A Light in the Dark: A King Arthur/Warhammer 40k Imperial Knights Story
- Thread starter MysticKnightJoe
- Start date
- Crossover Fantasy
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
So we have confirmation this is Old One Shit. Good to know.
Translation: He's not an actual Exarch, the latest host of a set of armor. This is a living Eldar. Given his mention of a 'grand mother', probably not Eldrad old, but I'd guess over five thousand years.
The Dark Eldar drink in the pain and misery of others to replace the soul that's slowly consumed by Slaanesh. Even if someone somehow wanted to not be a part of the pleasure cult, they'd either have to join a Craftworld and shed all freedom or a Corsair crew that's the worst of both. The greatness of the Eldar Empire, broken down until all that's left is its final state, prolonging its existence by parasitism.
Some of the Eldar of this world, however, chose to give up that which was forged into them by the Old Ones. Others followed the path of the Exodite, and stared into the inevitable fall of their people until they went insane. They have the psychic power of their people, they have the longevity, but everything in terms of culture and identity it meant to be an Eldar was cast aside in the name of survival.
E M E R G E N C Y I D U C T I O N P O R T
When it comes to Warhammer and debauched nobility, you have two options: Vampire Counts, and Slaanesh. The former is turning class warfare commentary into literal blood-sucking. The latter is a bit more open to different social classes, but the gist has always been the new and exotic.
Eeeeeeeeeh, I don't fully agree with that sentiment, too easily abused into smacking the Exterminatus button for shits and giggles.
First, no shit Giant Dad can't attain Daemon Princedom, have you seen this man's eyebrows? Yeah Slaanesh plays with unconventional beauty standards, but there are standards.
Second, Culhwch completely missed that the Green Knight's dodging the question. Why should Culhwch be the one to kill Olwen if it comes to it, and not the Green Knight? The answer's pretty straightforward, but has two parts. One, The Green Knight has a metaphysical bond with Olwen. She is purity, she is raised among flowers, and in her source legend flowers even sprout where she walks, not unlike a certain Everqueen or Fay Enchantress. He cannot raise arms against her because they're cut from the same cloth. The other side to the equation is much simpler: He's a knight. It would go against every tenant of chivalry and honor to strike down a defenseless woman just because she's going to get turned into Chaos Juice.
Considering Mabon in the stories wound up as one of Arthur's buddies? I really want to see just what Greenie's plan is for him. The Dark Eldar do have greater access to the technology of the Eldar Empire, but over the thousands of years their psychic abilities have been drained or deliberately neutered. And with it, much of the Empire's greatest tools.
Aaaaaaand here we go.
Considering the Horned King's machinations, this whole business is... at best a sideshow for them. Giant Dad is just meat for the grinder, a stepstool for the true champions of Chaos. Which does beg the question of why he wants Olwen for.
So, fun facts. Powries, AKA Redcaps, are short, live in ruined castles, and like mentioned in an earlier chapter are prone to looting. Their physical appearance is "short, thickset old elf with long prominent teeth, skinny fingers armed with talons like eagles, large eyes of a fiery red colour, grisly hair streaming down his shoulders, iron boots, a pikestaff in his left hand, and a red cap on his head".
Red eyes, long hair, clawed fingers, and a big red cap? The Bull of Darkness has sent his champions. If that is truly a blob, and not some Obliterator-esque changing mech, it will be a truly terrifying foe.
Whelp. Someone's about to get their soul sucked out and their body snapped like a slim-jim. Shame they don't have a soup gun.
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
I do wonder at Etrigan's origins here, since they'd be wrapped up with Myrddin's too. Has Etrigan been punished for his mortal half-brother's transgressions as a rogue sorcerer daring to imagine he can renege on the Gods like the second coming of the Anathema, and if so, has the daemon ever had the chance to rebel and rebuke the Four for himself, or is he still debatably loyal and seeking to regain his place of infernal standing? Was Etrigan of a specific god's court to begin with, or was he unaligned in the name of Be'lakor or Malal or something like that? The strict nature of the pact actually somewhat protecting Jason Blood as a daemonhost and the rhyming curse do sound like something Be'lakor the Dark Master of the shadows would scheme up as eternal punishment for Etrigan as a warrior-daemon...
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
Be'lakor's schtick is that he wants to be the top dog since his power is ephemeral and reliant on the Four. Be'lakor doesn't get minions of his own, he has slaves he manipulates and uses. Etrigan is almost certainly an independent Warp Entity, a genuine rarity by the later stages of the post-heresy timeline.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Interesting that he is interested.
No shit that's weird, Sherlock.
What else is new with Chaos?
She is not completely innocent.
Well, this could go in multiple ways.
At the Bloodstained Fort Part Two
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
It was silent, but for the heavy breathing of the creature. Culhwch's hand drifted away from his sword. It would be pointless. This thing would clear the room and rip his head off before he could move.
But Etrigan didn't make a move, at least nothing so immediate as a spring to its feet. In truth Etrigan never seemed to hold still, it seemed to vibrate with unconscious pure energy.
They stared at each other for nearly a minute. At last, the daemonhost broke the silence, "rude you are, to not return the introduction. If thou continues to quiver like a mute mouse, I shall test thy conduction!" Smoke billowed from between the daemon's lips.
"I am Culhwch, son of Uther," Culhwch replied, gruffly.
"A name most familiar to me, for the son who was birthed to he."
"You know me?" Culhwch asked, startled.
Etrigan laughed. "How certain of your parentage are thee? How many men did your mother take in for tea?"
Somehow, Culhwch wasn't afraid anymore. For whatever reason, this horror hadn't made any move. "I won't speak ill of my mother," he said stiffly, "she took several men for 'tea' as you call it, but the timeline matches up for Uther being the one who fathered me." But suddenly there was doubt. What if his mother had simply chosen the lover who'd be most advantageous for her? He shook that thought away. If that was the case, she had been right to do so for his future as a knight, and it hardly mattered now at any rate.
Etrigan reached down, and scratched near his crotch, leaning back on the bed and letting out a rumbling grunt of amusement.
"Do you have a purpose for being here?" Culhwch asked, scowling. "Or for the rhyming for that matter."
"There is one I wish to meet, outside these walls of deceit," Etrigan replied, ignoring the second half of the questioning. "Thou mentioned an escape, and Etrigan enjoys such japes!"
"You wish to join me in my escape?" Culhwch asked. "Who is it that you wish to meet, to make that necessary?"
"A mage of much renown," Etrigan growled, "Merlin of…" The daemon stopped suddenly, scowling and growling like an old kettle. The ancient face scrunched up in thought, and smoke built between its clenched jaw.
"Merlin? I know Merlin," Culhwch said, quickly. "Not personally, but I believe I know where he may be." Of course, that form of his name was rarely used. It was a variant of the Gothic, like his name would be Killick.
The entity blinked, and Culhwch was surprised to see a flicker of something oddly happy in the single glowing orb. "Then we shall flee this bloodstained hall, and find the magician Merlin before the fall."
"Not just you two, right?" Bran asked suddenly. "You aren't just going to plow through now, and leave me."
"Of course not, Sir Bran," Culhwch assured him gently.
Etrigan looked over his shoulder at Bran. Then he held out a hand, opening and closing it, face darkening. "I lack the power to fight free, the son of dead Cholchis holds magic that may bind me."
"How are we supposed to handle a demigod?" Culhwch asked.
"Not a demigod, a slave of men, turned to Chaos for his lack of fair mien." Etrigan turned toward the door. "Hark, a lady approaches, and Etrigan looks foul as roaches! Leave, leave, daemon Etrigan, and return to Jason Blood, the man!"
There was an agonized quivering, a shrinking, and seated on the bed was a pale, agonized, Jason Blood. The man swayed and slumped suddenly onto the bed. "Why," he groaned, "why am I still alive? By the Hell-Halls of Chaos, why didn't it kill me?"
"Your good luck, I suppose," Bran said, still pressed as far away from his roommate as possible.
"Good luck!" Jason Blood cried. "Good luck? I'd hate to see what you'd consider bad luck!" And with that exertion, the sorcerer's energy ran out, and he collapsed in a faint and fell dead asleep.
Bran put a hand through his hair. "I need some fresh air," he groaned.
"The walls are open to us," Culhwch replied, "though the view is less than impressive."
"Took your Lady out there then?" Bran asked, stiffly.
"She isn't my Lady," Culhwch said. It sounded like a lie, even to his ears.
"Throne, you haven't bedded her, have you?"
"I haven't." Then he thought for a second. "Well. Not fully, at any rate."
Bran stared at him. "You better still want to escape," he said coldly.
"Of course I do. So does she, in fact."
"Blood, that alien, the mutant, and Etrigan. Anyone else joining in on the break?"
"Probably not," Culhwch replied, "perhaps whoever the Green Knight is after."
Bran sighed. "And how are we supposed to return to the loyalists after this, with so many who will be shot on sight?"
