Title: Forever More
Author: C'est moi
Author's Note: I've finally decided to start writing chapter numero 5.
I'm finding it harder and harder to write now. My brain is like
digging for ideas yet all of them are crappy. Have you ever known that
feeling when you knew what was going to happen in the middle of the
story but writing up to that point was just plain hell? Well I've
gotten to that point. screams I've actually been using sources like
my 7th grade history book. Thank you thank you thank you whoever wrote
iThe Fall of Rome/i. And thank you Mrs. Williamson! Also, I tried
reading through iLe Morte D'Arthur/i but the one annoying thing is
that the book doesn't make references to dates. ARG!!!! Oh well.
Thanks again to Frank Thompson. With his help I can start this story
without seeing the movie. Not saying that I'm not going to see the
movie which comes on Wednesday because that would just be wrong. Oh
and some of the lines that I'm using are straight from either the book
or the movie so don't bombard me with copyright warnings because I
know!
Disclaimer: I don't own King Arthur but I sure as hell wish I did.
Nyarg! Oh well. I own Kera though. That lightens up the mood a bit.
Chapter 5: ‡True Camelot‡
The girl's head lolled back as her eyes shut. With a final
cough, she fainted. Lancelot sighed and took off his cloak. Wrapping
it around the unconscious girl's shoulders, he lifted her up and
climbed into the saddle. Resting her in the saddle in front of him, he
grasped the reins tightly, forming a shielding wall around the girl,
Kera, so she wouldn't slide off the horse.
Clucking softly to his mount, he reined the horse back
onto the path. Dust and dirt were churned up behind them in a cloud of
earth as they galloped off across the fields and towards the small
black line bordering the horizon.
Hadrian's Wall.
Calmness once again fell over the land. The only sound
that could be heard for miles was the constant pounding of hooves
striking against the dirt. Everything fell into rhythm as Lancelot
leaned forward in the saddle. The girl seemed so small in his arms.
Her head slumped backwards against his support, her mouth slightly
ajar.
iWhat am I doing?/i he thought to himself, looking
into the girl's face.
The wind whipped by as the dark bay, near black, pressed
on through the fields, racing for some unknown speed. Stretching out
its head, its long legs snapped at the ground and pulled back in so
fast that its hooves nearly clipped his stomach. The stallion's black
mane rippled as its great head bobbed up and down. Its tail trailed
out behind it, slowly to fade back into the country surroundings of
green and brown.
Finally, the skies opened up to what they had predicted.
Clouds raced to catch up with the knight, their long, billowing
fingers reaching out above him. Rain poured from the heavens, soaking
the knight through his armor. Shivering, he urged the horse faster
with a tap of his heels. Soon, the small line that had bordered the
horizon soon grew larger.
Snaking across the grassy fields and cutting a path through snow-
capped mountains was Hadrian's Wall, built nearly three centuries
before Lancelot had been born, Hadrian's Wall. It was probably one of
the most impressive structures he had ever seen, and most definitely a
grand accomplishment for the Roman Empire. The wall stood almost
thirty, towering any ride on horse and measured a vast eighty miles
from end to end. It covered from the North Sea all the way to the
Irish Sea with forts set one mile apart along the way, connected with
blockhouses and military roads, guarded by strong garrisons of Roman
legionnaires, adding another six feet in height. Built as a barrier to
keep out the constant source of trouble in the north, the wall not
only helped keep barbarian marauders away, but assisted in symbolizing
Rome's ruling power and force.
Not one to be messed with.
Yet, if one surveyed Rome's "great achievement" closely, they would
find that Hadrian's Wall wasn't as strong as its forbidding look
portrayed. Certain areas along the wall had begun to crumble, the
brick and mortar falling apart. Some fortresses were either abandoned
or guarded by such a small group of soldiers that all it took was a
small group of strong-minded men to overrun them. AS Rome's authority
and control over Britain began to disintegrate with every rogue and
determined soldier, so did Hadrian's Wall, weathering away little by
little.
