Arthur
Arthur was born a bastard in the county of Somerset in England in the 6th Century, an illegitimate son to King Uther Pendragon. Raised in secret as a peasant, he knew nothing of his parentage, told that his parents had died at sea when he was just a babe. He was raised by a woman who found him on her doorstep.
He grew up poor and humiliated, smelling like shite and mud, but humble and grateful. He learned to see the beauty in the world. The flowers that grew outside of town, the lake that shone a brilliant blue in the summer sun, the full moon on a clear night.
Our story begins when Arthur was eighteen years of age. He was visiting the lake that he had visited a million times before, late at night, having snuck out of the falling apart shack. His mother had died a year ago, and the house had fallen into disrepair. He didn't have a job, as he had no trade skills. He had hoped to become the apprentice of a farmer, but no response had come back yet.
It was on this particular night he was feeling the worst he had felt in his entire life. He was never a pessimist, but now he could understand the point of view. He had nothing to really live for. He had no one he loved, or loved him back. He had no job, no money, and soon he would have no home. He barely had food, just scraps that the richer people had given him while feeling pity for him.
The full moon shone over him, reflecting in the lake. The waters had calmed, a stillness coming over the water.
"Arthur." A voice rolled over the lake, a whisper, soft as a baby's skin.
He looked around, trying to find where the voice had come from. No one was around him, he was alone. He looked out across the lake, where fog had rolled out, covering the waters in a white mist. It looked like there was a shadow in the mist.
"Hello?" He called.
"Arthur." The voice said again. It certainly seemed to come from the shadow.
"Who are you?"
"Names." The voice mused. "I had a name once. Many names, in fact. But that was so long, so long ago. You may call me, The Lady of the Lake."
"Lady of the Lake?"
"Yes, Arthur."
"How do you know my name?"
"I know a lot of things. I know a lot of thighs about you too, son of Pendragon."
"The king? That's impossible. My parents died at-"
"Sea? No, no. Your mother may have died, wasted away on the streets, but your father is King Uther."
"That would mean..." Arthur looked down at his hands. "I'm a bastard. I shouldn't exist."
"Unfortunately, that's what you mortals seem to think. I, however, do not care. I was born out of wedlock too, you know. Me and my brother. Our parentage doesn't define us, not as much as our actions do. And your actions, Arthur, will leave a legacy to last for centuries."
"What?"
"You're destined for greatness, Arthur. My brother has seen it. I believe it."
Arthur laughed bitterly. "You must have the wrong Arthur. Yes, that explains it. I'll be lucky enough not to starve by the end of the week."
"Nonsense, Arthur."
There was a lull in the conversation.
"So, you just come here to tell me I'm a bastard. That's it?"
The voice laughed. "Oh, no, Arthur. I have a request for you."
"A request?"
"Yes, Arthur, a request." The voice was starting to sound exasperated. "I was recently betrayed by one of my hunters, a close friend. She stole an item of grave importance to me, and I need it back."
"So why don't you just go get it?"
The Lady of the Lake sighed. "It's not that simple. There are laws and such. Stupid laws, but laws nonetheless. I need someone to act on my behalf."
"So why me?"
"The people I'd normally trust with this task," She sighed. "I can't trust that emotions will get in their way. I need someone without bias."
"What did they steal from you?"
"An axe."
"An axe?"
"An axe."
"What's so special about this axe?"
"It has the power to kill me. Permanently. I don't know why she stole it, but it can't be for any good reason."
"Okay, so you want me to go find this axe that someone stole from you. Where can I find her?"
"She fled to Greece. I have a hunch, and I hope to Gods I'm wrong, but I think she might be headed towards Mount Parnassus. I want you to go there and see if she's there. If she is, I can only hope you put a stop to her before something terrible happens."
Arthur could tell the Lady of the Lake was holding back information. Information that seemed to scare her. Or at least, remind her of bad memories. "Greece?"
"Greece." She confirmed.
"Okay, so I go to Greece, to this Mount Parnassus, find the thief, and bring you back your axe. Seems simple enough."
"Good Luck, Arthur."
The fog faded and the silhouette was gone. Arthur went home and started to figure out a way to get to Greece.
From above, someone watched him. "I hope you succeed, Arthur." Artemis said, before turning to face the stars above. "I hope to Gods."
LINE BREAK
Turns out luck really was on Arthur's side. He found a ship that was returning to Greece to pick up an import of olive oil. The crew let him aboard, as long as he pulled his weight. If he didn't, well, there would be one more corpse at the bottom of the ocean.