"We will cross that bridge when we come to it." Of course, Culhwch knew once he escaped, he'd go his separate way. With Olwen, hopefully. Whatever he was now could never be accepted by any King or Lord loyal to the throne of Terra. It had once been an agony for him, now it was a certainty he could face calmly. "Etrigan mentioned a woman, I'm going to go out and check, then get some sleep, I suggest you do the same, sir."
"Want some fresh air first," Bran sighed, but didn't move as Culhwch opened the door and entered the dark hall.
Culhwch had been hoping for Olwen, but was annoyed to see Lady Tuesday. The strange woman was leaning against the far wall, smirking. "I hear you want to get out of here," she said with a grin.
Culhwch walked past her. "I'm sure I'll be allowed to leave the hall eventually," he said neutrally.
She followed after him. "I can help, if your willing to make a deal."
"I have nothing to offer in payment, lady."
"Of course you do!" Tuesday sprang in front of him with inhuman speed. "Your body, sir."
Culhwch pushed past her, ignoring her.
"Of course I don't mean that in a crass manner!" she called after him. "My organization, my father, would consider you quite valuable! Think about it, dear Sir Culhwch, you don't have many other options!"
Culhwch continued to ignore her, and stormed toward his room. The idea that she might be right crossed his mind, but he shook his head violently.
The hall was growing lively now. Thralls rushed about, past him, but he barely noticed them. He went to his room, sat on the bed, and sank into grim thought.
[Final Fantasy 16 came out and I'm absolutely besotted so apologies if updating goes slow.]
But Etrigan didn't make a move, at least nothing so immediate as a spring to its feet. In truth Etrigan never seemed to hold still, it seemed to vibrate with unconscious pure energy.
They stared at each other for nearly a minute. At last, the daemonhost broke the silence, "rude you are, to not return the introduction. If thou continues to quiver like a mute mouse, I shall test thy conduction!" Smoke billowed from between the daemon's lips.
"I am Culhwch, son of Uther," Culhwch replied, gruffly.
"A name most familiar to me, for the son who was birthed to he."
"You know me?" Culhwch asked, startled.
Etrigan laughed. "How certain of your parentage are thee? How many men did your mother take in for tea?"
Somehow, Culhwch wasn't afraid anymore. For whatever reason, this horror hadn't made any move. "I won't speak ill of my mother," he said stiffly, "she took several men for 'tea' as you call it, but the timeline matches up for Uther being the one who fathered me." But suddenly there was doubt. What if his mother had simply chosen the lover who'd be most advantageous for her? He shook that thought away. If that was the case, she had been right to do so for his future as a knight, and it hardly mattered now at any rate.
Etrigan reached down, and scratched near his crotch, leaning back on the bed and letting out a rumbling grunt of amusement.
"Do you have a purpose for being here?" Culhwch asked, scowling. "Or for the rhyming for that matter."
"There is one I wish to meet, outside these walls of deceit," Etrigan replied, ignoring the second half of the questioning. "Thou mentioned an escape, and Etrigan enjoys such japes!"
"You wish to join me in my escape?" Culhwch asked. "Who is it that you wish to meet, to make that necessary?"
"A mage of much renown," Etrigan growled, "Merlin of…" The daemon stopped suddenly, scowling and growling like an old kettle. The ancient face scrunched up in thought, and smoke built between its clenched jaw.
"Merlin? I know Merlin," Culhwch said, quickly. "Not personally, but I believe I know where he may be." Of course, that form of his name was rarely used. It was a variant of the Gothic, like his name would be Killick.
The entity blinked, and Culhwch was surprised to see a flicker of something oddly happy in the single glowing orb. "Then we shall flee this bloodstained hall, and find the magician Merlin before the fall."
"Not just you two, right?" Bran asked suddenly. "You aren't just going to plow through now, and leave me."
"Of course not, Sir Bran," Culhwch assured him gently.
Etrigan looked over his shoulder at Bran. Then he held out a hand, opening and closing it, face darkening. "I lack the power to fight free, the son of dead Cholchis holds magic that may bind me."
"How are we supposed to handle a demigod?" Culhwch asked.
"Not a demigod, a slave of men, turned to Chaos for his lack of fair mien." Etrigan turned toward the door. "Hark, a lady approaches, and Etrigan looks foul as roaches! Leave, leave, daemon Etrigan, and return to Jason Blood, the man!"
There was an agonized quivering, a shrinking, and seated on the bed was a pale, agonized, Jason Blood. The man swayed and slumped suddenly onto the bed. "Why," he groaned, "why am I still alive? By the Hell-Halls of Chaos, why didn't it kill me?"
"Your good luck, I suppose," Bran said, still pressed as far away from his roommate as possible.
"Good luck!" Jason Blood cried. "Good luck? I'd hate to see what you'd consider bad luck!" And with that exertion, the sorcerer's energy ran out, and he collapsed in a faint and fell dead asleep.
Bran put a hand through his hair. "I need some fresh air," he groaned.
"The walls are open to us," Culhwch replied, "though the view is less than impressive."
"Took your Lady out there then?" Bran asked, stiffly.
"She isn't my Lady," Culhwch said. It sounded like a lie, even to his ears.
"Throne, you haven't bedded her, have you?"
"I haven't." Then he thought for a second. "Well. Not fully, at any rate."
Bran stared at him. "You better still want to escape," he said coldly.
"Of course I do. So does she, in fact."
"Blood, that alien, the mutant, and Etrigan. Anyone else joining in on the break?"
"Probably not," Culhwch replied, "perhaps whoever the Green Knight is after."
Bran sighed. "And how are we supposed to return to the loyalists after this, with so many who will be shot on sight?"
"We will cross that bridge when we come to it." Of course, Culhwch knew once he escaped, he'd go his separate way. With Olwen, hopefully. Whatever he was now could never be accepted by any King or Lord loyal to the throne of Terra. It had once been an agony for him, now it was a certainty he could face calmly. "Etrigan mentioned a woman, I'm going to go out and check, then get some sleep, I suggest you do the same, sir."
"Want some fresh air first," Bran sighed, but didn't move as Culhwch opened the door and entered the dark hall.
Culhwch had been hoping for Olwen, but was annoyed to see Lady Tuesday. The strange woman was leaning against the far wall, smirking. "I hear you want to get out of here," she said with a grin.
Culhwch walked past her. "I'm sure I'll be allowed to leave the hall eventually," he said neutrally.
She followed after him. "I can help, if your willing to make a deal."
"I have nothing to offer in payment, lady."
"Of course you do!" Tuesday sprang in front of him with inhuman speed. "Your body, sir."
Culhwch pushed past her, ignoring her.
"Of course I don't mean that in a crass manner!" she called after him. "My organization, my father, would consider you quite valuable! Think about it, dear Sir Culhwch, you don't have many other options!"
Culhwch continued to ignore her, and stormed toward his room. The idea that she might be right crossed his mind, but he shook his head violently.
The hall was growing lively now. Thralls rushed about, past him, but he barely noticed them. He went to his room, sat on the bed, and sank into grim thought.
[Final Fantasy 16 came out and I'm absolutely besotted so apologies if updating goes slow.]
Last edited:
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Now that's going to be an interesting meeting.
Culhwch lied as easily as he breathed. With difficulty.
That sounds bad.
Completely understandable.
- Location
- United States, CA
Yes Etrigan, run directly at the wizard who bound you then stuck you inside Jason Blood, I'm sure he won't be expecting a head-on assault. Ignore the warpcraft matrix on the floor between you and Merlin, that's nothing.
No Hesitation
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
It still didn't hurt. Somehow, for all the blood he was clearly losing, Bedwyr still felt no pain. Instead, he felt a numbness, growing from his foot up. Was it the numbness of death?
"Let me cut it off," he grated out, "give me my sword back, Palamedes."
The other knight almost obeyed, reflexively. Bedwyr was, after all, his military commander. But he hesitated as Vivian shot him a withering stare. "Sorry, sir," the other man said glumly, "that doesn't seem to be a good idea."
Gowther, holding him under the arms, said amicably, "I'll cut it! It'll be cleaner!"
"Sir Half-Daemon," said the other man, at Bedwyr's legs. In happier days, Bedwyr thought stupidly, it would be Sir Sagramore. Instead, it was a grim man with a gray beard and a lined, scared face. "I think what the Lady Damsel is suggesting is that any cut may cause more harm than good. We don't know where the fullness of the wound lies. We could leave it in part, which may allow it to fester and take poison. Sir Bedwyr needs a doctor."
A pale Ganieda drifted by his face. She didn't sign, but her eyes were full of sorrow and self-loathing. Bedwyr held up a hand to her, squeezing her shoulder weakly. "It wasn't your fault, Ganieda," he managed, "I'm a fool who may die before his time through lack of care, that's all."
"To hell with that, boy," barked the veteran. "There is no pus, so it hasn't taken Nurgle's curse just yet. We'll find a proper doctor here somewhere."
"Don't say that name, you'll draw his filthy eye!" Vivian snapped. She reached to mop Bedwyr's brow.