Yet where there were faults to the wall there were definitely
strengths. The Roman fortress at the wall near Badon Hill was
certainly one of the sturdy and well prepared positions for many miles
in either direction. Due to its strategic importance in battle and
safety as a gateway straight into Britain, Rome had put more effort
into keeping Badon Hill's walls strong, if not the strongest.
Later on, Antonine Wall was built, just to cover a more northerly line
as a double precaution for the Woads, but that wasn't saying much for
it soon was abandoned leaving only rumble.
The first soldier that spotted the dark horse galloping down the
winding path towards the wall lifted a large signal flag and waved it
in the air. Soon the sound of creaking wood was heard as the large,
heavy door groaned open. The horse rode straight through the barely
opened gate as rain continued to rain down relentlessly. Reining in
the horse, Lancelot slipped out of the slippery saddle. The girl began
to slide off the saddle but he caught her in his arms just in time.
Taking long, brisk steps, he crossed the courtyard, his boots
squishing in the puddles and headed for the dry safety of cloisters.
Entering the dry building, he walked up and down the halls until he
spotted a tall, elderly woman with a great mop of white hair on her
head leaving a room.
"Dear Galla," he called out.
The woman turned her head towards him, her sparkling green eyes alert.
"Please take this girl here and see that she is taken care to."
The woman, though old as she may have seemed, was a whole lot stronger
than what she should have been. Scooping Kera up in her brawny arms,
she nodded and walked off towards one of the open roomed doors.
"Now that that's taken care of..." Lancelot said, turning and striding
down another hall.
Everybody was already seated at their spots around the round table by
the time Arthur entered the room. All of them rose to their feet to
show their respect for him, their faces alert. Arthur's eyes looked
proudly over each knight, yet they didn't seem as fearsome as they did
on the battlefield, when instinct came first. Here they were among
friends, not enemies, and were much more relaxed and at ease.
The large wooden table filled up most of the room. In the middle of
the table, was an iron hearth with burning coals in it. A great fire
leaped up from them and every so often threw its simmering sparks into
the air with a loud /i. Around the table were well over a
hundred chairs, each one devoted to a knight that Arthur himself had
labored over to sit there. But now only seven knights stood by their
seats, the rest stood bare with merely the haunting memory of their
previous owner to fill the empty space.
Yet never would those chairs be filled with another knight, for Arthur
had promised himself that he would never replace his knights. For
after all, they were men, not toys which can be easily found in the
blink of an eye. They were men, each one special with their own unique
traits and skills. And each of them was willing to give their life up
for Arthur. Irreplaceable was what they were. With Arthur's vow, their
once great host of soldiers would continue to die down with each
battle, until one day they would all be gone, with only the wooden,
circular table, and all those affected back them to tell the tale.
In the very beginning, it had only been the young Arthur who had
joined the Roman army at the age of ten. As he grew, so did his
determination. When he came of age, he was given his own small troop
of soldiers and appointed officer. His father, Uther Pendragon, had
also been a great leader of the Sarmatian knights. Arthur was one that
respected tradition, and tradition required him to follow in his
lineage's footsteps.
With his stern commands yet popularity among his men, he quickly
gained the reputation of a valiant fighter and a sharp leader as well.
Though Arthur did not believe in hate, he had a bitter loathing for
the Woads. There was never a day that didn't pass when he didn't
relive the memory of his mother's death. The hot fire burning against
his cheek as he rushed back to his house, his father's sword gripped
heavily in his hands, only to realize that he was too late. The Woads
had set his humble house ablaze, and his mother had been the
unfortunate one to pay. The rotting stench of burning flesh still
filled his nose and to this day, he hated the Woads. What had his
village down to them? Nothing. And he didn't believe that the innocent
should be punished for no reason.
Unlike his friends, he didn't delight in killing. There was nothing to
be proud of in taking another person's life away. But whenever he
found himself in the midst of battle with the savage Woads, all of his
beliefs vanished and inhuman abhorrence took over. He became heartless
and merciless as he slaughtered as many tattooed warriors as his two
hands could.
Though winning battle after battle, Arthur soon became frustrated with
his group of Roman soldiers. They just didn't have the dedication or
heart to fight. If anything, they seemed like mercenaries who only
fought if they had to or for money. That was when the idea came to
him. He would form his own cavalry with men who actually had skill.