The journey was long. Arthur's blond hair grew wild, and his beard came in. He looked older than eighteen, and seemed to have an aura of wisdom around him. Life at sea was hard as well. The work he did onboard, pulling ropes and weighing anchors and such, caused his muscles to grow.
On the other hand, the food he had was better than what he ate normally back home in England. His frame filled out, and he looked healthier than he had in his entire life.
The ship finally docked in the port of Piraeus, in Athens. The captain of the ship, Hob Shackleford, met with the Harbormaster to discuss the shipment. Arthur hung back, deciding to help load the olive oil before leaving to start his journey.
However, when Captain Hob came back, he revealed that the shipment had been captured by a group of bandits. And until more olives grew, they would be stuck there. They could try to sail back, but they wouldn't be paid for the shipment.
"What if someone got them back from the bandits?"
"The police aren't going to do anything."
"Okay, so what if we did it?"
One of the crew members, Ermo Browne, laughed. "We'd die, mate."
Arthur crossed his arms. "Fine. Then I guess we will wait. While you do that, I have other matters to attend to. Do any of you know where Mount Parnassus is?"
Everyone shook their heads.
"This is Athens. Someone is bound to know." Hob said. He placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "I wish you luck with whatever it is you're doing. Godspeed."
"Thanks."
Arthur walked away from the crew, still feeling their eyes on him. He asked around but he seemed to forget that he doesn't speak Greek. He trudged back to the port and asked around for Hob. When he finally found him, he agreed to translate for the Athenians.
After asking around again, with Hob translating this time, he got an answer. Apparently there were some signs pointing towards a village called Delphi, which was located on the mountain. It was about a three-day walk.
Trying to find his way out of Athens was really hard. The streets were confusing, and a couple of times he ended up going in a circle. He wished he had a map or something, but he wouldn't understand anything on it anyway.
He finally found an exit and found himself on a dirt road leading into wilderness. Suddenly, the full weight of what he was doing dawned on him. He was going to be in the wilderness, with no food, no water, for three days. By the time he reached Delphi, he would probably be delirious from dehydration. He also had no weapon to protect himself from any animals in the wilderness.
He prayed to God, asking for protection, before biting the sword and setting off on this stupid journey.
LINE BREAK
It rained. The second day in the wilderness, with the familiar emptiness in his stomach, his God blessed him with water from the sky. Cupping his hands, he took the offering and drank it greedily. He felt the coldness spread throughout his body. He drank his fill of the rain.
Walking in the rain quickly became annoying though. His clothes were soaked and cold, and he was shivering. He continued to walk though. The quicker he got to Delphi, the quicker he could find this axe, and the quicker he could get back to England.
'And be homeless again.' A darker part of his mind thought. 'We could stay in Greece. Become a whole new person.'
It wasn't an absolutely terrible idea. But he'd rather be in England. Besides, he had to give the Lady of the Lake her axe back. Speaking of which, what was the Lady of the Lake? She was no God, for there was only one. What if his God was speaking to him through her, disguised as her? That would be even more reason to help her. But what if she was a demon, a temptress, trying to rob him of Heaven?
The rain started to lighten up. He kept walking, the sun beginning to shine on him again, warming him. His shirt slowly dried, as did the road he walked on. The mud on his shitty pair of shoes began to dry and cake too.
In the distance, he could see a mountain begin to rise in the distance. It was still so far away, but he could see the end in sight. He hoped it was the right mountain. Up ahead, he could see a fork in the road. A wooden post was planted in the middle of it. As he approached it, he could start to make out the carvings. The left pointed towards... something. As did the right. He realized the sign was carved with greek. Which, again, he couldn't read.
He decided to go down the left road. It seemed like it headed towards the mountain. It was at this point he realized just how out of his depth he was. He was so unqualified for this quest. He was in a country he knew nothing about, whose people spoke a language he didn't understand, and was searching for a girl who stole an axe. How many girls were there in Greece? A lot.
What would happen if he didn't retrieve the axe? Would it really be that bad? So the Lady of the Lake was killed, so what? Would it really be that bad? No, he was given a job, and he was going to do it. Whoever the Lady of the Lake was, she was powerful, and knowledgeable. She told him who his father was after all.
'She could be lying.' The negative part of his mind said.
It was a true statement. He had no way to validate what she said, and she could have indeed been lying.
He looked up at the sky and let out a large scream. Why did he have to do this? Why couldn't the Lady of the Lake pick literally anyone else?
After half an hour, he eventually calmed down and resumed his journey.