"Sorry, lady," the man muttered. He performed the sign of the Aquilla. "I've fought too long, the names come too easily to my lips."
"You've been in the Chaoslands as well?" Bedwyr asked.
"Aye. With King Uther first, more lately with attempted incursions that inevitably result in flight," the veteran replied. "I apologize, I didn't introduce myself. I am Sir Ulfius, once King Uther Pendragon's Chamberlain, now just a knight of little means."
"I wish our meeting could be in better circumstances," Bedwyr replied, "I am in a most pathetic state, I'm afraid."
"Injuries are common, though this one is strange." They had at last reached a building that had been taken over by a group of camp medics. Two of them took over for Ulfius and Gowther, lying Bedwyr on a cot.
"First injury of the civil war," the doctor said gruffly, "looks like internal injuries, then a botched surgery, is that right?"
"Yes," Bedwyr said stiffly, "my fault entirely."
"Should have come to us from the start. You might need specialist medicine that we don't have here." The man prodded at the broken metal foot. "Make that definitely," he said at last.
"How long?" Bedwyr asked.
"How long will you be out? Not sure, probably a month, if you want to actually give yourself time to heal."
"I can't be out of action for a month!" Bedwyr snarled. He started to sit up on the bed. "There is a war, and I have to be there for it."
Palamedes and Vivian moved to push him back down. "You won't be any good if you bleed out and die, my lord," Vivian snapped, "for anyone," she added meaningfully.
Bedwyr forced himself to calm down. "Of course, my lady," he replied glumly.
"Lucen already went to inform the King," Palamedes said, "so I think we should start planning to send you on the way."
"There is an enclave of medics nearby, Sororitas trained."
"King Pellinore is there," Ulfius added, "I visited him recently. He was your master, yes? Quite famously, I believe."
"How is he?" Bedwyr asked.
"Well enough, can't walk yet, but they say he might within the year, even if he won't fight again." Ulfius grinned. "I'm sure he'll be happy to meet with you, let you know what's been happening for the past three years, there are things I don't have the right to tell you."
"I see," Bedwyr replied with a sigh. He was happy to be about to see King Pellinore again, but he also was starting to feel light-headed.
"Out! He needs rest!" The doctor forced the others to leave. "And we may have other patients before the day is done, knowing gathered armies!"
Vivian kissed his cheek, and then Bedwyr was alone. His leg was tightly bound now, and he closed his eyes. The medical cot was far more uncomfortable than the one in his car, and he disliked being alone. Yet he slept, nonetheless.
Arthur, with Lucen and Cei by his side, walked through the camp. He responded automatically to the bows and salutes and greetings of "Lord King!"
"How do you mean, he may be dying?" he asked Lucen.
"His leg just started bleeding, he had to be carried to the medics tent." Lucen put a hand through his hair. "I've heard people have died of simpler stuff."
"Bedwyr cut his own arm off rather than be gripped by Chaos," Cei barked, "he isn't going to die of a stupid internal wound."
"All men die someday," Lucen muttered.
"I know that, I'm not stupid!" Cei quivered with anger. "But Bedwyr isn't going to die today! Tell him!" As usual, she forgot propriety in her passion.
Arthur didn't respond. He kept walking towards the medics.
Vivian was in front, arms crossed over her belly, frowning and looking decidedly upset. An older knight was speaking to her. "Lady, I think you should go to bed. No use worrying over him."
The green haired damsel glared up at the older man. "Sir Ulfius. I will sleep when I deem it proper, you have nothing to worry about there. I expect to be sleeping alongside my lord when he is ready to be moved, very soon."
Ulfius chuckled. "My youngsters are quite passionate these days." His face fell. "Throne, but I miss my wife. She wasn't as beautiful as you, lady, but she was as warm and loving. So cling to that, I say."
"I intend to, sir, until the very end," Vivian said coldly. She looked over and bowed. "King Arthur, my lord."
"Lady Vivian. How is he?"
"Not well. They say he needs specialist medicine, or he won't be much longer for this world. So we are going to take him to a place of healing, the same place where King Pellinore is."
King Arthur nodded. "I understand. Any expense that is required, I will pay."
"We aren't exactly doing great, funding wise," Lucen said glumly.
"I will pay it," Arthur snapped, "I said it, so I shall pay it."
"It is a place of charity, they will accept a donation, nothing more. With your permission, I'd like to be the one to lead Bedwyr there. King Pellinore is an old friend, and though I visited recently, I certainly wouldn't mind doing so again."
"You are Sir Ulfius, King Uther's former chamberlain? I would like you near me, sir, we have much to speak of."
"I will endeavor to return to camp, once Sir Bedwyr and his lady are settled. I of course will be more than happy to tell you anything of my time serving the former High King." He was looking at Arthur strangely, frowning a little, but after a moment shook his head, clearly dismissing the thought.
Arthur reached into his pack, and produced a parchment he pressed into Vivian's hands. "These are my plans, Vivian. When Bedwyr is well, let him know and tell him to try and catch up with me, Cei, and Sir Balin. I'll be going on a long quest now, very soon. I hope to speak with you before it, Sir Ulfius."
"Perhaps tonight then, just to be certain?"
"Very well. Meet me at my holding, I rest at the old arena." He turned to Vivian, kissed her hand. "I hope things go well, lady. May next time we meet be when Bedwyr is back on his feet."
"You aren't even going to check on him?" Cei whispered in his ear as they started the long walk back. "That's cold."
"We will see each other again, seeing Bedwyr like that would feel like an ill omen. I'll see him when he is healthy and strong again, when we can fight alongside each other." Arthur took a deep breath. "And I have to focus on what is coming ahead. We need to prepare for the quest, Cei. Bedwyr would want us to not dwell on him like this."
"You sure about bringing Balin along?" Cei asked. "He seems a bit unpredictable."
"I trust him," Arthur said simply, "I think beneath that armor and that gruff exterior is a good man. One who, like you and Bedwyr, and hopefully our old friends who are so unfortunate as to be against us now, will help form the basis for the new age to come." That was it. For the dream, he had to keep moving. Though it pained him to possibly leave a dear friend behind, for what they longed for, it had to be done. There could be no hesitation.
"Let me cut it off," he grated out, "give me my sword back, Palamedes."
The other knight almost obeyed, reflexively. Bedwyr was, after all, his military commander. But he hesitated as Vivian shot him a withering stare. "Sorry, sir," the other man said glumly, "that doesn't seem to be a good idea."
Gowther, holding him under the arms, said amicably, "I'll cut it! It'll be cleaner!"
"Sir Half-Daemon," said the other man, at Bedwyr's legs. In happier days, Bedwyr thought stupidly, it would be Sir Sagramore. Instead, it was a grim man with a gray beard and a lined, scared face. "I think what the Lady Damsel is suggesting is that any cut may cause more harm than good. We don't know where the fullness of the wound lies. We could leave it in part, which may allow it to fester and take poison. Sir Bedwyr needs a doctor."
A pale Ganieda drifted by his face. She didn't sign, but her eyes were full of sorrow and self-loathing. Bedwyr held up a hand to her, squeezing her shoulder weakly. "It wasn't your fault, Ganieda," he managed, "I'm a fool who may die before his time through lack of care, that's all."
"To hell with that, boy," barked the veteran. "There is no pus, so it hasn't taken Nurgle's curse just yet. We'll find a proper doctor here somewhere."
"Don't say that name, you'll draw his filthy eye!" Vivian snapped. She reached to mop Bedwyr's brow.
"Sorry, lady," the man muttered. He performed the sign of the Aquilla. "I've fought too long, the names come too easily to my lips."
"You've been in the Chaoslands as well?" Bedwyr asked.
"Aye. With King Uther first, more lately with attempted incursions that inevitably result in flight," the veteran replied. "I apologize, I didn't introduce myself. I am Sir Ulfius, once King Uther Pendragon's Chamberlain, now just a knight of little means."
"I wish our meeting could be in better circumstances," Bedwyr replied, "I am in a most pathetic state, I'm afraid."
"Injuries are common, though this one is strange." They had at last reached a building that had been taken over by a group of camp medics. Two of them took over for Ulfius and Gowther, lying Bedwyr on a cot.
"First injury of the civil war," the doctor said gruffly, "looks like internal injuries, then a botched surgery, is that right?"
"Yes," Bedwyr said stiffly, "my fault entirely."
"Should have come to us from the start. You might need specialist medicine that we don't have here." The man prodded at the broken metal foot. "Make that definitely," he said at last.
"How long?" Bedwyr asked.
"How long will you be out? Not sure, probably a month, if you want to actually give yourself time to heal."
"I can't be out of action for a month!" Bedwyr snarled. He started to sit up on the bed. "There is a war, and I have to be there for it."
Palamedes and Vivian moved to push him back down. "You won't be any good if you bleed out and die, my lord," Vivian snapped, "for anyone," she added meaningfully.
Bedwyr forced himself to calm down. "Of course, my lady," he replied glumly.
