"Ugh! Everything hurts!" groaned Aurora. Schmidt, tall and thin and sporting a beard, was sitting with her on the battered sofa and agreed whole-heartedly.
"Why did you make us do that?" he complained loudly, "That was grueling!" He looked over at the silent figure sitting by himself at the small table, a lead Dungeons & Dragons figurine in his large hands. He was holding it close to his face, examining the figurine closely. The only answer he made to Schmidt's question was a distracted grunt.
"What are you doing over there?" asked Aurora, curious.
"Yeah, come on! Join us!" invited Dennis eagerly, twisting around in his chair to look at the man.
"Have some of my famous home-brewed mead," Schmidt offered, pride in his voice. He leaned forward stiffly to pick up a plastic cup and a half-gallon jug of a cloudy, pale-brown liquid.
"It's cheap wine mixed with Shasta cola," Aurora warned the man sourly, and Schmidt shot her a dirty look.
"Ignore her," he sneered as Jenkins stood up from the chair and made his way to small group. "It's so good—you'll love it!" Jenkins pulled a barstool out from the wall and set it down before reaching for the proffered cup of "mead".
"It's been a very long time since I last partook in spirits," he murmured uncertainly, accepting the cup and bringing it to his nose for a cautious sniff. It certainly didn't smell like mead, but he didn't want to be impolite. Jenkins took a small sip, and Schmidt beamed.
"Good stuff, huh?" he crowed, giving Aurora a triumphant glance. Jenkins flinched and nearly spit out the foul mixture of cola and cut-rate chardonnay the moment it hit his tongue. He managed to swallow it down, but to his dismay he found that the aftertaste was even worse than the ersatz mead itself.
"No," he croaked, a grimace of disgust on his face as he lowered himself onto the stool. "Not at all!" Dennis and Aurora laughed, delighted by the reaction, while Schmidt scowled at them before pouring himself a cup of his prized brew.
"So are you honestly just gonna sit there and not tell us about Camelot?" Aurora accused Jenkins point-blank. "We're D&D nerds, you know—so spill!" Schmidt bobbed his head in agreement as he swallowed a mouthful of his drink.
"Yeah, come on—what was Arthur like?" he pleaded.
"Bossy," Jenkins confided at once, a small smile coming to his lips at the memory of his king. His friend. "A bit vain, perhaps, but…overall he was a good king."
"Was Merlin as cool as we think he is?" Dennis asked, his eyes wide in anticipation. Jenkins's smile quickly broke into a grin.
"Cooler than you can ever imagine!" he assured the younger man, much to Dennis's delight. He beamed, childlike, as he looked around at his friends, all of them crying out in appreciation of the all the "inside scoop" they were getting on the mythical Camelot and its denizens.
"What...what about Sir Lancelot?" Dennis asked, turning back to Jenkins eagerly. "I think I read somewhere that he killed a dragon—is that true?" The smile faded and a faint shadow passed over the immortal's expression, but he quickly hid it again.
"Yes, that's true," he confirmed softly to more excited oohs and aahs.
"That must've been awesome!" exclaimed Schmidt, a look of glee coming to his scruffy, bespectacled face. "Slaying dragons and monsters, seducing princesses, fighting evil wizards, searching for treasures and glory—I would give anything to have been able to do that!"
"No, you would not!" Jenkins cut in abruptly, his expression suddenly black. The three young people stared at him, shocked into momentary silence by his sudden vehemence. The old knight held up a placating hand and took a breath.
"I hate to rain on your parade, but life in the Dark Ages was nothing like a Dungeons and Dragons game!" he said icily, glancing between each of them. "It was a hard, brutal existence for everyone! The average life expectancy back then was thirty-five years. Think about that a moment—thirty-five years!" He pointed an reproving finger at Schmidt and moved it around the small group to take them all in.