LINE BREAK
Arthur finally reached Delphi. At least, he thinks he did. He couldn't read the signs, and couldn't understand Greek, which seems to be the millionth time he lamented the fact. It was here that he realized he was stuck. Where did he go from here? He was at Mount Parnassus, kind of. He couldn't search an entire mountain, it was huge!
He thought about trying to ask around, but, you know. He kept his eyes peeled for suspicious activity, since that was all he could really do.
Maybe it was his God, maybe it was luck, but there was someone looking really suspicious. A woman was standing under an awning, leaning against the building. An axe hung off of her waist.
Arthur blended into a crowd and studied the woman. She was gorgeously beautiful, with bronze skin and long blond hair. She was taller than he was, with more muscles. She haze a fierce stare plastered on her face, one that could make any seasoned warrior run to their mother. She wore a tunic made of many fur pelts stitched together.
Arthur didn't know if she was the thief, but she definitely wasn't a regular. She stuck just as much as he did. While her looks matched everyone else, she seemed older somehow. Her blue eyes held experience. Her clothes definitely made her stick out, but she could've just been a hunter.
A hunter...
Didn't The Lady of the Lake say something about a hunter? That it was a hunter who stole from her? One of her hunters?
Who was the Lady of the Lake, where she had hunters who were close friends of hers? The more he thought about her, the less he trusted her.
Someone walked up to her. They exchanged a few words before walking away together. Arthur realized he had to follow them. If she was who he was looking for, he couldn't let her get away. She fit too many requirements to be a coincidence.
He slowly followed them. He moved between the crowds of people, trying to get close enough to hear them without being spotted. He was able to hear more as he got closer.
"-Speak to you?" The man was saying.
"Whispers. It's like I could hear him. Calling for whispers for bloodshed. Are you sure we need it?"
"Atlanta, that axe is the only thing that can kill her. And thus, is the only thing that can wake our lord fully. Of course we need it. The whispers will pass."
"How do you know?" The girl, now named Atlanta, asked. "I've served the cult for centuries now, the only remaining member since the Great Purge, and yet you all treat me like a common peasant. Maybe your blood is the first this axe shall taste."
"You claim to have been there since the Great Purge, yet you know nothing of the history of that blade. I'd be far from the first that axe has slain. Even its first wielder was not immune to its lust for blood."
Atlanta began walking, the man following her. Arthur followed behind them. They walked into the forest, deep into the trees. "I used to hunt in these woods." Atlanta said. "With my sisters. I know them like the back of my hand."
"Where are we going?" The man asked. "The Grand Magister is awaiting us in Sparta."
He stopped walking. Atlanta took a couple more steps before she realized and turned around. She stepped up to the man. She towered over him, a whole head taller. "You're wrong about that."
The man scoffed. "And how do you think that?"
"He's not waiting for us. He's awaiting me." Atlanta said, turning to the man. Almost faster than he could see, she drew the axe and beheaded the man, a splash of blood splattering against the tree. The body fell over with a thud. Atlanta stared at the body, the axe at her side, covered in red blood. "You need to work on your stealth, young man." She said, turning to Arthur. "I could hear your footsteps since Delphi."
He came out from crouching behind the tree. He slowly stepped forward, not looking to hasten the end of his life.
"Who are you?" She asked. "I don't know you."
"My... My name is Arthur."
"Okay, Arthur. I'm going to ask you two questions. If I like your answers, I'll let you go. If not, you join Hesperos." She said, nodding her head at the headless body that laid a few feet away from her.
Arthur nodded nervously. "O-o-okay." This was not how he envisioned this going. He thought maybe he could steal it while she slept or something, not face her in the middle of a forest next to a corpse she created.
"First question, who exactly are you?"
"I told you, I'm Arthur."
"Where are you from, Arthur? What are you doing here?" She said, a tone of dead calm entering her voice. A tone that conveyed that she wasn't fucking around.
"I-I-I'm from England! I'm here because I was told to help a crew receive a shipment of Olive Oil. B-b-but it was stolen by bandits, so I-I-I-I'm trying to find them."
Atlanta narrowed her eyes. "How much did you overhear?"
"Nothing, I swear!"
"Then why were you following us?"
"I, uh, I wanted to ask you about your axe! It looks... beautiful!"
Atlanta sighed. "Add lying to the list of skills you need to improve on. I'm very disappointed." She pushed him on the ground with one arm. She stood above him, legs spread apart, axe raised above her head.
Arthur, in a moment of desperation, in a knee jerk reaction, kicked her between the legs.
"Umph!" She cried out before falling to her knees, dropping the axe and clutching her nether region.
Arthur scrambled to get up and picked up the axe. As soon as his hands grasped the handle, he heard a voice whispering to him.
