he believed otherwise. The king was just. He governed his country well and saved his people from enemies. Such was the Camelot he knew.

After a brief inquiry, the wardens (who knew him well, him being the caretaker of their steeds) allowed the stable lad in. It was his first time to enter Camelot. And what splendor! He slowly made his way through the antechamber, beholding the high pillars supporting the vaulted roof, the rich tapestries hanging on the immense stone walls, and on the tall statues guarding the hall.

And then there was the great hall, and the far-famed Round Table, surrounded by the banners of the king: a red dragon roaring on a white field. Words failed to describe the grandeur of the court to the lad.

What was it like to be a knight? he wondered. Yes. He longed to be a part of King Arthur's circle. And then he saw it: one chair was more beautiful than the others. It was of pure white marble, and it was adorned by a gold-embellished frame. What was it like?

What was it like?

"By the king!!!"

The lad rose up from the chair; he was caught! One of the knights saw him as he sat on the beautiful chair – was it allowed for a peasant to sit around the Round Table?

"Comrades! Friends! Come and see!" cried the knight.

What am I to do? the stable lad said to himself in panic. He decided to run before the other knights arrive.

"Halt, boy!"

He was doomed: the great Sir Lancelot himself was standing before him.

But instead of chastising him, the renowned knight gave him a shrewd look and a curious smile.

"You sat on the Siege Perilous, lad?"

The boy was stunned. "I – I – I did not know it was called that, sir," he stammered. "Please, sir – I was o-o-only going to t-t-tell Sir Hector that Morengo is r-ready…"

All the knights laughed.

"There is no need to fear, lad," said Sir Lancelot. "Lo! The king is come."

The lad grew more terrified instead. The king!

The king was – beautiful. He was young, (and not of great height, if truth be told) with tied flaxen hair and bright emerald eyes. Yet to the lad he seemed the keenest of blades – the king was of stern built, and arrayed with a formidable armor over his blue dress. And he held a bright sword. Excalibur…

"What is your name, lad?" the king inquired.

"G-Galahad, your majesty," the boy replied, drawing back at the sight of King Arthur's legendary sword.

"Galahad of the Siege Perilous." The king drew closer, raising Excalibur. Galahad could only close his eyes…

…Cold steel laid itself upon his shoulder…

"By St. George and by my father Uther, I, King Arthur Pendragon, dub thee knight of the Round Table. Arise as Kinght!" Upon hearing those words Galahad opened his eyes in disbelief.

The king was smiling; the knights were applauding!

"So it must be, for you have sat upon that which no other knight can sit on without peril. I see that great things will rise from you, Sir Galahad."

Sir Galahad!

Lo! A sword suddenly rose out of Siege Perilous: wrought of the finest fire-tempered steel it seemed, and its hilt was as white as the wings of snow.

"Take the sword," the king told the new knight.

Sir Galahad lifted the sword with ease. Then suddenly a white fire of sacred joy blazed within him. He lifted the sword for all to see.

"It seems, friends," declared the king, "that another knight shall join the Quest."

Arthuria Pendragon thought: he so resembles the image of Sir Lancelot…

Arise as knight, indeed.

Joyous Guard was Sir Lancelot's home and castle, which he won singlehandedly for himself