Authors Note: I began writing this chapter a while back and finally decided to finish it – enjoy.
Disclaimer: This is Fan Fiction – I only own the character portrayed as the Lady of the Lake.
My Sweet Lancelot
By ForestMoon
Chapter 2 - Surreal
"And when I wake I shall know the truth." – Lady of the Lake
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Early the following morning, the girl wakes to the sound of chirping birds and castle bustle. At first she stretches and yawns and even turns to cuddle the bed sheets. Then she slowly realises that they are different somehow, not soft and smooth at all. In fact, they are rather dull and unpleasant.
She sits up startled and realises that she is not in her own bed. The dim light creeping through the windows light the room just enough for her to make out the details.
"This is obviously a dream." She says to herself out loud while carefully examining the walls, furniture and even the smell of the dank air.
Suddenly there is a knock at the door but the girl remains silent. The knock repeats itself and again she says nothing. A few moments later, the door slowly creeks open. Afraid to move or unsure of anything, she sits quietly on the bed clenching the bed sheets over her chin.
Two handmaidens enter the room with a washbowl making sure not to make eye contact with the woman on the bed. The one servant pulls the cloth hanging over the open windows to the side allowing the morning sun and cool breeze to enter the room.
The other servant, a fair head petite girl, gestures for the woman to get up. Unsure of what to do, she stands up and greets the two ladies.
"Hello there." She says with a confident smile.
The handmaidens look to each other and begin to giggle then return to their tasks without responding to the woman. Confused but he entirety of the situation, the woman takes another look around the room now that there is more light revealing the details.
In the one corner she spots a tapestry of what appears to be a Celtic medieval crest depicting a shield, sword and some kind of mystical beast. It all seems familiar as if she has seen it before.
Trying really hard to allow the handmaiden to attend her and dress her without laughing from embarrassment, the woman manages to dress. Shortly after, the two servants leave the room and close the door behind them.
She examines the clothing they have provided her with. The long dress is crude but well made lacking any detail. It too seems very medieval in nature which only confirms her suspicions that she could be in some sort of castle.
Unsure of what to do next, there is another knock at the door. The woman clears her throat and quietly answers, "yes?"
The doors swings open and a scruffy short man stands in the centre of the doorway bending over in some sort of gesture.
"Mi'lady." He begins, making sure not to make eye contact, "The king requires an audience with you immediately."
King!?
The woman's face suddenly lights up with excitement as she rushes to the door. Reaching the door, her look of exhilaration fades and is replaced with a dreadful look of worry.
She caresses her neck and imagines herself being beheaded. On second thought perhaps it is safer to remain in the room.
The short scruffy man indicates for her to leave the room but she refuses.
"Mi'lady, best not keep the court waiting." The smelly small man whispers to her as he leans in close.
The sheer odour emanating from the man sends her a few steps back. She shakes her head and clenches her throat once more.
The man looks to a guard waiting out in the hall way and sternly encourages her to come with him, "I am afraid I must insist."
She hesitates as she steps forward convincing herself that this is only a dream and therefore no harm can befall her. The guard ushers her on down the hall after the short scruffy man. The halls are large and cold with tapestries similar to the one in the room, hanging periodically along the walls.
The hallway curves and is dimly lit leading on for quiet some time. A few minutes later the scruffy old man stops and motions her to enter a large room.
With nothing to loose, the woman walks slowly into the room. Several faces sit around a large round table all staring at her. Her mouth opens but no words seem to form.
One of the men, dressed a little more exquisitely than the others, stands and motions her further in. Almost frozen in her tracks, the woman manages a small step forward before being forced even more forward, as the doors behind her close.
"I am Arthur," he begins giving brief pause, "and who might you be?" He asks.
All eyes are on her watching her every move, penetrating her very being, judging her. She glances at all the faces until she falls upon the man at the end. He seems different to the others and sits slightly away from the rest.
As she surveys the room, things start making sense. Castle, medieval, Arthur…
Whatever this is, this is where she is at and for the time being, becoming part of the dream seems a logical choice. She ponders for a moment finding a name she could use and recalls one from a book her mother used to read to her.
"Kera." She mumbles realising her voice was not carrying across the large room. "My name is Kera." She repeats with a little more confidence.
The man smiles and begins to introduce the people in the room starting with the woman by his side and ending with the man to the far end. As he introduces them, the little child within Kera dances happily at very thought of the situation.
Not only is she in some far off land but she is in the presence of the legendary King Arthur, Queen Guinevere and the Knights of the round table!
After introductions are met, the King seats himself and points to an open chair sitting in the room away from the table. Deciding to play along, Kera moves to the chair and sits down awaiting further instruction.
Arthur and Guinevere glance at each other before lady Guinevere begins to speak. While she asks their guest a few questions, Arthur cannot help but notice that Lancelot has not once taken his eye off of the woman.
"Lady Kera," Guinevere begins, "I am glad you are well. You took a nasty beating in that carriage. You can thank Lancelot for saving your life."
Kera looks over at Lancelot and cannot help but blush at his penetrating stare. She nods to him in thanks but is unable to speak in fear of offending him with her clumsy words.
They continue to questions her, each having a chance to ask her something curious as to who she is and where she is from. Alas, Kera responds with the same answer each time, that she cannot recall anything.
The last thing she claims to remember is waking up in the room.