Kill, kill, kill, kill.
It was strange. Along with the whispering, the axe seemed to have a mind of its own. It seemed to control his hand as he swung the axe at Atlanta's neck. She recovered enough to grab the handle before the blade decapitated her. She used her other hand to still grasp her groin, but she slowly stood up despite the pain.
She tried to wrestle the axe from Arthur's hands, but with only using one hand, she found it quite difficult. He seized the weapon and jumped back. He held it up defensively, watching her as she sized him up. She removed her hand from her groin and lunged forward.
Kill, kill, kill, kill.
He swung, but missed a lethal shot. Instead, the axe found itself in her left shoulder. He ripped it out, drawing blood and a bit of muscle with it. She screamed in pain before punching him in the face. Pain erupted in his nose as he felt his skin split open, and when she pulled her hand back, it was coated in blood.
Tears were in his eyes, blurring his vision. As Atlanta swung again, he countered with the axe. There was an audible CRACK as her knuckles met the wooden handle. She gritted her teeth and rubbed her probably broken knuckles.
Kill, kill, kill, kill.
Arthur took the opportunity to swing the axe at her head once again. She ducked underneath it and punched him in the stomach. He doubled over, pain exploding in his abdomen. He felt hot bile rise in his throat before throwing up. On Atlanta.
She lunged back after a layer of vomit covered her chest. She glowered at him, which he saw as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
"I don't know why you're mad, you punched me." He muttered.
"Shut up and die."
She lunged forward and jumped, hoping to get the advantage over him and bring him down. He rolled out of the way and got up, swinging wildly. She evaded every desperate attack before jabbing at him again. By some luck, he managed to dodge, and countered with a swing of the axe, which, also by some luck, found flesh.
Kill, kill, kill, kill.
He ripped the axe out, performed a pirouette, and brought the axe down on Atlanta's head, splitting it. Lines of red blood leaked down her face as her eyes glazed over and she fell limp. He pulled the axe free and suddenly felt tired.
He collapsed on the ground as the full weight of everything hit him. He had just killed someone. A person. Someone with thoughts, and feelings, things she liked and disliked.
'She was going to kill you.' He thought.
But was that reason enough?
The next thought he had?
I'm hungry.
He had walked for three days with nothing to eat, then fought (and killed) someone. He was exhausted, and his stomach was rumbling. He looked to his left and saw some berries growing on a bush. Food.
He crawled over to the bush and picked a couple of berries off of the bush. In the back of his mind there was a thought about them being poisonous, but he didn't really care. Maybe it'd be better if he was dead anyways.
The berry was sweet. The juices flowed down his throat, feeling like Heaven on Earth. He quickly picked more berries and put them in his mouth, savoring the taste. He felt his stomach get more full and he felt his eyes start to feel heavy. A nap would do him so much good.
He rested his head against the trunk of a tree and closed his eyes. He tried not to think about the fact that there were two dead bodies with five meters of him, with the murder weapon right next to him. Eventually, he fell asleep.
LINE BREAK
He slept like a rock. He woke upon the morning of the next day. Considering he fell asleep about halfway through the previous day, it made sense that he felt well rested. He got up and picked up the axe and inspected it.
It was beautiful. A silver blade on a wooden handle, it had been kept in very good condition. The handle was two feet long and slightly curved. The top of it was capped off with a moonstone. Engraved on the blade seemed to be some kind of pattern with a crescent moon in the center of them.
After a breakfast of berries, he decided to get back on the road. It was a long way back.
His luck must've run out during the fight with Atlanta, because later that day, he was kidnapped. He had been walking down the long road, before someone placed a bag over his head and knocked him out.
When he woke up, he was in a wooden cage. He had been stripped of his weapon, and his shirt. He held a hand up to his eyes, blocking them from the sun. As he surveyed his surroundings, he saw that there were two other people in the cage. Outside, A couple of tents were set up around a fire.
A couple of people sat around, doing absolutely nothing. A couple of others stood guard at entrances to the camp. Barriers surrounded the camp, made of wooden logs sharpened into points. He spotted a weapon rack behind the tent directly in front of them, and hanging on it was his axe.
He grasped one of the bars of the cage. The wood seemed kind of thin. Were the people who kidnapped him idiots? A child could break this. But that posed the question, why hadn't the people in there with him broken out yet? In fact, they seemed to be in a corner, muttering. With a start, he realized they were praying.
He narrowed his eyes. If he could get to the axe, then he should be able to, with the axe guiding him, kill the kidnappers and escape. He froze. Since when did he start thinking like that? Like killing a person was just a normal thing to think? And it wasn't even one, it was multiple people!