"Lucen already went to inform the King," Palamedes said, "so I think we should start planning to send you on the way."
"There is an enclave of medics nearby, Sororitas trained."
"King Pellinore is there," Ulfius added, "I visited him recently. He was your master, yes? Quite famously, I believe."
"How is he?" Bedwyr asked.
"Well enough, can't walk yet, but they say he might within the year, even if he won't fight again." Ulfius grinned. "I'm sure he'll be happy to meet with you, let you know what's been happening for the past three years, there are things I don't have the right to tell you."
"I see," Bedwyr replied with a sigh. He was happy to be about to see King Pellinore again, but he also was starting to feel light-headed.
"Out! He needs rest!" The doctor forced the others to leave. "And we may have other patients before the day is done, knowing gathered armies!"
Vivian kissed his cheek, and then Bedwyr was alone. His leg was tightly bound now, and he closed his eyes. The medical cot was far more uncomfortable than the one in his car, and he disliked being alone. Yet he slept, nonetheless.
*****************
Arthur, with Lucen and Cei by his side, walked through the camp. He responded automatically to the bows and salutes and greetings of "Lord King!"
"How do you mean, he may be dying?" he asked Lucen.
"His leg just started bleeding, he had to be carried to the medics tent." Lucen put a hand through his hair. "I've heard people have died of simpler stuff."
"Bedwyr cut his own arm off rather than be gripped by Chaos," Cei barked, "he isn't going to die of a stupid internal wound."
"All men die someday," Lucen muttered.
"I know that, I'm not stupid!" Cei quivered with anger. "But Bedwyr isn't going to die today! Tell him!" As usual, she forgot propriety in her passion.
Arthur didn't respond. He kept walking towards the medics.
Vivian was in front, arms crossed over her belly, frowning and looking decidedly upset. An older knight was speaking to her. "Lady, I think you should go to bed. No use worrying over him."
The green haired damsel glared up at the older man. "Sir Ulfius. I will sleep when I deem it proper, you have nothing to worry about there. I expect to be sleeping alongside my lord when he is ready to be moved, very soon."
Ulfius chuckled. "My youngsters are quite passionate these days." His face fell. "Throne, but I miss my wife. She wasn't as beautiful as you, lady, but she was as warm and loving. So cling to that, I say."
"I intend to, sir, until the very end," Vivian said coldly. She looked over and bowed. "King Arthur, my lord."
"Lady Vivian. How is he?"
"Not well. They say he needs specialist medicine, or he won't be much longer for this world. So we are going to take him to a place of healing, the same place where King Pellinore is."
King Arthur nodded. "I understand. Any expense that is required, I will pay."
"We aren't exactly doing great, funding wise," Lucen said glumly.
"I will pay it," Arthur snapped, "I said it, so I shall pay it."
"It is a place of charity, they will accept a donation, nothing more. With your permission, I'd like to be the one to lead Bedwyr there. King Pellinore is an old friend, and though I visited recently, I certainly wouldn't mind doing so again."
"You are Sir Ulfius, King Uther's former chamberlain? I would like you near me, sir, we have much to speak of."
"I will endeavor to return to camp, once Sir Bedwyr and his lady are settled. I of course will be more than happy to tell you anything of my time serving the former High King." He was looking at Arthur strangely, frowning a little, but after a moment shook his head, clearly dismissing the thought.
Arthur reached into his pack, and produced a parchment he pressed into Vivian's hands. "These are my plans, Vivian. When Bedwyr is well, let him know and tell him to try and catch up with me, Cei, and Sir Balin. I'll be going on a long quest now, very soon. I hope to speak with you before it, Sir Ulfius."
"Perhaps tonight then, just to be certain?"
"Very well. Meet me at my holding, I rest at the old arena." He turned to Vivian, kissed her hand. "I hope things go well, lady. May next time we meet be when Bedwyr is back on his feet."
"You aren't even going to check on him?" Cei whispered in his ear as they started the long walk back. "That's cold."
"We will see each other again, seeing Bedwyr like that would feel like an ill omen. I'll see him when he is healthy and strong again, when we can fight alongside each other." Arthur took a deep breath. "And I have to focus on what is coming ahead. We need to prepare for the quest, Cei. Bedwyr would want us to not dwell on him like this."
"You sure about bringing Balin along?" Cei asked. "He seems a bit unpredictable."
"I trust him," Arthur said simply, "I think beneath that armor and that gruff exterior is a good man. One who, like you and Bedwyr, and hopefully our old friends who are so unfortunate as to be against us now, will help form the basis for the new age to come." That was it. For the dream, he had to keep moving. Though it pained him to possibly leave a dear friend behind, for what they longed for, it had to be done. There could be no hesitation.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
Bedwyr, you stubborn fool, get back down or your healing will take even longer!
That's great news!
Probably pondering how much you might be like him.
Always Late
Lacking in coffee, sleep, and brains
- Location
- Ohio
If you weren't familiar with the symptoms of shock Bedwyr, you'll be soon. Just keep talking, don't fall asleep, keep breathing, and stay calm.
The problem with amputations people with a lick of medical knowledge back in the days that inspired Warhammer knew is that while removing infected tissue, muscle, and bone was an efficient way of preventing a large number of soldiers from getting lethal infections, it needed a high level of skill to prevent lethal damage to all the many muscles, nerves, veins, and bones inside a human body or the infection occurring on the new wound site.
Given that this wound occurred in the midst of combat around a prosthetic leg, I would say deeper examination is needed to determine whether there are fractures in the bone, or what metal pieces may have fragmented and been forced up into the leg.
I would very much not speak about a 'botched surgery' considering the "Druid" who make that very sophisticated prosthetic leg. Going to an Admech prosthetic guy or a Magos Biologis and talking about them doing a shit job sounds like a quick path to experiencing something close to Abomination.
Oh no. Oh no-no-no-no-no-no. Take Bedwyr back to the Tech-Priests. Find that one big Druid who made his leg. Do not take him to the people that work under the protection of Nuns With Guns. Because if whatever Sisters trained them, the Orders Militant tend to keep the Non Militant Orders close, if not intertwined. Bedwyr is going to be in danger there if anybody gets half an idea of what he's been up to.
I really hope Vivian is up to facing down Inquisitorial Goons. I wouldn't want that as my first choice.
Yeah, no, Ulfius is already seeing the family resemblance. He's just saying "nah, can't be Uther's kid, the man died childless and that whole mess would exclude any heir".
Ah. And here it begins. That distance. That abandonment of human ties. Now, Arthur, now you begin to walk the path paved by the first Saints and Templars. I wonder, will you or Guilliman find the other more inhuman by that point?
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
The distance of rule, of royalty always keyed in to the neverending public performance of royalty, will always be a burden Arthur struggles with (as would anyone not mad with power like Lot) but he will eventually make manageable with the Round Table, setting his rule upon a fraternal kingdom of chivalry and courtly romanticism. Making all the necessary displays of royalty now the honoring of oaths and the magnanimous generosity to reward friends and honorably yielding foes alike, mostly what Arthur would want to do as a person in the first place.
The problem being that such requires Arthur and his court to embody chivalry, always, to make of their lives but vessels for the noble quest, the lady's favor, his larger-than-life dream of justice and peace. And for that Arthur is bound to dreamwalk a little through his relationships, until all are cruelly awoken and the great dream shatters and Arthur's kingdom is no more.
The problem being that such requires Arthur and his court to embody chivalry, always, to make of their lives but vessels for the noble quest, the lady's favor, his larger-than-life dream of justice and peace. And for that Arthur is bound to dreamwalk a little through his relationships, until all are cruelly awoken and the great dream shatters and Arthur's kingdom is no more.
What a King must Do
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
If a King so chose, Arthur discovered, he could move with no impediments. Everyone scurried to get out of his way, as he stormed back through the camp. He could only think about Bedwyr, though he tried not to with all the focus he could muster.
Cei and Lucen drifted away from him eventually, muttering goodnights, also clearly interpreting his mood as not being interested in conversation. He nodded to them.
Swinging open the doors to his personal quarters, Arthur was greeted first by Myrddin, the magician combing over a set of yellowed texts. "King Arthur, how fares Sir Bedwyr?" asked the wizard, tracing a long finger over the ink.
"Poorly," Arthur answered shortly.
"Dying is he?"
"He needs specialist medicine, so he'll be sent out in the morning," Arthur said coldly. He started to walk past his mentor, head bowed.
"I will check him before he leaves," Myrddin decided, "me and Waylen might be able to see more of the situation. I suspect Melissa will insist on helping as well, she is quite fond of Bedwyr."
"Melissa is here?" Arthur asked.
"Moving in the shadows, yes, she is good at that, and growing stronger every day. You could order her to stick close to Bedwyr?"
"Seems like she'll do that anyway," Arthur mused.
"Perhaps, but this would make it official." Myrddin looked up at Arthur. "Are you quite alright, King? It seems to me this has affected you more deeply than you let on."