For two years, with the help of his life long friend, Lancelot, they
searched high and low for worthy fighters. Once that grueling task was
over, Arthur probably had the strongest cavalry in all of Roman
despite its size.
Looking back at the large table in the room again, he smiled. Though
there was no head of the table unlike the long rectangular tables that
other Roman authorities were accustomed to sitting at, all the knights
knew that there was a leader among them, and they were happy to
recognize it.
The castle itself that they stood in was not really a castle. This was
no Camelot with its towers that soared high into the clouds, or its
traditional moat swarming with blood thirsty alligators, nor did it
have a king and a queen to rule over the estate. But in a way it was
better than Camelot, for there were enough memories filling that very
room that could have outdone a million castles.
There was an eerie silence as Arthur surveyed the area.
The room was practically bare save for the table, the chairs, and his
men. Yet the rest of his men would never return to fill back the room
with laughter and joyous happiness. No. They were dead, there bodies
buried under the mounds of earth in the cemetery on Badon Hill. Either
that, or their bones lay somewhere within the wide expanse of Rome's
empire, unmarked but never forgotten.
"Where to now Arthur?" one knight spoke up, taking a quick
swig of his goblet.
Arthur looked towards Bors with a fond smile.
"My brothers, go get your battle gear and be ready to
leave within the hour."
The men immediately perked up. A mission, an adventure—the
very reason why they existed.
"Nothing dangerous, I hope, Arthur," Bors added.
Arthur laughed. "And are you suddenly afraid of danger,
Bors?"
"Never," Bors replied. "But our term of service is done
tomorrow. We are about to be declared free men."
A round of cheers erupted. They were about to be set free
after fifteen long and terrible years.
Dagonet joined in the fray.
"Bors is right," he said. "Be a terrible shame if we got
ourselves killed just before we are granted our freedom. That would
make for a lot of unhappy ladies who we have yet to encounter!"
Little did Dagonet how much irony dripped from his
statement.
All the knights laughed. Tristran with a mischievous smile
said, "Yes, I'm sure many a beautiful maiden is praying for the moment
when Dagonet and his huge belly will come tramping in."
Dagonet huffed indignantly. "We can compare numbers when
it's over, Tristran. I will be happy to give you a head start!"
Tristran shook his hair from his eyes. "That won't be
necessary."
Lancelot finally spoke up, his look completely serious
compared to the badinage around him as he asked the question that
everyone was wondering.
"But where are we going to with our battle gear?" he said.
"There is a representative from Rome coming here. His name
is Bishop Germanus."
The knights were not impressed. Out of all them, dead and
living, Arthur was the only Christian in their midst. The rest either
believed in religion as a counterfeit or stuck with their pagan gods
of their Sarmatian heritage.
Gawain said, "And what is so important about this bishop
that calls for us to armor up? Is he lethal? Dangerous? Are we to kill
him, for I highly doubt that one Bishop will prove us men any
challenge."
Arthur sighed then smiled, "Well, if you're so intent on
killing the man that bears our papers of release—"
The knights cheered.
"They are coming directly through Woad territory. He is
only guarded by a very few number of Roman legionnaires, and you know
how useless they can be if there's trouble. So, naturally, our job is
to go out and make sure Bishop Germanus and his entourage arrive
safely."
Bors interrupted.
"Well, I would hate for anything to happen to those
papers...but we do know that Tristran's an excellent when it comes to
forgery..."
Tristran nodded knowingly as Dagonet added, "Although I
don't care what happens to the bishop."
Author nodded, "Then protect the papers for your sake. And
the bishop for mine."
Lancelot began heading to the door.
"Fair enough," he said, quickly shaking off his still wet
hair. "Men. Let's go!"
Arthur's Author's Note: Whoops! It's getting to my brain. Ok. So I'm
done with Chapter 5. Don't kill me because I used a bunch of lines
from the book and movie. I would stick this story up on
but they don't have a section for King Arthur yet and I have no clue
how to suggest one. If you look at all those POTC fanfics, you'll see
they use just as much description and lines as well. So humph! But
please r&r!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!