He was losing himself. That fucking axe. It was corrupting him. The only question now was, could he prevent it from corrupting him further? He was already thinking about killing multiple people, premeditating it.
'It's self defense. They kidnapped you.' The voice in the back of his head said. 'You're fighting for your freedom.'
He grasped the bar with both hands, and with both hands pulled on it. The bar broke with a SNAP, but it wasn't enough to do anything. The snap drawed one of the people to the cage. He started yelling at Arthur in Greek, as did the people in the cage with him, but he didn't understand a word.
With an eyebrow raised, he snapped another bar. The bandit drew his sword and opened the door to do something, probably kill him, but he didn't get the chance as he tackled the bandit to the ground. He wrestled the sword from the bandit and stabbed him in the gut.
Arthur stood up quickly and dashed out of the cage. He reached the weapon rack and pulled his axe off of it.
Someone shouted at him. Quickly, Arthur pounced on him, slamming the axe in his chest. He pulled it out and looked around. He spotted another person on the far side of the camp. He ran over to him and tried to get the jump on him, but the sound of his footsteps alerted the bandit.
He whirled around and drew his sword, blocking Arthur's attack and countering. Arthur ducked under the blow and struck his weapon in the bandit's leg. He fell to one knee, allowing Arthur to decapitate him with one strike.
He was breathing heavily as he looked around, looking for more threats. He was almost sad to see that all the other people had fled. At least the prisoners had fled.
He spied a horse over on the other side of the camp, next to some boxes. As he walked over to it, he saw a label on the boxes, with images of olives. It couldn't be, could it? Where these the bandits who stole the olive oil his crewmates were supposed to retrive?
He spotted a cart that he could attach to the horse. He did just that, and painstakingly carried every box over and put it on the cart. Each crate was heavy as hell, but eventually, he had all of the crates on the cart.
He hopped on the horse and started off, continuing towards Athens.
LINE BREAK
Turns out going on horse is so much faster than walking. He reached Athens by the end of the day. The sun was setting as he reached the port where he had first arrived. The Harbour Master was still there, and so was the ship he had sailed on.
He hopped off of his horse and approached the Harbour Master. "I have the olive oil." Arthur told him.
The Harbour Master spoke something in Greek.
"Fuck. Of course. Where is the captain?"
More Greek.
"Hob, where is Hob?"
"Hob?" The Harbour Master asked, before pointing at the ship.
Arthur raced aboard and knocked on the door of the Captain's quarters. He waited for a few seconds, before his captain, Hob Shackleford opened the door. He looked worse for wear. His beard and hair were unkempt, there were bags under his eyes, and his shoulders were slumped.
"Arthur?" He muttered.
"Yessir. I'm back. And I found the olive oil."
"The olive oil?" Hob questioned, before he raised his bushy eyebrows. "You found it?"
Arthur nodded.
Hob swept Arthur up in a hug. "Holy shite, m'boy. This is a miracle. Straight from God himself!"
The captain walked out of his quarters and towards the Harbor Master. Arthur followed. The Captain and Harbour Master had a lengthy conversation in Greek, none of which Arthur understood, as was custom at this point.
When the conversation finally ended, Hob turned to Arthur. "Get some sleep. We leave first thing in the morning."
LINE BREAK
The journey back home was just as long as it was on the way over. The only difference was a storm threatened to destroy their ship, but once they survived that, it was clear skies and good wind.
Arthur returned even more muscular. His hair was even longer, and he decided that he wasn't going to cut it. It flowed down to his shoulders now, and whenever he shook his head, it would fly majestically.
When they reached the Port in Somerset, Arthur helped them unload the olive oil and place it in the warehouse.
"You're a good kid, Arthur." Hob said. "If you want, I would be willing to have you on full time."
Arthur bit his lip. "I'll have to think about it. That's a big commitment."
"Take all the time you need. Just come around when you decide."
The sun had just set, and the moon was high in the sky. He walked back to his home, his shabby shack. He went to open the door but it was locked. On the door was a piece of paper with the words "EVICTION NOTICE" on it. He couldn't believe it. They kicked him out of what was basically a bunch of planks nailed together.
Arthur sighed. That was it. He was homeless. He didn't have anything left. He might as well join Hob's crew. It wouldn't be the worst thing in the world. He would be fed, he would get a place to sleep, and he would get paid.
He decided to visit the lake. It was the only thing he couldn't lose. He walked along the beaten dirt road that led to the lake. He reached the lake. The fog was back, rolling over most of the water, hiding it from view. The full moon shone brightly in the sky, reflecting on the surface of the water where there wasn't fog.
