9. Arthur: Twilight

When twilight fell, Arthur retired to his chambers. In the cool gloom, he would light fourteen candles, one by one. Gareth. Degore. Agravaine. Percival. Mordred. Cai. Lamorak. Alymere. Bedivere. Pelleas. Ector. Gaheris. Lionel. Palomedes. Their names a chant in his mind; a hopeless, guilty prayer.

"By God, Artorius, you have a positive host of candles at your disposal!" exclaimed a Roman dignitary, to whom Arthur had lent his room for the night.

"The shadows are long in Britain," Arthur replied, smiling disarmingly. Fool. You ignorant fool.

Every night, the candles burned brightly.

And the darkness could not put them out.