"I'm fine. I know what needs to be done, and intend to do it. For now I must sleep." He pushed past Myrddin, before the wizard could say anything more. But his old master only watched him go, with understanding eyes.
Stumbling into his bedroom, Arthur barely noticed Gwen, sitting naked on the bed, a book in her lap. She closed it, and held it against her chest. "How is Bedwyr?" she asked.
"Not well," Arthur replied, and started to disrobe. "He's being sent out soon, to a place of healing."
"I hope he gets well. Did you talk to him about it?"
Arthur climbed into bed beside her, leaning back against the pillows. "I didn't see him. I couldn't."
She stared at him. "And why not?"
"I don't have the time," Arthur answered with a sigh. "I am the King, I have to focus on the matters relevant to the King." He reached an arm to draw his lover closer to him, but she was off the bed.
"My lady?" Arthur asked, blinking.
She glared at him, hands on her hips. "I apologize, my lord, but sex would be quite the distraction. Hardly a kingly matter."
Despite himself, Arthur chuckled. "I don't know, getting women pregnant is quite important for the King, I think."
Gwen turned bright red, but not just from embarrassment. "Oh I see! Then from now on I will just lie on my back and be sure to take in your seed, my lord. But you best do it quickly, seconds, there is no time to waste!"
"Gwen, there isn't any need for that-"
She crossed her arms, and looked away from him, scowling. "Oh, I don't know. You seem all business. If all Bedwyr is to you is a soldier, then I think all I should be to you is a womb."
"He isn't just a soldier, and you aren't just a womb!" Arthur roared, rising to his feet.
She stormed up to him, glaring up at him, eyes sharp and clear as a thunderstorm. "Then why have you decided to act this way?" she cried. "Bedwyr isn't an anonymous sword, he's one of your best friends, if what you've told me of him is true. And if you are going to act this way, you should do it consistently."
Arthur turned away. "Maybe you're right." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "But I can't," he whispered.
She put her arms around him, pressing herself into his back. "So why insist on distancing yourself now?"
"Because I'm the one who put Bedwyr on that cot," Arthur replied, "because I ordered him to fight, and because of that, he may well be dying. I know we are at war, I know people are going to die, but it has never felt so real that a friend could be killed until now." He squeezed Gwen's hand. "How else am I supposed to take this? How else can I process it?"
"I don't know. But you cannot reduce your friends to nothing more than soldiers. That's not the kind of world you want to build, right?"
"It isn't." Slowly, he turned in her arms. Guinevere was crying a little. He wiped away the tears with his finger. "I'm sorry, I was being such a fool." He took a deep breath. "I'll visit Bedwyr when Myrddin does tomorrow morning. If he dies, I'll mourn him and feel the pain of that, as a friend and as a man."
Gwen laughed. "Bedwyr is too stubborn to die of anything short of a hell-blade through the chest. Even then, he'd have to be decapitated immediately."
Laughing, Arthur squeezed her a little tighter. "And his head would live on, like Bran the Blessed himself." He sighed, letting go of that fantasy. "This is part of war, and I tried to run from it like a child. Thank you, my lady, for keeping me honest to the world."
"Anytime, Arthur," she whispered in his ear.
Suddenly, he was no longer tired at all, and Gwen's warm body against his was making him quite excited. It was her who started to push him towards the bed, eyes bright with something other than anger now.
But just as Arthur was being pushed to the bed, there was a loud knock on the door. "Lord King, Sir Ulfius is here to meet with you."
Arthur groaned. "Damnation, I forgot." He gently pushed Gwen off him, and started to get dressed again. "Tell him I'll be with him soon." He looked at Guinevere, and smiled. "I'm not one to miss a meeting, when I promised I would go."
She smiled back at him. "I'll be here when you get back," she mouthed, carefully enunciating every word so he could read her lips.
Sleep, Arthur decided, would elude him for a good time to come. As he left the room, he wondered how a King ever managed to sleep anyway.
Cei and Lucen drifted away from him eventually, muttering goodnights, also clearly interpreting his mood as not being interested in conversation. He nodded to them.
Swinging open the doors to his personal quarters, Arthur was greeted first by Myrddin, the magician combing over a set of yellowed texts. "King Arthur, how fares Sir Bedwyr?" asked the wizard, tracing a long finger over the ink.
"Poorly," Arthur answered shortly.
"Dying is he?"
"He needs specialist medicine, so he'll be sent out in the morning," Arthur said coldly. He started to walk past his mentor, head bowed.
"I will check him before he leaves," Myrddin decided, "me and Waylen might be able to see more of the situation. I suspect Melissa will insist on helping as well, she is quite fond of Bedwyr."
"Melissa is here?" Arthur asked.
"Moving in the shadows, yes, she is good at that, and growing stronger every day. You could order her to stick close to Bedwyr?"
"Seems like she'll do that anyway," Arthur mused.
"Perhaps, but this would make it official." Myrddin looked up at Arthur. "Are you quite alright, King? It seems to me this has affected you more deeply than you let on."
"I'm fine. I know what needs to be done, and intend to do it. For now I must sleep." He pushed past Myrddin, before the wizard could say anything more. But his old master only watched him go, with understanding eyes.
Stumbling into his bedroom, Arthur barely noticed Gwen, sitting naked on the bed, a book in her lap. She closed it, and held it against her chest. "How is Bedwyr?" she asked.
"Not well," Arthur replied, and started to disrobe. "He's being sent out soon, to a place of healing."
"I hope he gets well. Did you talk to him about it?"
Arthur climbed into bed beside her, leaning back against the pillows. "I didn't see him. I couldn't."
She stared at him. "And why not?"
"I don't have the time," Arthur answered with a sigh. "I am the King, I have to focus on the matters relevant to the King." He reached an arm to draw his lover closer to him, but she was off the bed.
"My lady?" Arthur asked, blinking.
She glared at him, hands on her hips. "I apologize, my lord, but sex would be quite the distraction. Hardly a kingly matter."
Despite himself, Arthur chuckled. "I don't know, getting women pregnant is quite important for the King, I think."
Gwen turned bright red, but not just from embarrassment. "Oh I see! Then from now on I will just lie on my back and be sure to take in your seed, my lord. But you best do it quickly, seconds, there is no time to waste!"
"Gwen, there isn't any need for that-"
She crossed her arms, and looked away from him, scowling. "Oh, I don't know. You seem all business. If all Bedwyr is to you is a soldier, then I think all I should be to you is a womb."
"He isn't just a soldier, and you aren't just a womb!" Arthur roared, rising to his feet.
She stormed up to him, glaring up at him, eyes sharp and clear as a thunderstorm. "Then why have you decided to act this way?" she cried. "Bedwyr isn't an anonymous sword, he's one of your best friends, if what you've told me of him is true. And if you are going to act this way, you should do it consistently."
Arthur turned away. "Maybe you're right." He clenched and unclenched his fists. "But I can't," he whispered.
She put her arms around him, pressing herself into his back. "So why insist on distancing yourself now?"
"Because I'm the one who put Bedwyr on that cot," Arthur replied, "because I ordered him to fight, and because of that, he may well be dying. I know we are at war, I know people are going to die, but it has never felt so real that a friend could be killed until now." He squeezed Gwen's hand. "How else am I supposed to take this? How else can I process it?"
"I don't know. But you cannot reduce your friends to nothing more than soldiers. That's not the kind of world you want to build, right?"
"It isn't." Slowly, he turned in her arms. Guinevere was crying a little. He wiped away the tears with his finger. "I'm sorry, I was being such a fool." He took a deep breath. "I'll visit Bedwyr when Myrddin does tomorrow morning. If he dies, I'll mourn him and feel the pain of that, as a friend and as a man."
Gwen laughed. "Bedwyr is too stubborn to die of anything short of a hell-blade through the chest. Even then, he'd have to be decapitated immediately."
Laughing, Arthur squeezed her a little tighter. "And his head would live on, like Bran the Blessed himself." He sighed, letting go of that fantasy. "This is part of war, and I tried to run from it like a child. Thank you, my lady, for keeping me honest to the world."
"Anytime, Arthur," she whispered in his ear.
Suddenly, he was no longer tired at all, and Gwen's warm body against his was making him quite excited. It was her who started to push him towards the bed, eyes bright with something other than anger now.
But just as Arthur was being pushed to the bed, there was a loud knock on the door. "Lord King, Sir Ulfius is here to meet with you."
Arthur groaned. "Damnation, I forgot." He gently pushed Gwen off him, and started to get dressed again. "Tell him I'll be with him soon." He looked at Guinevere, and smiled. "I'm not one to miss a meeting, when I promised I would go."
She smiled back at him. "I'll be here when you get back," she mouthed, carefully enunciating every word so he could read her lips.
Sleep, Arthur decided, would elude him for a good time to come. As he left the room, he wondered how a King ever managed to sleep anyway.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
No, no you're not.
The first lover's spat.
Ah, guilt.
With great difficulty.
Phoning Home
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
There was something about the ancient long-range vox unit Gawain didn't trust. He no more understood its brand of techno-magic than he understood the rumored high sorceries of the ancient Tuatha.
