Things to remember (again):

-. Sorry for being late, friends. Computer's been acting again.

-. Still do not own Fall Out and Fate/ Stay Night.

-. Love both the game and the anime, so I made this story (I consider this to be a very strange DLC for New Vegas)

-. The vault from previous chapter? Not Vault 22, just somekind a mysterious vault.

-. Feeling that the courier a little bit different? Well, I played New Vegas in PC ( and you know what you can do while playing New Vegas in PC) and I played it with mods as well. Thousand apologies if it didn't suite your taste.

-. Music, glorious music forever!

-. Thank you very much for your awesome reviews, friends.

-. Enjoy!

Chapter 2A: A Lone Guitarist in Britannia.

The cheerful chirping of the sparrows echoed throughout the sunny air of small village of Grassywool. The sweet smell of the late spring still lingered around, intoxicating every living and breathing under the bright blue sky. There was an air of relief and delight, breezing all over the place. The warm embrace of the sun caressed not only the pale complexions of Grassywool's denizens, giving color to their faces, but also touched their souls, uplifting their spirits. As the sun always rises after the dark night, so does the bright future brimming of hope and life after the terror and despair. It was another morning in the said village, yet everyone seemed to be more boisterous and determined from their usual fashion in dealing daily business.

The peaceful sound of minor trades had been replaced with the bustling clatter of repairing and rebuilding. Men walked back and forth, lifting heavy wooden beams and sacks on their shoulders, while children scuttled around them, carrying hammers and shovels for the adults. Some men were tearing down destroyed walls, some men were clearing out rubbles and ruins, and some were sitting on the rooftop while fixing tiles on the roof. While men excelled in heavy labor department, the women shone in a much different areas. The women, both young and old, were toiling in providing meals for every villagers and medications for the old and sick. Apparently, during the raiding and ransacking, some houses and shacks had not been fortunate enough to be spared from the wrath of the marauders. Although most of the buildings were intact and only a few suffered some serious interior damage, a handful of houses were burnt to the ground. Fortunately, the local parish provided temporary shelter for those who lost their homes for indefinite period of time and the Grassywool's residents were more than willing to help their fellow neighbors. Those simple commoners were weary, but happy.

Bedivere, together with some soldiers from his unit, had just finished their patrol for the morning round. Two nights had passed peacefully since the marauders raided the village. They were pacing toward the small community kitchen that had been set up next to the local parish. A short queue of people were already lining in front of the small stall, waiting for the daily providing of meal. Despite the knight and his men were higher in ranks than the commoners, and the queuing villagers' insistence to cut the line, Bedivere and his men kept their line after gratefully declined the kind villagers' offer. They had passed another night unperturbed, all thanks to the knight and his soldiers' vigilant watch. Thankfully, no enemies' scouts or soldiers were sighted as well.

Bedivere was deep in thought while standing in his line. He was troubled on what had transpired in a day before. Indeed, a day had passed rather peacefully after the courier's meddling. The witnessing villagers, although wary of his otherworldly power, was utterly grateful for his action. In the same evening, the courier was already hailed as a hero by the people. Still, the knight was completely distrustful to the so-called "hero". Bedivere felt his goose bumps rose when he remembered the courier's reply to his question after the one-sided battle.

"Just a simple courier, and like every other courier, I deliver." His cold and grim voice sounded so unnatural, unlike the sound of men or beasts.

"And what do you deliver, master courier?"

After looking back to the spot where the mounds of flesh and pool of blood were, the courier turned to the knight, his dead cold crimson gaze penetrated deep into his soul.

"Death" the unholy voice returned. "And desolation."

Those words reverberated in his mind, sending chills to his spine. Million questions popped out in his brain. How could a simple messenger have the power to slaughter twenty mounted raiders, armed from teeth to toe? What was the infernal contraption that he used to unleash the "rain of fire" against the bandits? More importantly, who or what is he? He could not be just a simple courier as he claimed himself to be. He had suspected that the man must be one of the fabled southern barbarians that the adventurers and the seafarers had told about. The descriptions fitted the enigmatic messenger strongly; outlandish clothing and armor, odd accent in spoken English, and the air of unfamiliarity that he emitted. However, after witnessing the might of the unworldly "weapon" that the courier wielded, the knight was not so sure that the courier was even a human being. "Are you a human? Or are you a demon, dressed in a human skin?" His first question to the courier when encountering him for the first time rang in his mind once again.