"Lady of the Lake?" He asked.
"Arthur. You've returned." The Lady of the Lake replied. "And I see you have the axe. Good."
Arthur unclipped the axe from his belt. "Do I just toss it in the lake, or..."
The Lady of the Lake laughed. "Yes, that is acceptable."
Arthur held the axe out and and threw it in the lake. As soon as it hit the water, it shimmered and disappeared.
"Thank you, Arthur." The Lady of the Lake said. "You have done me a great service. I will not forget this."
The fog faded away, leaving the moon reflected in the water.
Arthur sighed. Why did he decide to help her? Whatever. He only had one course of action left. Join Hob's crew.
LINE BREAK
Arthur sailed with Hob for three years. For three years, he sailed on that ship, bringing cargo from around Europe and Asia to England. He was practically unrecognizable from when he first turned eighteen. A full turnaround from the boy that only had scraps to eat and walls that couldn't keep out the wind. He cut his hair multiple times, keeping it shoulder length. He had scars on his body now, from multiple run-ins with pirates. He became proficient with the use of a sword, able to wield one with deadly precision.
On the way from Greece with Olive oil once again, a route he had taken about once each year when the olives were ripe, he and his crewmates ended up stranded in Wales. At the same time, West Saxons were starting to invade.
Hob and his crew took refuge in a town beside a lake. As the Saxons grew closer, Arthur grew anxious. He prayed to his God for protection. And like an answer from Heaven, fog rolled over the lake. He ran out of the inn and down to the lake.
"Lady of the Lake?" He asked. "What are you doing here?"
"You prayed for protection. I am here to give you it."
Something shot out of the lake and landed at his feet. In the grass lay a longsword made of silver. It glowed with a blue light. The handle was wrapped in the finest leather he had ever seen, and in the middle of the crossguard was a silver crescent moon. He gingerly picked it up and hesitantly swung it. It was perfectly balanced, and it cut through the air like butter.
"This... this beautiful," He muttered.
"Yes, it is one of my step-brother's finest pieces. Excalibur, he called it. Consider it thanks for bringing my axe back to me."
He felt much better with a weapon. The only problem was it kept whispering to him. Just like that fucking axe.
He would put that sword to use later on. The West Saxons made their way to the town, and Arthur found himself in the middle of an invasion. Homes were burning, corpses littered the streets, and the sounds of battle surrounded him.
Arthur watched as a couple of Saxons approached him, both carrying halberds. They were dressed in chainmail, with helmets forged to look like faces on their heads. He had to admit, the craftsmanship of the Saxons was beautiful. Truly skillful.
"FOR WODEN!" One of the saxons yelled. He ran towards Arthur and thrust his halberd at him. Arthur parried and countered with a swipe of Excalibur, but it glanced off of the chainmail.
The armour was effective, there was no doubt about that, but it was also heavy, weighing down the Saxons, making them slower. Arthur had the advantage of speed. Dashing to the side, swiped at an exposed piece of skin. The sword cut it, but not nearly deep or long enough to be anything more than annoyance.
The other Saxon came in with an overhead strike, meaning to cleave Arthur in half. However, the Englishman rolled to the side, missing the blade by a couple of feet. He swung Excalibur at the halbert and cut the handle in half, leaving the Saxon with a long stick. He punched Saxon Number Two with the pommel of his sword, caving the helmet in.
Saxon Number One swung his halberd at Arthur, who leaned back, before dashing forward and thrusting his sword in the gap between the chainmail and helmet. The sword found flesh and flew through the Saxon's head.
Arthur pulled the blade free, now covered in red blood. He turned to face the other Saxon. Saxon Number Two swung his stick like a club, but it was much too light to do anything. Arthur parried it countered with a thrust to the same place as the first Saxon. With both now dead, he wiped his blade on his shirt and ran to help others.
In the town square, he saw Hob fighting against three Saxons. All the captain had was a knife, against a halberd, a spear, and a longsword. Arthur ran towards him, but he was too slow, as the Saxon with the spear came up behind Hob, and ran him through. The spear erupted from the other side in a shower of blood and gore that stained the street.
The Saxon pulled the spear free and pushed Hob's body to the floor as he turned to face Arthur. The other two Saxons faced him as well. Arthur noticed that the one with the spear had a flag at the end of it. A standard bearer.