The nervous acolyte, crammed into the shack with him, squeaked, "Do be careful, sir. It is fragile, and hasn't been responding well to prayers as of late."
Gawain looked over his shoulder. The druid was a shriveled old man, his gray robes completely enveloping him. "I'll be careful, don't you worry. This is a private call, noble business, so please step out."
"Sir, I must protest, the machine spirit will refuse to cooperate without a druid present." A more foolish man might fall for that, but it was a lie. If the rituals had been done properly, the machine would do its job with or without a druid attendant.
Gawain was sick of this game of lies and killers, slinking cowards and spies. A bit of his irritation must have shown in his eyes, because the old druid backed away towards the door quickly. "I'll be just outside, if I hear anything going wrong, I'll come right back." And he stumbled out the door, slamming it shut behind him in his rush.
"Almost wish he'd left the door open a crack," Gawain sighed. He liked feeling the fresh air and sunlight on his back. With the door closed he felt cramped in, and the unit reeked of sanctified oils and the aging acolyte who probably spent most of his life locked in here, away from other humans.
Muttering a half-remembered spell of activation, Gawain inputted the secret frequency that would get him in contact with his father's house. And from there, his father King Lot. The ambitious man would be quite angry, no doubt, but Gawain found he couldn't bring himself to care.
The old machine began to whir and the lights all over it flickered on and off. It almost looked like it was possessed by a malign spirit, or was just fundamentally broken in some key way. Steam puffed out of a vent on its side, and Gawain began to idly wonder if it was about to explode.
He took a step back, and stood closer to the door as the unit continued to vibrate and sputter. He was an instant away from leaping from the building when at last a woman's voice, mangled by static, broke through: "How did Lord Macsen Weldig, the man who would be emperor, love his wife?"
Smiling, Gawain answered the code phrase, "With a passion that could conquer the very universe for her."
"Lord Prince! It is you! I apologize for the caution!"
It took Gawain a moment to recognize the voice through the static and put a face to it. "Lady Jenna! It has been a long time! How have you been?"
"As well as anyone, in these times," she replied neutrally, "now isn't the time for flirtation and pleasantries, Lord Prince. Has the deed been done?"
"No, lady, no it has not. I need to speak to my father."
"He is meeting with the other Kings in the Anti-Myrddin Alliance," she replied, "he'll be busy for the rest of the day, I think. Planning. So you didn't manage to kill the upstart King Arthur?"
"No, lady, frankly I didn't even try," Gawain growled, trying to keep his calm. "It seems to me father and the rest have decided Myrddin is the true enemy, and my friend, Arthur ap Ector, is just some patsy. I don't see much more reason to kill him, if that is the case."
"Your father ordered you to kill him." Jenna sounded more curious than upset by his apparent lack of obedience.
"And when he comes back from his little party," Gawain said coldly, "tell him I will continue to follow Arthur. He is secured in Caer Leon now, but I'm certain he will move soon. If it is in force after us, I'll have to try and get home ahead of it."
"Anything else?"
"Tell him I grow impatient with his schemes. His last one, to make me out as some kind of saint, and him as some kind of healed miracle was a pathetic failure." Gawain gripped the vox phone tighter, his knuckles whitened, and the subtle machines in his joints clicked. "Tell him sometimes a man needs to know when to quit while he is ahead. I'm sick of it, and Galatine is sick of it as well." He didn't care that that was more information than he should be giving.
"Do I have to use those words?" Jenna asked, sounding nervous.
Gawain chuckled. "No, my lady, phrase it more politely for me, if you would be so kind."
"I'll do my best. You understand, of course, that King Lot has been in a hot temper lately. It may be difficult to break the news of your irritation with him."
"I understand," Gawain responded. He knew his father's temper well enough. "Do not risk yourself with him on my account. Do you know when he'll be around to take another call?"
"He has been rushing in and out, and barely seems aware of what is happening in his camp. He might be back from the meeting tomorrow, but he could also disappear for the next several days." She sighed audibly, the vox unit turning it into a crackle of static. "Prince Gwalchmei, I confess it, I worry we are at the end of days."
Gawain sighed. He'd be better at comforting her if they were face to face. "My lady, I assure you, we are doing the best we can to make sure that isn't so."
"I'm sure you are," she replied. The rest of what she meant to say was left unsaid.
"How are Lady Isolde and Lady Orgeluse?" Gawain asked, after a moment of awkward silence. He almost thought Lady Jenna had hung up.
"Well last I saw. King Owain and Queen Morgan are taking care of them. I don't know anything else, but they seemed healthy last I saw."
"There is a relief," Gawain said. "I will attempt one more call tomorrow, but after that I'll have to move on."
"Fare thee well, Prince."
"And you, lady," Gawain hung up the vox with a sigh. The old machine stopped making sound as it at last shut down and went back into hibernation. Gawain turned away from it, and opened the door.
The old druid stumbled back. "I just wanted to make sure," the old man stammered, holding up his hands in feeble defense.
Gawain walked past him. "So how much did you hear?"
"Very little of importance, of course," squeaked the druid, "it seems you didn't reach King Lot, sir."
Laughing, Gawain kept walking. "I'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps you will hear me speaking to him then. Don't bother keeping your ear to the door if so, my father is loud and will be yelling quite wildly."
"It isn't anything personal, Lord Prince," the druid called after him, "I'm just for High King Arthur, that's all."
Gawain laughed even harder, as he made his way back to his camp.
Lionel dumped water over his face and scowled darkly. Pulled away from his destined rematch with Sir Bedwyr, forced into a humiliating draw. He looked up at Dinadan, and could feel a spasm of rage making its way through his chest.
Dinadan smiled awkwardly at him, and leaned over to Sir Tristan, next to him. "Tristan, Lancelot won't stop glaring at me."
Sir Tristan was gently mopping the brow of his hostage, the Knight of the Silver Gauntlets, who still looked a bit dazed. "I think you are lucky he is only glaring, dear friend Sir Dinadan."
"You're mean, protect me!"
Tristan ignored his friend, smiling at Silver Gauntlets. "Feeling better, sir?"
"I suppose so. I did lose, didn't I?"
"Oh yes, but you did fight quite well, I was quite impressed." Tristan moved the older man's hair away, checking his scalp. "You do have a concussion, Sir Gawain should be back soon, he can help with that."
"Not the first one," groaned the freeblade. "Can I lie down?"
"Yes, yes, do so sir. Rest well. Once you get your hostage price paid, I'm sure you'll be well-rewarded." As his hostage lay down, he looked over at Lionel. "Sir Lancelot, you seem quite angry at my friend."
Lionel tore his eyes away from Dinadan. "His cowardice made us all look foolish and uncontrolled."
Tristan smiled thinly. "I can't speak for us being foolish, but we were definitely not in control of that situation. Not even for an instant. You were the only one with a firm goal to follow with complete dedication. The rest of us have reservations. You just want to fight Sir Bedwyr. Which is certainly an honorable goal."
"I am also against King Arthur, as ordered by my father," Lionel answered coldly.
"Be honest, sir, you have barely spared a thought for King Arthur. Such things as who rules the loyal humans of this planet is nothing compared to the honor of the Lancelot. That is simply how it is." Tristan stood up, stretching a little.
"Do you insult me?" Lionel asked softly.
"Not at all. I simply state what is." Tristan began to walk toward his car. "If you excuse me, I have a song for dear Lady Isolde to compose. I suspect we will be back home soon enough, and I intend to begin courting her as quickly as I can."
"How can you think of a woman at a time like this?" Lionel barked.
"I am young and handsome and desire a wife to love me and for me to love back," Tristan replied. His new smile was far more honest. "It is very easy to think of that, instead of unpleasant things."
Dinadan took a swig of water. "Honestly, I think he's ridiculous as well. Lady Isolde has taken over his brain. If I am ever so in love, please kill me, Sir Lancelot."
"It would be my pleasure," Lionel replied flatly.
"You responded to that way too quickly. I'll get out of your hair then." Dinadan rushed away, as fast as any man had ever run.
"Must be a good footracer," Lionel sighed. Ultimately, he didn't hate Dinadan. Perhaps he should, but mostly he just felt a general agitation at the world at large. Sir Dinadan was just the most obvious target. Mostly for being a rather insufferable bastard about half the time.
"You alright brother?" Bors finally spoke.
"Fine," Lionel growled, not looking at Bors.
"It isn't just Sir Bedwyr. Hell, from what I can tell, you seem to like Sir Bedwyr more than you hate him. Don't deny it, I know you well enough to call that." Bors stepped closer to him. "You're angry, and growing angrier. It can't be boiled down to just losing one fight. I am so tired of this, I want to know. I can help, we are family, after all."
No you can't, Lionel thought, it is because we are family that you can't help with what destroys me. He forced a smile, and turned to Bors. "I do apologize brother. It really is just my rivalry with Sir Bedwyr that galls me so. You are right, my admiration for the man makes it more infuriating. That is all. It will be settled, and no life need be lost for it."