He was broken off from his reverie when a voice calling out his name was heard.

"Yo, Bedivere!" the jolly voice rang. "Waiting for breakfast?"

The knight turned his head and jumped. The source of his headache suddenly manifested right beside him. This time, the courier, who had introduced himself as John Grimm, was stripped from his long black coat, his armor and his bizarre helmet. He kept his trousers and his boots. He wore a black sleeveless tight suit on his torso, revealing the muscles outline of his body. His short unkempt hair of onyx was drenched in sweat, and so was his face. His face had the similar characteristic of common Saxons; big jaw, sharp wide eyes, big slightly crooked nose, vast temple and short fuzz below his nose and on his chin. Yet, somehow they felt so cold and distant. Although he smiled from time to time, his hard expression was as lifeless as a tomb. His hollow ebony eyes seemed to peer into the soul of the knight when their eyes met. The ominous aura that enveloped him was rich and heavy.

"Ah, Master Grimm." Bedivere politely responded. "Forgive my pensiveness; I didn't realize that you're coming."

"Well." The courier scratched the back of his head. "I get that a lot."

"So, you are craving for breakfast as well?" The knight smirked at his awkwardness. It was unexpected behavior, yet amusing to look at.

"Nah, I already ate along the way." The courier informed him. He looked at the line. "Today's menu is potato casserole, courtesy of the young Miss Stoutfeet."

"How do you know?"

"I helped the young lady peeling off the potato skins." The man replied nonchalantly.

"I…see."

The man surprised him greatly. He never knew the courier was a quite an honorable man. The concept of humility, even though was taught to everyone from the highborn to the lowborn, was a rare attitude to be applied into action by the majority of the people. The greater power or influence a person wielded the scarcer charities such person donated. Bedivere considered himself to be one of the rare cases. He didn't think twice in lending a hand to whoever required it, regardless of rank and wealth. It was his inborn character, although his code of chivalry required him to do so. He had assumed that such concept was alien for the courier. Yet, to his surprise, the courier was not a stranger to such notion. He was more than willing to toil alongside the people, regardless how dirty, heavy or low the tasks might be. He did them all without complaint. Even though he was wary of the courier's motivation, his sincere action won the knight over. He was impressed by the man's humbleness and diligence.

"So where are you going now?" the knight questioned the man.

"I am going to the physician."

"You got yourselves hurt?"

"No, I have promised the old physician to help her today."

The food stall opened its veiled window. The old lady of the community kitchen banged the iron kettle with her ladle, signaling the morning meal was ready to be served. The queue began to move forward.

"I guess I will be seeing you later then." The courier said.

"I bid you farewell, Master Grimm." The knight nodded his head. The courier responded his gesture with a nod, and walked away from the gathering crowd. The knight's gaze followed him as he went away.

"He was a strange one, indeed."

The man would possibly be burned at the stake for his carelessness in using his alien weapons, if Bedivere had not interfered. Although he hated to resort to lies and deceits, Bedivere was forced to concoct a made-up story in order to save the mysterious "courier" that he barely knew at all. In the end, he managed to save the mysterious man from the mob, and as the reward, the grateful man told him a little bit information about himself. He learnt from the little information he obtained that the courier, whose name was John Grimm, was indeed in fact a simple courier who pleasantly happened to be a jack-of-all-trades as well. He hailed from the land of Mojave, an unheard kingdom in the continent of America. He claimed that his bizarre weapons were not magical items; instead, they were products of technology and science. The knight was obviously confused at the statement and the words that he heard from the courier. Mojave? America? Science and Technology? What are those things? The courier had noticed his confusion, and ended his explanation to the knight immediately, stopping the knight from getting more information about the courier. Although only in a small amoutn, the information he obained from the mysterious stranger had helped Bedivere to grab a simple truth about the man: That he was a total alien in the land of Britannia.

"Ser Bedivere!"