Arthur tightened his grip on Excalibur. The sword called for blood, and Arthur was going to give it. He charged at the trio. The three got in defensive positions as Arthur leaped at the one on the right, the one with the halberd. He grabbed the handle of the halberd with his free hand and pulled it, stabbing at the Saxon behind him, the standard bearer. While it didn't penetrate, it broke a couple of the chains, weakening the armour. Arthur thrust his sword into the crack between the Saxon's mail and hemet, killing him. He withdrew his blade and spun around, stabbing at the standard bearer, breaking a few more chains.
He parried a blow from the spear before meeting the Saxon with the sword in battle. The Saxon swiped at him but after quick dodge, Arthur countered with a kick, knocking him to the ground. One more trusted move of thrusting between the armour left just the Standard Bearer.
He circled the Standard Bearer. Burning market stands surrounded them, and the fire was spreading. The orange light reflected in the Saxon's armour, as well as Excalibur. A couple points in the Saxon's armour was broken.
The Saxon made the first move, thrusting with his spear. Arthur dodged. The Saxon was way out of his reach, he couldn't do anything. He needed to get within his guard. The Saxon swung his spear, a stupid, desperate move to try and knock Arthur off of his feet, but it failed, and it allowed Arthur the opportunity to get within the Standard Bearer's guard. The Saxon tried to back up, but saw that the fire had spread to behind him.
Arthur noticed this too. Instead of killing him quickly like he had to his cohorts, he kicked the Saxon in the chest, knocking him on his back, into the fire. He screamed as the chainmail heated up and fused to his skin.
Arthur grabbed the spear and walked away, confident that the Saxon wouldn't be a problem. Even if he didn't die, the mail would prevent him from moving, having fused with skin and all.
He saw Hob's body on the ground, his eyes still open. "I'm sorry, old friend." He muttered. He knelt down and dropped the spear. He reached out and closed Hob's eyes. "Rest in peace." He picked up the spear and ran from the square, looking for more Saxons.
He found one without a helmet on. He snuck up behind him and drove Excalibur through his head. As he ran around, picking off Saxons and saving the people, they began to rally behind him. Stealing dead Saxon's weapons, they began fighting them back.
Fear turned to anger, and eventually, the last of the Saxons ran away, disorganized and afraid. The townspeople cheered, happy with their victory. Arthur however, wasn't satisfied. He wanted the Saxons dead. Every single one of them. They had killed his best friend, the only person who supported him. Maybe it was the sword, maybe it was just him, but he made a decision that night.
LINE BREAK
He met his father. He had joined the army two years ago after that night in that town he never got the name of. Twenty Three years old and he had quickly become one of the highest ranking soldiers in his branch. A general, third to the Marshall and the King himself.
The Marshall had called him in. Arthur entered the Marshall's tent. It was the largest tent in the camp. The tent was mostly bare, save the bed in the corner and the desk in the center. There was a chair on one side, where the Marshall sat. The desk was covered in plans and intel, everything they knew about the Saxons. Where they were stationed, where they were planning on invading next, everything.
"You wanted me, Marshall?" Arthur asked. His mail armour was weighing heavy on him.
The Marshall looked up with tired eyes. There were bags under his eyes. His hair was messy, and he was shirtless. It looked like he hadn't slept in years. "I didn't. The King did."
Arthur choked on his spit. The King was here? King Uther Pendragon? His supposed father, according to the Lady of the Lake? He was here?
In the corner, a man laughed. Arthur hadn't noticed him before, but as he came into the light, he recognized him. He had never seen the King before, knew him only by name, but he recognized his face. Because it was his. The same face Arthur saw when he looked in the mirror, or the same face he saw in the reflection of water. Only the King's was older, with more wrinkles and thinning hair.
"Yes, Arthur. I wanted to see you." He turned to the Marshall. "If you'll excuse us, please."
The Marshall hurriedly put a shirt on and exited the tent, leaving Arthur and the King alone. An awkwardness filled the air, so thick Arthur felt like it was going to suffocate him.
"You have your mother's eyes." The King said softly.
"What do you want?" Arthur asked. A bunch of feelings were starting to make themselves known. Mostly anger. He was taken aback, because he had never felt this way, but, he realized, he never felt this way because he never actually believed that Uther pendragon was his father. He was in denial, but now, faced with the evidence, the King pretty much outright confirming it through that one sentence, he was mad.
"I want to know you. My son—"
"Bullshit. If you wanted to know me, you wouldn't have done whatever it was you did to me to get rid of me."
The King flinched back. "My son, I have searched for you since you were born. I have been trying to find you!"
"Well good job. Here I am. Now leave."
"I can take you away from here. You won't have to fight anymore. You can be my prince, and king when I die."