Bors didn't look convinced. But before he could reply, Sir Gawain returned, blustering through the wood, scowling.
"Sir Gawain?" Lionel asked, pleased for the distraction.
"My father didn't pick up, we are on our own on that front, any of you want to try it?" Gawain asked, as he stomped to his family car. "Because I need a bath and a rest."
The nervous acolyte, crammed into the shack with him, squeaked, "Do be careful, sir. It is fragile, and hasn't been responding well to prayers as of late."
Gawain looked over his shoulder. The druid was a shriveled old man, his gray robes completely enveloping him. "I'll be careful, don't you worry. This is a private call, noble business, so please step out."
"Sir, I must protest, the machine spirit will refuse to cooperate without a druid present." A more foolish man might fall for that, but it was a lie. If the rituals had been done properly, the machine would do its job with or without a druid attendant.
Gawain was sick of this game of lies and killers, slinking cowards and spies. A bit of his irritation must have shown in his eyes, because the old druid backed away towards the door quickly. "I'll be just outside, if I hear anything going wrong, I'll come right back." And he stumbled out the door, slamming it shut behind him in his rush.
"Almost wish he'd left the door open a crack," Gawain sighed. He liked feeling the fresh air and sunlight on his back. With the door closed he felt cramped in, and the unit reeked of sanctified oils and the aging acolyte who probably spent most of his life locked in here, away from other humans.
Muttering a half-remembered spell of activation, Gawain inputted the secret frequency that would get him in contact with his father's house. And from there, his father King Lot. The ambitious man would be quite angry, no doubt, but Gawain found he couldn't bring himself to care.
The old machine began to whir and the lights all over it flickered on and off. It almost looked like it was possessed by a malign spirit, or was just fundamentally broken in some key way. Steam puffed out of a vent on its side, and Gawain began to idly wonder if it was about to explode.
He took a step back, and stood closer to the door as the unit continued to vibrate and sputter. He was an instant away from leaping from the building when at last a woman's voice, mangled by static, broke through: "How did Lord Macsen Weldig, the man who would be emperor, love his wife?"
Smiling, Gawain answered the code phrase, "With a passion that could conquer the very universe for her."
"Lord Prince! It is you! I apologize for the caution!"
It took Gawain a moment to recognize the voice through the static and put a face to it. "Lady Jenna! It has been a long time! How have you been?"
"As well as anyone, in these times," she replied neutrally, "now isn't the time for flirtation and pleasantries, Lord Prince. Has the deed been done?"
"No, lady, no it has not. I need to speak to my father."
"He is meeting with the other Kings in the Anti-Myrddin Alliance," she replied, "he'll be busy for the rest of the day, I think. Planning. So you didn't manage to kill the upstart King Arthur?"
"No, lady, frankly I didn't even try," Gawain growled, trying to keep his calm. "It seems to me father and the rest have decided Myrddin is the true enemy, and my friend, Arthur ap Ector, is just some patsy. I don't see much more reason to kill him, if that is the case."
"Your father ordered you to kill him." Jenna sounded more curious than upset by his apparent lack of obedience.
"And when he comes back from his little party," Gawain said coldly, "tell him I will continue to follow Arthur. He is secured in Caer Leon now, but I'm certain he will move soon. If it is in force after us, I'll have to try and get home ahead of it."
"Anything else?"
"Tell him I grow impatient with his schemes. His last one, to make me out as some kind of saint, and him as some kind of healed miracle was a pathetic failure." Gawain gripped the vox phone tighter, his knuckles whitened, and the subtle machines in his joints clicked. "Tell him sometimes a man needs to know when to quit while he is ahead. I'm sick of it, and Galatine is sick of it as well." He didn't care that that was more information than he should be giving.
"Do I have to use those words?" Jenna asked, sounding nervous.
Gawain chuckled. "No, my lady, phrase it more politely for me, if you would be so kind."
"I'll do my best. You understand, of course, that King Lot has been in a hot temper lately. It may be difficult to break the news of your irritation with him."
"I understand," Gawain responded. He knew his father's temper well enough. "Do not risk yourself with him on my account. Do you know when he'll be around to take another call?"
"He has been rushing in and out, and barely seems aware of what is happening in his camp. He might be back from the meeting tomorrow, but he could also disappear for the next several days." She sighed audibly, the vox unit turning it into a crackle of static. "Prince Gwalchmei, I confess it, I worry we are at the end of days."
Gawain sighed. He'd be better at comforting her if they were face to face. "My lady, I assure you, we are doing the best we can to make sure that isn't so."
"I'm sure you are," she replied. The rest of what she meant to say was left unsaid.
"How are Lady Isolde and Lady Orgeluse?" Gawain asked, after a moment of awkward silence. He almost thought Lady Jenna had hung up.
"Well last I saw. King Owain and Queen Morgan are taking care of them. I don't know anything else, but they seemed healthy last I saw."
"There is a relief," Gawain said. "I will attempt one more call tomorrow, but after that I'll have to move on."
"Fare thee well, Prince."
"And you, lady," Gawain hung up the vox with a sigh. The old machine stopped making sound as it at last shut down and went back into hibernation. Gawain turned away from it, and opened the door.
The old druid stumbled back. "I just wanted to make sure," the old man stammered, holding up his hands in feeble defense.
Gawain walked past him. "So how much did you hear?"
"Very little of importance, of course," squeaked the druid, "it seems you didn't reach King Lot, sir."
Laughing, Gawain kept walking. "I'll be back tomorrow. Perhaps you will hear me speaking to him then. Don't bother keeping your ear to the door if so, my father is loud and will be yelling quite wildly."
"It isn't anything personal, Lord Prince," the druid called after him, "I'm just for High King Arthur, that's all."
Gawain laughed even harder, as he made his way back to his camp.
****************
Lionel dumped water over his face and scowled darkly. Pulled away from his destined rematch with Sir Bedwyr, forced into a humiliating draw. He looked up at Dinadan, and could feel a spasm of rage making its way through his chest.
Dinadan smiled awkwardly at him, and leaned over to Sir Tristan, next to him. "Tristan, Lancelot won't stop glaring at me."
Sir Tristan was gently mopping the brow of his hostage, the Knight of the Silver Gauntlets, who still looked a bit dazed. "I think you are lucky he is only glaring, dear friend Sir Dinadan."
"You're mean, protect me!"
Tristan ignored his friend, smiling at Silver Gauntlets. "Feeling better, sir?"
"I suppose so. I did lose, didn't I?"
"Oh yes, but you did fight quite well, I was quite impressed." Tristan moved the older man's hair away, checking his scalp. "You do have a concussion, Sir Gawain should be back soon, he can help with that."
"Not the first one," groaned the freeblade. "Can I lie down?"
"Yes, yes, do so sir. Rest well. Once you get your hostage price paid, I'm sure you'll be well-rewarded." As his hostage lay down, he looked over at Lionel. "Sir Lancelot, you seem quite angry at my friend."
Lionel tore his eyes away from Dinadan. "His cowardice made us all look foolish and uncontrolled."
Tristan smiled thinly. "I can't speak for us being foolish, but we were definitely not in control of that situation. Not even for an instant. You were the only one with a firm goal to follow with complete dedication. The rest of us have reservations. You just want to fight Sir Bedwyr. Which is certainly an honorable goal."
"I am also against King Arthur, as ordered by my father," Lionel answered coldly.
"Be honest, sir, you have barely spared a thought for King Arthur. Such things as who rules the loyal humans of this planet is nothing compared to the honor of the Lancelot. That is simply how it is." Tristan stood up, stretching a little.
"Do you insult me?" Lionel asked softly.
"Not at all. I simply state what is." Tristan began to walk toward his car. "If you excuse me, I have a song for dear Lady Isolde to compose. I suspect we will be back home soon enough, and I intend to begin courting her as quickly as I can."
"How can you think of a woman at a time like this?" Lionel barked.
"I am young and handsome and desire a wife to love me and for me to love back," Tristan replied. His new smile was far more honest. "It is very easy to think of that, instead of unpleasant things."
Dinadan took a swig of water. "Honestly, I think he's ridiculous as well. Lady Isolde has taken over his brain. If I am ever so in love, please kill me, Sir Lancelot."
"It would be my pleasure," Lionel replied flatly.
"You responded to that way too quickly. I'll get out of your hair then." Dinadan rushed away, as fast as any man had ever run.
"Must be a good footracer," Lionel sighed. Ultimately, he didn't hate Dinadan. Perhaps he should, but mostly he just felt a general agitation at the world at large. Sir Dinadan was just the most obvious target. Mostly for being a rather insufferable bastard about half the time.
"You alright brother?" Bors finally spoke.
"Fine," Lionel growled, not looking at Bors.
"It isn't just Sir Bedwyr. Hell, from what I can tell, you seem to like Sir Bedwyr more than you hate him. Don't deny it, I know you well enough to call that." Bors stepped closer to him. "You're angry, and growing angrier. It can't be boiled down to just losing one fight. I am so tired of this, I want to know. I can help, we are family, after all."