The knight was once again interrupted in his trail of thought. He turned to the side where the call was originated. He saw a young man, donned in light leather armor, ran up to him. The man was a soldier from his unit that he had assigned as a runner to the local Baron shortly after the reoccupation of the village. The young man had returned unharmed. "Good, it means he has not encountered any enemy forces along the way." The knight said in his mind. The man was the youngest of all his men, but also the smartest and fleetest man in the unit, so the position that he had assigned to the young lad was indeed a very good choice.

"Ah, Rinc!" The knight exclaimed. "What news, my good lad?"

"Good news, ser!" The runner said while panting. "Ser Lancelot and the others were there."

"Were? What do you mean by 'were'?" The knight questioned, his tone was a surprised one.

"They set off for Camelot this morning." The runner replied. "And they requested for your return as soon as possible too, Ser."

"I see." Bedivere nodded. "And what did you tell them about our 'guest'?"

"I told them what you wanted me to tell them, Ser."

"Good lad!" Bedivere praised, as he placed his hand on the man's shoulder. "Now, get yourselves some food." Bedivere ordered, leaving his line for the young man to take.

"Thank you, ser, but I have already eaten." The runner respectfully declined. "I still have tasks that I have to attend to, and by your permission; I will go to see them through."

"Carry on, lad."

"Thank you, ser." The runner went off to the other side of the village.

Bedivere smiled at the young man's tenacity. That man certainly had earned his place in his unit, and he was proud of him. He was even happier that after concluding his business in Grassywool, he would return to his beloved Camelot. All of the sudden, an idea popped out from his mind and his smile grew wider. He turned his gaze to the direction where the courier was heading and said, "He could be useful for our cause."

The courier was already disappeared.

The courier trod the bustling dirt road alone, but he was not lonesome. Friendly calls and shouts from the villagers were heard along the way. He liked it. The same scene of happy and friendly neighbors calling out to him was happening once more. He felt welcomed, like the times he was in Goodsprings and Jacobstown. The smiling faces and friendly slaps on his back greeted him wherever he passed a group of people. "This is good." He thought to himself.

Previously, those people were scared of him. It was to be expected. His marauders slaughter had not been witnessed only by the knight and his soldiers, but also by the fleeing villagers. Their feet froze and their eyes fixed on the otherworldly scene that was happening that day. They were wary of his power, of his alien weapon.

He turned around, finding that the knight who called himself "Bedivere" and his men with mouth gaping wide. He chuckled at the sight. He walked back to the direction of the knight and his men while deftly detaching parts of the Avenger minigun and stored them back to his rucksack. He was unsure whether those warriors were flabbergasted by his weapon, his handiwork or his skill in separating parts of his weapon and storing them into a small rucksack. Still, those things were not so special; they were simply items and expertise that he obtained during his quest. As he passed that group of stunned soldiers, the knight murmured.

"What are you?"

The courier turned and stared him deep in the eyes. Those ebony irises were glinting dim light.

"Just a simple courier, and like every other courier, I deliver." The courier replied. His voice was breaking inside the gas mask, producing a guttural voice of metal and wind.

"And what do you deliver, master courier?"

He turned his face to look at his handiwork. It was truly a bloody mess. After surveying it for few seconds, he turned back to gaze the knight and said few words that represented his main business.

"Death," He sighed. "And desolation."

The knight's pupils and irises swelled when he heard those words. The courier didn't care. He heard a cracking sound of a thunder and felt the coldness from the raindrops that poured down on his coat and helmet. He returned to his previous direction and walked, leaving behind the dazed warriors behind. Mild rain fell as he walked to the direction of the small village that was visible in his eyes. Before long, he noticed black cloud of smoke was rising from the village. "Typical bandits." He growled in his heart. Apparently, some of the marauders stayed behind to "secure" the village. Luckily, the rain hampered the arsons, which was confirmed by the white smoke following the previous black smoke, indicating the dead flame. He unholstered his ranger sequoia, checked its bullets chamber and found only two .45-70 Gov't hollow points were remaining. He put his free hand to his side pocket and pulled out three unused bullets. He swiftly loaded the bullets into the empty chambers and locked the cylindrical compartment into the gun, while keeping his pace toward the village. Arrived at the entrance of the village, the courier cocked down his revolver and entered.