"You would all be nearing your ends right now," he informed them in an ominous rumble, "That is, if you weren't killed first by the constant warfare, or the plagues, or the famines, or the droughts or the lack of any sort of real healthcare services first!" He raised his hand and shook the finger. "And no one was spared, either—peasant, merchant, noble, priest, knight or king—all suffered!" Seeing his audience's wide-eyed stares of bewilderment, Jenkins took a second breath, deeper this time, to calm himself before he went on.
"My apologies," he said, contrite, "I didn't mean to spoil your fun, but..."
"That's okay, Sir Jenkins," Aurora said at once, a look of sympathy in her eyes. "We understand." The old knight snorted softly on his stool.
"I very much doubt that, Miss Aurora, but I thank you anyway," he replied with a curt nod. There was an awkward pause.
"W-what about you, Mr. Jenkins? Did you ever kill a dragon?" Dennis suddenly blurted, unable to keep his enthusiasm under any sort of restraint now that he knew that dragons were real, as well as magic. Jenkins dropped his gaze, unable to prevent a small smile from coming to his lips at the younger man's zeal.
"I did," he said simply. A cacophony of thrilled whoops and gasps of impressed disbelief filled the room, utterly dissolving the tension of a moment ago.
"Dude, seriously?!" Schmidt whooped, literally sitting on the edge of his seat now. "Oh, you have got to tell us that story!" Jenkins waved a hand.
"Nothing to tell, really," he said, slightly embarrassed by their adulation. "There was a dragon that was destroying a village. I rode out; when I found it I kicked my horse into a charge and ran the beast through with a lance." He waved a dismissive hand. "And that's pretty much it." Then after a beat, he added with barely hidden pride, "Well...and I also cut its head off with a single stroke of my sword—but then that's it." More cries of delight came from his tiny audience.
"Did King Arthur reward you for that?" asked Dennis breathlessly, his eyes round with awe. "I bet he gave you a ton of gold for that, huh? Or lands, or horses, or jewels, or—"
"Geez, Dennis—chill!" Schmidt snapped at his friend sourly. On his perch, Jenkins appeared to hesitate for a moment, but in the end he decided to share the truth with them.
"I was rewarded, yes," he confessed quietly, and the others leaned forward, anxious to hear what he'd been given. Jenkins, beginning to enjoy the attention just a bit, swept their eager faces with shining eyes.
"I was given something far greater than gold, or horses, or land or anything like that," he said, fixing his gaze on an enthralled Dennis. Jenkins's voice dropped to a low, mysterious rumble. "I was given something far more prestigious, something that only a knight who had slain a dragon in front of at least three eyewitnesses could have." Three sets of wide eyes stared at him expectantly, his listeners holding their breath.
"The king bestowed upon me the title 'Lladdwr o Ddraig'," he told them, his tone that of one who is sharing a great secret. "'Dragonslayer' in English." He fell silent and sat back on the stool. The three young people exchanged puzzled glances.
"That's it?" Schmidt asked, disappointment heavy in his voice. "Just...a title?" Jenkins raised his head, beginning to enjoy himself.
"Well, a title, yes—and the tattoo that went along with it," he threw out casually. As anticipated, his audience erupted into an excited cacophony again.
"Show us!" Schmidt shouted, Dennis and Aurora backing him up.
"Alas, I cannot," Jenkins reminded them, serious again. "Not in my own body right now, remember?" Groans of disappointment echoed in the room. "But—I can describe it for you, if you'd like." Three animated faces turned back to him, all of them begging him to continue.
"A dragon, here," he began, waving his right hand over his left shoulder area. "The tail is wrapped around my left bicep, the body resting on my left shoulder. The head is draped over my chest along with one outspread wing, the other wing is spread over my back, to protect me from harm." He leaned forward conspiratorially, his eyes shining. "Blood from the slain dragon was mixed into the ink used to create the tattoo, as a charm. It was believed that I would then I would not only be protected from all forms of harm, but I would also share the dragon's strength and power and courage."
"Wow!" Dennis whispered, completely awestruck.