Arthur scoffed. "I don't want any of that. I'm not fighting because I have to, I'm fighting because I want to fight. I want to destroy the Saxons. So I'll say it again, leave. Or I will."
The king didn't leave. Arthur did.
LINE BREAK
The war with the Saxons continued to rage on, and after a couple more years, the last battle had come. Uther Pendragon himself led the English forces against the Saxons under the cover of night. Uther rode a horse, leading his troops down the massive plain. The Saxons marched towards them from the other side.
Both sides were organized neatly as they marched to what would be, for most of them, their deaths. That organization fell apart as soon as the two sides met. The sounds of blades ringing through the air, the air humid with sweat and blood, blood spilling on the grass, staining it red.
Arthur found himself in the middle of the chaos, swinging Excalibur with deadly precision. He was surprised he had survived this long. In retrospect, he would have to give all the credit to his sword, as it whispered to him what to do.
Swing, thrust, block, counter, duck, kill.
He rolled under a swing of a halberd and stabbed at his opponent's knee. The Saxon fell to a knee as Arthur came up and decapitated him with a fluid strike. He turned to the next Saxon and met him head on, blocking a strike from his sword. He found himself in a deadly dance, one where any wrong move would lead to his death.
Arthur was extra careful to block any attack going towards his head. His helmet had broken before the battle, and he didn't have time to get another one. His hair was matted to his forehead, sweat dripping down his brow. He blocked another strike and spun around, stabbing at the Saxon's exposed back. He pulled the blade free, another Saxon dead.
He turned around to see another Saxon charging at him with a spear. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw King Uther Pendragon fighting, and he had to stop himself from gagging. He dodged a strike from the spear, and cleaved it in half. He then stabbed the Saxon in the spot between his helmet and mail armour.
His sword was covered in red blood, as was his armour. He could feel a couple of hot drops on his face, and wiped them away. He met another Saxon in combat, before quickly dispatching him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw an arrow fly into his father's chest. The old fool hadn't worn any armour, which was a stupid move, one he was paying the price of now.
"THE KING IS DEAD!" A Saxon yelled. The English seemed to collectively pause. Without their king, who was to lead them?
He ran over to him. Why? He didn't know. To gloat maybe? To give him one last glare goodbye? Could have been any number of reasons. But when he reached the King, Uther took his crown off of his head, and with bloody hands, handed it to Arthur. At once, he understood. The army needed someone to lead them, lest they be destroyed. As much as he hated his father, he put aside his disdain, and accepted his responsibility. He placed the crown on his head as shouts of 'Long live the King!' rang out around him.
The army seemed to fight with new vigor. Arthur seemed to as well. He got lost in the heat of battle, a fog settling over his mind. He would kill one Saxon and kill the next just as quickly.
Slowly, the number of Saxon's dwindled, their corpses lying on the ground in a puddle of blood. By the time the last Saxon had either been killed or fled, a thin layer of blood coated the plains.
As Arthur looked over the field of death, he saw the sun starting to rise. His body was sore, he was exhausted, and yet, he couldn't rest, for now he was King. All eyes were on him, and he needed to present himself like he was King.
From here, Arthur's story is pretty well known. He establishes the Knights of the Round Table, marries Guinevere, had a son with her named Modred. Guinevere has an affair with one of the knights, Lancelot. Eventually, Modred kidnaps his mother, and when Arthur goes to save her, Modred stabs him in the head with a sword.
LINE BREAK
Arthur woke up in a pretty field. The grass was a brighter shade of green than he had ever seen before. Washed in the golden light of the Sun. Above him, the sky was a brilliant blue, with not a cloud in the sky.
In the distance, he could see a town. The buildings seemed to range from present times to ancient Greece, and even Egypt. He walked through the field, feeling proud of himself. He had done it. He had made it to Heaven.
He walked through the streets of the town. People were bustling around, doing normal activities. People sat outside of a building, drinking some water with, was that a leaf inside? The air smelled sweet, like sugar. And as he looked around, his smile never fell.
His smile didn't fall until a couple of days later, when he spotted a familiar person. He had been walking along the riverside of a, get this, a white river, when he saw one of his old knights, Lancelot. The man who had stolen his wife.
"You." He growled out, approaching his wife's lover. "You should be in Hell."
"Arthur." Lancelot's eyes went wide with fear. "How nice to see you."
Arthur punched Lancelot in the face. "You dirty rat!"
Lancelot got up. "Now, come on Arthur, let's not do this."
"You don't belong here!" He leaped forward and tackled Lancelot. They tumbled backwards, landing in the river. As soon as the milky white water touched them, they blacked out, never to wake.