As he entered the village, he saw scattered and butchered livestocks around. He also saw burnt down ruins and half-burnt houses in in some places along the road. Although the small village stood, it still suffered considerable damage. He reached the center of the village, and there he found few soldiers in the same armors and weapons with the bandits that he had plowed with the minigun. They were busying themselves with loading their loots onto their horses that they failed to notice his existence. "Good." Was the only thought the courier had in his mind. He counted the bandits in his radar, only seven were staying behind for the looting. "Even better." The thought changed. He took aim to one of the bandit. One of them noticed him, and before he could alerted his friends, the courier opened fire. A flash of light sparked and shot rang out. it broke the bandits from their activity.

The bandits were stunned after witnessing their comrade's head burst out into million pieces like a tomato squashed with an invisible hammer, showering them with the unfortunate man's blood, brain matters and small chunks of his skull. Before their mind could react on the said happening and administered proper command to their bodies, two more cracking sounds were heard and two more heads were popped open in the same horrible fashion. The remaining bandits soon realized the presence of a man, garbed in a very unusual fashion, wielding a strange curved wand that was aimed at them. A burly bandit quickly jumped onto a horse and charged at the strange assailant, flailing his massive axe above his head. Before he could reached his target, the unknown man produced a flare from the tip of his wand with another loud cracking, and in an instance, a large sound of clang and thud was heard along with the frightened neighs of the bandit's steed. The giant bandit had fallen, with his head completely removed from his neck, as if an invisible sword had cleaved the spot where they were previously connected.

Three bandits were left. One of them, already mounted, decided that fighting the stranger was a folly since he easily killed their strongest like a flea. He hastily turned his steed around and began to flee. However, it was all for naught, as another booming sound was produced. This time, the fleeing bandit found a large hole, as big as an apple, on his chest. Blood began to run from his mouth and nostrils, and after staggering for a second, he fell from his running mount.

The two remaining bandits were fearful. Their blood froze and their heart wrenched. Although their weapons, a mace and a sword were ready and steady in their grip, they hesitated to attack in fear of being killed by the stranger's invisible spells. Both attacking and fleeing had resulted in death by the power of the strange wand. As long as wand was present, their lives were at the mercy of the stranger. And then, an unexpected thing happened. The stranger put down his wand and put it into a big pocket on his right thigh. The stranger then pull out a jagged knife from its sheath on the man's left thigh. He put himself into a battle stance, ready to fight.

The bandits exhaled a relief sigh. With the wand out from the battle, their chance of survival increased, and it increased tenfold with the stranger challenging them with a mere knife. It was indeed a very big knife, but it was lacking in terms of power and hitting range compared to a mace and a sword. Besides, what could a puny knife do to an armored fighter? The mace-wielding bandit charged toward the stranger, lifting his spiked mace with both of his hands above his head and shouting a battle cry. He had a stunning advantage in terms of strength, range and protection. He swooped down his mace, intending to break the skull of the stranger. Unfortunately, it never reached its target, as the stranger sidestepped the attack. The bandit and his mace passed the stranger harmlessly. In a lightning fast movement, the stranger swept his leg, kicking the bandit from balance and made him fell onto his back. Continuing from the leg sweeping, the stranger deftly reversed his grip on the knife and with great force, he plunged the knife into the bandit's throat. The exposed and unprotected neck received the sharp end of the jagged blade and upon its entrance; it produced a loud revolting sound of metal severing bone and sinew, loud enough for the last bandit to hear. The body shuddered then it laid lifeless on the dirt.

The last bandit lost his remaining courage as he watched his friend died horribly in the hand of a demon incarnate. The stranger dressed in black coat removed his embedded blade in disturbing manner, producing another revolting sound of metal being forcefully pulled from flesh. The bandit dropped his sword and ran to the nearby narrow passage between buildings to flee for his life.

The courier smiled beneath his gas mask. After wiping the blood from his blade with the dead bandit's cloak, he rose to his feet and gave chase to the running enemy. The hunt is on!

Before long, a blood-curdling scream was heard by the returning villagers and their defenders, who were aghast to find corpses of bandits across the street.

The courier was later found sitting down in front of the local parish, cleaning things that was assumed to be part of his weapon.