"I so want to see that tattoo!" Aurora said fervently, "When we get your body back, Sir Jenkins, you have to show it to us!"
"I mean, a tattoo is cool and everything," Schmidt said slowly, "But it's too bad you didn't any lands or gold or anything like that, too." A lopsided smirk came to Jenkins's face as he cocked his head and lifted his chin.
"Oh, I got all of that, too, actually—a sizable castle in what is now called Wales, a dozen fine warhorses as I recall, a huge chest of Roman gold." He tilted his head thoughtfully, greatly enjoying the happy ruckus he was now causing.
"I was even offered the hands of several princesses in marriage, if I had cared to choose one," Jenkins continued in a careless tone, "But the title was the main thing. It brought me the deepest respect of my king—my friend—and that meant far more to me than any of the material things." Dennis jumped up from his chair and held his plastic cup high in the air, mead sloshing over its rim.
"To the Lladdwr o Ddraig!" he cried, nearly overcome with emotion. Aurora and Schmidt immediately followed his lead, and their cups also went up in salute.
"To the Lladdwr o Ddraig!" they chorused in unison. They waited, and Jenkins slowly slid off his stool, sheepishly raised his own cup.
"Mae'n ewyllys y duwiau." He murmured the ancient response automatically. It is the will of the gods. A statement of humility, lest those same jealous gods decide he needed to be taken down a peg or two in his pride. The three young people cheered and touched their cups together before taking a hearty drink. Everyone made a face as they took their seats again.
"To be a Knight of the Round Table!" Schmidt said, almost dreamily, "I bet it was a lot like this, right? Just sitting around, drinking mead and telling tales of glory!"
"Well, I don't know so much about that," Jenkins answered soberly as he stared uncomfortably into his cup. "I pretty much stayed to myself a lot."
"But you're Galahad, the finder of the Holy Grail! You were called the 'Perfect Knight'!" Aurora protested, almost affronted by his self-effacement. There was a soft, rueful snort from the old knight.
"But I am also the illegitimate son of Lancelot," he answered quietly and then looked up to meet their steady gazes. "I'm not of true noble birth, you see. I didn't really 'count'." He looked down into the cup of warm mead and shrugged. "I always felt…like I was different than the others, and not in a good way. Even after joining the Library, I still feel…different. I'm neither Librarian nor Guardian. I'm just sort of...on the outside looking in." The mood palpably dampened at that.
"I know what you're talking about," Schmidt said, subdued for the first time that day. "I grew up an Army brat, so we moved eight times in twelve years. I never got to live in a single place long enough to be able to call it home."
"You had it lucky!" Aurora spoke up with vehemence as she swept the room with angry eyes. "I would've killed to move! Beats sticking around and being picked on by all the 'beautiful' people."
"Try dealing with a family of overachievers," Dennis added in a quiet voice, then looked over at Jenkins with clear pain in his dark, sad eyes. "Do you have any idea what that was like during Thanksgiving?" He shrugged a shoulder and looked down at the floor. "I was invisible." The shadows that passed over the misery-filled faces of his new friends sent a stab of sorrow for them through Jenkins's heart. He's spent so many years alone and isolated that he'd almost forgotten that others felt pain just as keenly as he did, felt just as much loneliness and regret and resentment as he did. He was suddenly filled with shame for his selfishness.
"To the outcasts!" Schmidt suddenly said boldly, shaking off his gloom and pulling Jenkins out of his brief spell of self-reflection. The young man stood and raised his plastic cup of mead again. "Long may they reign!" Dennis and Aurora stood and raised their cups, too, echoed their friend's toast, an undercurrent of fellowship flowing through the room that Jenkins had not felt in centuries. No, scratch that; it was the same sense of comradery as he'd experienced with the new Librarians as well after their arrival and he shook his head at his own stupidity. He wasn't nearly as alone in the world as he thought he was. He quickly stood and raised his cup high.
"Huzzah!" he answered fervently, and gladly drained his cup in the name of friendhship.