The courier was almost accused of witchcraft and heresy for his weapon and his explanation about it and would most likely to be burned on stake by the mob if Bedivere had not interfered. The knight had vouched the people that the courier was a messenger from the barbaric southern nation beyond the sea, bearing message of support to the king of Camelot. The courier wasted no chance in saving his life without shedding blood. He tactfully played along with Bedivere's story, adding some made-up stories about his origins and his coming to this land. Thankfully, the people were bought with the stories fabricated by Bedivere and the courier's silver tongue. Now, he was known as John Grimm, the messenger of the barbaric king Elvis Aaron Presley, ruler of the Vegas, the kingdom beyond the sea. And before long, he was already hailed by the people as a hero as well.

His life was saved, all thanks to Bedivere lies although his skill of speech had a part in it as well. As a sign of gratitude, he gave a little information about himself: his name, his occupation, and the place where he came from. He also unveiled a bit fact about his weapons, that their origins were from science and technology, not some mumbo-jumbo craps like 'magic' that the knight kept on saying. He explained to him patiently and honestly, yet he noticed confusion in his face as clear as water. He felt that his explanation would not do any good any longer to the knight and he stopped the explanation, despite of the knight's protest. He had assumed from his conversation with the knight that these people of Grassywool including Bedivere were the people that were cut off from the rest of the civilization that he had heard from travelers and merchants. He had never thought that the strange happening in the mysterious vault resulted in him being thrown into a backwater area far from Mojave. The knight and the villagers that he conversed kept on saying that the land's name was Britannia. However, the courier was sure that it was just another zone in the continent of America, although his pipboy could not pinpoint his exact location. At least, I was in America, right? He lighlty tapped his boy with his index finger, assuming that it might be slightly faulty after the fall. He really wished that he could find a way to return to New Vegas. Yet, under the present circumstances, he should mingle with these people for a time until he found a way back.

The courier then began his life as a messenger of a fictional king from a fake country. Most of the people had accepted and believed the "truth" of his origins. Still, looks of fear and suspicion were directed to him. The courier was not a stranger to those things. He remembered the time when he arrived into new towns or some communities during his adventure. He remembered how the people look at him warily like he was some kind of a dangerous stranger.

Fortunately, they all changed for the better when he took odd jobs there to improve their lives. Still, doing those odd jobs affected not only the lives of the people that he helped, but also the lives of other people. Sometimes, he had to make others' lives quite miserable for getting the jobs done, mostly involved in the lives of some legionnaires and wasteland gangers. His reputation grew for most towns and communities throughout Mojave, both negatively and positively. Based on that experience, he knew that the way to win the heart of the people is by helping them, and it was proven to be true with the villagers of Grassywool.

Although they were scared, the villagers were also very grateful to him. After he had shown his humility and sincerity by helping them with many odd jobs (which he finished in much greater speed and efficiency, thanks to his superior knowledge), the people began to accept him warmly, not just as their hero, but also as one of them as well. One time, after helping the local blacksmith in fixing his cart, the courier was bear-hugged by the grateful blacksmith who kept on saying that he was a true hero. The blacksmith was first from the many who hailed the courier as a hero. He had kept on thanking him whenever they met, calling the courier as his family's benefactor for saving the life of his wife and daughters and also his future son-in-law. The courier had though that such gesture was too far-fetched, but he didn't mind. The blacksmith reminded him of Marcus and his super mutant kinsmen, especially that bone-wrenching bear hug. Aside of that, warm kisses on the cheek, friendly pats in the back and playful pokes on the rib from other villagers were some of the things that the courier received on daily basis.

And he didn't mind them all.

In fact, he loved to be recognized, to be accepted. I t gave a warm feeling inside him despite of the usual coldness that he bore all the time.

It's a truth the courier was a loner that preferred to be in solitude rather than in a crowd. Life in the hostile irradiated wasteland of Mojave, added with his occupation as a deliveryman, had made the courier to be a mistrustful person. Life in the world that was merely a shadow of its past had stripped most people of the planet from their morality and sanity, and the courier was not excluded from it. Although he was not on the surface when the "great fire" scorched the world for years, he still lived like those who survived the horror of the surface world. He saw other people merely as objects, exploitable and disposable. Even though he took a job as a courier, he still lived by the code of cold logic and cruel efficiency in a world where the most basic resources were horribly scarce and most people were killing one another just to get a sip of water. He avoided large crowd and kept his companion, if any, in arm's length. He did so to avoid being the one on the opposite side of the gun's muzzle. He kept on living with the same code, until one day he made a mistake; he took that fateful job for Mr. House and then, he met Benny.

His life changed in an instant after his resurrection. Although he was bent on vengeance, his quest for retribution had put him in places and positions he was never thought to be before. In the course of his quest, his choices and actions had affected many lives and he had learnt a great deal of valuable lessons from them. Those experiences had changed his personality and from them, he began to made acquaintances with some unique individuals in the wasteland. He began to see people not as objects, but as fellow human beings. He learnt to respect his companions and cherish such companionship with fierce loyalty. In return, he won their respect as well. He remembered the time when he and his companions fought side by side in Hoover Dam. Boone's near impeccable marksmanship, Raul's ghoulish gun slinging, Cass' ferocity with shotguns and Arcade's terrifying enclave-tech weapons; they all had saved his life so many times that he lost count. In the end, the courier, although he still walked a lonesome road, he found himself to be a much different man. He found love for the people and he found respect and acceptance from them. He was accepted, he was wanted, and he was loved, all thanks to the bullet in his head. The courier laughed inwardly to the irony

Pushing those thoughts deep into the corner of his brain, He quickened his pace to the healer's shop. Surely his knowledge in medicines and skills in healing would be severely wanted by the doctor and her patients!

The bright sun finally declined from its seat above the sky and soon sank deep into the horizon. Before long, the black veil of night descended into the sky and replaced the azure turned auburn heavens with its dark shroud. From the center of the vast darkness of the night, the argent light of the moon shone brightly like a single lamp in a dark room. Along with the moon, little twinkling stars like diamonds adorned the black canvas of the night, providing dim illumination to the dark earth.

The night had descended, and beasts of the wild had returned to their dwelling. It was the time for resting, the time to find respite after a day of hard work. But for the people of the Grassywool, It was the time for the postponed celebration.

After the courier's intervention in eliminating the marauders and also his help in cleaning the village from other marauders who stayed behind to loot and torch the houses, the villagers had decided that efforts for rebuilding the destroyed and fixing the damaged should be prioritized rather than holding a celebration. Although the renovation and the recovery of the village were simply half done, the villagers could barely hold their craving for merry-making anymore. And so, on that night, in an outskirt just outside the village, a celebration was held.

A large bonfire was erected at the center of the festivity. A mighty feast was set, all thanks to the culinary experts that the village possessed. The sound of lyres, drums, lutes and flutes mingle harmoniously, creating a melody pleasing to every ear that listened to such tune. The young swayed their body, letting themselves to be lost in the music, while the old stomp their feet and clapped their hands in happiness. Rich and pungent aroma from the roasting boar and hot freshly baked pies filled the air. Barrels after barrels of ale were rolled out and opened, providing the sweet intoxicating booze to both the drunkard and the sober. Soon, the sound of laughter, singing and merry-making combined into a chaotic but joyful chorus that broke the silence of the night.

It was a festival of thanksgiving, a celebration of gratitude. The villagers were grateful for their loved ones. They were grateful for the nourishment that they had and grateful for the help they had received from their kindly neighbors. They were grateful for every breath that they had taken for granted in each passing moment. And most importantly, they were grateful for the Maker's deliverance in the form of their defenders.

After being pushed and dragged from the healer's shop by the villagers, the courier, being a classic introvert, was bashful when he was declared as one of the honored guests, along with Bedivere and his men. He took a meaningful glare to Bedivere, hoping that he would help him in this situation. Unfortunately, Bedivere purposely turned his face away from him, letting him to be at the mercy of the villagers. The courier was aghast. He was extremely flushed when he was offered a dance from one of the village maidens. He finally took the offer after he was dragged by the three young and lovely ladies to the dancing ground. At first, he was stumbling and dancing awkwardly, creating roars of laughter from the spectators. Even Bedivere chuckled at his clumsiness. Then, after few moves and correction, he began to dance properly, amazing the maidens with his graceful steps and elegant stomps. After the dance he was pulled by the men to partake the feast on the long table, sampling every foods and ales provided before him. Soon, he joined the laughing, swearing, singing, dancing and other merry-making along with the villagers.

As the night grew, the festivity kept on going, until the vigorous foot stomping music turned to the soft romantic melody. Couples and lovers danced a slow but tender dance on the dancing ground. The loud crowd was transformed into silent spectators who sat around the dancing ground and hummed alongside the melodious tune. Those who didn't dance embraced their loved ones while sitting and humming around it. After the music ended, a musician holding a lute stepped forward and called for the courier to play a song from his land.

"Sir Grimm, please play one of your folksongs to us." The bard requested.

"Eh? Please, friend, Grimm is fine. No need for 'sirs'." The courier replied. "I would love to, but unfortunately, I don't know any songs, friend." The courier politely declined.

"Hmmm, to me, it seems you are lying, my good fellow." The bard said. "Isn't it right, folks?" He exclaimed to the spectators.

The people began to jeer, and the courier was embarrassed. The bard then jokingly began to chant 'Lying' with loud voice and the people followed him. The courier chuckled at the musician antics, but he relented nevertheless.

"Okay, okay, you win folks." He said in amused tone. "I will play for you the song of my people."

The crowds cheered and applauded. The bard handed his lute to the courier, but he declined.

"I brought my own musical instrument, friend." He said as he walked to the center of the ground.

The courier opened his rucksack and pulled out some items from it. He swiftly and skillfully combined the items into an instrument that was similar to a lute, but bigger and had a curvier body.

"This is a musical instrument from my land." The courier said reassuringly. "It is nearly the same with you lute."

"What is it called, mister?" A little child asked.

"I was called 'guitar'."

"Ge-thar?" The spectators repeated the word in their mouth

"Yes, guitar." The courier said as he began picking the strings and played the music he had learned from Raul. "And, this is a song that I learned from a man called 'El Cucuy'."

(Insert "El Mariachi" by Robert Rodriguez, from "Once Upon a Time in Mexico Original Soundtrack")

He picked the strings gracefully and slowly. The music slowly poured out from the instrument. First it went slowly and then the melodious pitches rose in certain tempo. The tones kept on the same height and finally they dropped orderly. The same pattern of the rising and dropping of the melodious tones kept on going at the same pace, creating a bittersweet tune that with each melancholic ascending and descending portrayed loneliness of its performer, his memories of better times and his longing for those times to return to him.

The spectators were silent. They sit and listened attentively, letting themselves to be drowned by the rich emotion that was contained within the song. It was a strange song indeed, no words and only tunes. Yet, it bore a powerful atmosphere that made up for its lack of words. The wordless song kept on going, silencing every voice until the only thing that broke the silence of the night were the slow cracking flames from the bonfire and the sad tune that the courier played.

The music finally reached it zenith and descended slowly. More tones rose again for a short time before it dropped as if it resisted ending. And yet it was dying. Each tone was getting slower and slower, and finally it ended.

The courier stared at the spectators. All eyes fixed on him yet no one spoke a word. He bowed his and he walked away with his guitar from the center of the ground. The bard took the courier's place in the center of the ground and began to play a heart lifting song. The crowd began to cheer once again, and the merry-making resumed.

The courier made his way to the long table. He picked up a mug and sit at the long bench alone. He was a little disappointed, but it was expected. I should not play such sad tune in this joyous festivity. "Serves you right, Grimm." He muttered to himself, as he took a little sip from his mug. Before he put down his mug on the table, he felt a presence was walking to him from behind. He turned around to see the knight approaching him.

"So that was the song of your people, huh?" Bedivere said. "It doesn't sound so good."

"Everybody is a critic." The courier responded with a plain face.

"Cheer up, deliveryman." The knight took a sit beside the courier, punching him on his shoulder lightly. "It didn't turn out to be so bad."

"Thank you….I guess."

Both man sat silently while watching the ongoing merry-making. The silence was broken by the knight's words.

"You know." Bedivere said. "I am bound to return to my king on the next day."

"I see." The courier plainly replied. "Have a safe trip then."

The knight was annoyed of the courier's attitude. He slapped the back of his head with his gauntled hand to convey his annoyance.

"Ouch, what was that for?" The courier rubbed the sore spot where the slap landed.

"I wasn't finished yet." The knight stated sternly.

"So, what is it?"

"I want you to come with me."

"Me? To where?"

"Camelot, the capital of kings."

This chapter is a tribute to the badass Danny Trejo.