No you can't, Lionel thought, it is because we are family that you can't help with what destroys me. He forced a smile, and turned to Bors. "I do apologize brother. It really is just my rivalry with Sir Bedwyr that galls me so. You are right, my admiration for the man makes it more infuriating. That is all. It will be settled, and no life need be lost for it."
Bors didn't look convinced. But before he could reply, Sir Gawain returned, blustering through the wood, scowling.
"Sir Gawain?" Lionel asked, pleased for the distraction.
"My father didn't pick up, we are on our own on that front, any of you want to try it?" Gawain asked, as he stomped to his family car. "Because I need a bath and a rest."
bookwyrm
Doom of Public Libraries
- Location
- Wichita, Kansas
Honestly your king Lot seems to be an excellent example of how a command devoted almost solely to like meme-Machiavellian chessmaster schemes can so easily fall into avarice and cruelty projected as cynical pragmatism and cold rationality, and how often it can end up drastically damaging your political position and failing to secure anything.
Last edited:
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
In other words, it is old and near its lifespan.
Something about Anti-Myrddin Alliance just sounds really funny.
Well said, Gawain.
View: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=q3fVj8A-K8E
Confrontations
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Agra felt pathetic, profoundly so. Long had she dreamed of tight military formations, war waged the Imperial way. Before she had met Arthur, she had dreamed of a Cadian officer sweeping her off her feet, during the liberation of the world.
Then she met Arthur. Who was better than an officer, because he was here and now, standing on the earth. She knew his mind absolutely, he had spoken of his plans, when he would be a warleader of the planet, and they'd talked for hours about such matters. She'd been dragged along on a couple lessons with that magician as well, none of which had exactly been enjoyable.
Ultimately, she was a loyal woman, not just to Avalon, not just to the Imperium, but to people and ideals. Arthur was her lover, and she'd hoped at some point in the future her war-leader. It was supposed to be that simple.
She was a knight and soldier, and that was supposed to be simple as well. They followed orders. Yet her father's orders defied her very essence, her intense loyalty. Arthur was not a traitor, or a pawn of the wizard, she knew this entirely well. But she could say nothing that would convince her father. Anyone who tried risked getting hurt.
Presently, she was trying to distract herself with a book, paging slowly through it, barely reading. The old book of strategy seemed to not understand human nature, why someone would shy away from battle. She would have shrugged off such a critique of the old text, used to train officer candidates, but now the flaw seemed quite obvious.
She threw the book aside with a growl. It fell with a hard clunk to the metal floor. "Everything well, milady?"
"I'm fine. Get me my armor." She was already pulling on her clothing. "I'm tired of lying around feeling sorry for myself," she whispered, so only she could hear.
Armored, she felt more like herself. She looked more like herself as well, if the nerves of her servants were any indication. She ignored them, as the final steps were finished.
"Milady, what do you intend to do?" one asked, nervously.
"Be with my fellow knights," Agra snapped. Beyond that, she still had no idea.
As she stomped toward the door, it swung open, and Gawain stalked in. He looked decidedly irritated, but blinked in surprise when he saw her. "Sister. You are dressed."
She laughed. "I wasn't exactly going around naked, brother. Do you really consider armor my normal dress?"
"Frankly, yes." Gawain sat down with a sigh. "I for one never did like walking about in full armor all day."
"One must always be prepared, brother," Agra said solemnly. The talk comforted her, somehow, as if she were reaching out and grasping what was important about her. "You were going to that vox unit, right? Did you speak with father?"
"No. He seems to be busy, meeting with the Anti-Myrddin alliance."
"The what?" Agra snapped. 'Surely you mean the Anti-Arthur alliance?"
"No, Lady Jenna specifically said the Anti-Myrddin alliance."
She looked away from Gawain. "So, they don't even acknowledge Arthur as the true leader of the faction they stand against, but want us to murder him anyway. To what, spite the wizard?"
"No doubt they think it would put a halt to his works, if his favorite playing piece was taken off the board," Gawain replied grimly.
She shook her head. "He wouldn't need Arthur. If the magician wanted to rule the world, he'd simply do it. We both know him, we both joined Arthur on lessons. He really was grooming Arthur for command, for rule, we both understand that in hindsight."
"Of course we do," Gawain sighed.
"What do you intend?"
"I'm going to try and contact father again tomorrow. Past that, all I can do is what I think is right."
"Can I join you tomorrow?" Agra asked.
"Of course. It is rather cramped."
"That's fine." She set down her visor. "I'm done moping around feeling sorry for myself, brother."
"Balin Womanslayer!"
Balin sighed as he stopped walking. It had to happen eventually. It was inevitable, given how he had been taken by King Arthur from his usual crowd of Freeblades to this gathering of more respectable worthies. Some would have heard of his exploits, no doubt, and his tale was not one respected by such people.
He turned slowly. The other man was in full armor, and in his right hand was a warhammer, of the sort designed to break skulls and armor alike. "I don't recall accepting that particular epitaph."
"It is given to you by reputation," bellowed the antagonist, "all here know that you are a killer of women, and all have only been kept back by the fact you rode into here with King Arthur. But not I! I intend to kill you for your crimes, womanslayer, and King Arthur will forgive me, as no doubt he will understand it as a service unto his new realm!"
Balin grinned nastily. "You make it sound as if I made a sport of murdering fishwives and serving girls. No sir, I killed damsels, and those that directly serve the Lady at that. I'd hardly count them among the ranks of innocent women."
The other knight snarled like a wild animal. "Enough talk, savage! Get on your armor and fight me like a man!"
Balin slid into a combat stance, and got his twin blades ready, half-drawn. "No, I think this should be a fair fight."
The hammer flashed as it came up with the man's charge. In his full armor, there was something inhuman about the rush, like Balin was facing a vehicle hurtling right at him. He held still until the last minute, until the hammer was hurtling toward his brow, and then he slid away, his swords flashing out.
He tested the armor, quick stabs deflected by the thick metal. He had to duck a return stroke that would have cracked his skull open. Even with his helmet, it would have caused major damage and probably cost him dearly.
The exchange taught him quickly. His opponent was impulsive, but stupid and slow despite his sheer strength. He was overdoing his swings with the hammer, even now he was still trying to recover his momentum, and get his weapon for another stroke. Perhaps he was unused to it, and had only grabbed it on impulse.
Balin was more than willing to take advantage of that weakness, regardless of where it came from. His swords flickered, between the man's legs, and though they couldn't cut, they could impede the man's movements with solid metal. From there, the trick was to make sure the man didn't crush him in his fall.
Unexpectedly, his enemy dropped the hammer, and focused instead on directing his fall. Balin swore, as he was forced to drop his weapons as well, springing back as the man crushed mere inches away from him.
Here would be the perfect opportunity to go for a gap in the other knight's defenses, slice open his throat or bash his brains out, but Balin had dropped his weapons, and had no knife. Already, the man was forcing himself to his feet, his sheer strength suddenly a benefit.
Balin dove for the hammer, snatching at its hilt, but his enemy pushed himself in front of him, and his hand instead grabbed at the gauntlet. His opponent backhanded him with his other, and Balin saw white as he fell back on his arse.
He was on his feet, his enemy only on one knee by the time he rose. He thought briefly of running, but discarded the impulse instantly. He still had some honor, some dignity to his name.
His rival was grabbing for one of Balin's fallen swords now, and Balin decided to do something desperate in response. He had no weapons, but his boots were solid and well-made, metal and leather.
With a roar, Balin drove his foot hard into his enemy's face, the resulting sound ringing out like a gong. Something crunched, and Balin hoped it wasn't the bones in his foot.
There was an instant where he could do something to defend himself, and Balin took the chance to grab up his sword.
The other knight yelled, his voice muffled and pained, and snatched up the other.
Balin pointed the blade downward, toward the throat. If he was lucky, he'd impale the throat and end this. Of course, he'd have more fights here, especially after killing another knight. Well, if need be, he'd kill a hundred.
"Enough!" barked a woman. Lady Cei barged through, shoving several other knights aside. "Quit fighting, damn both your eyes!"
The sword points drifted to the ground. "Lady Cei," groaned the knight, "I was just avenging those women he killed, Sir Balin is a butcher, a loathsome devil."
"Who works for King Arthur now," Cei snarled, "so King Arthur will determine his fate, and right now King Arthur has decided he will earn redemption through service."
The armored man hung his head. "I will not go against King Arthur," he said stiffly, "but I will speak to him of this insult. Bringing this man into the fold will only lead to ill." He set the sword down to the ground, then picked up his warhammer. He stormed away, and several others followed him.
Balin could still feel glares at his back. "Thank you, Lady Cei," he said stiffly.
She glared at him. "Don't thank me. I wouldn't have intervened if King Arthur didn't want you with him. You dug your own grave, Sir Balin, I suspect you will lie in it one day. Now come, the King wants to speak with you."
"Very well," Balin sighed, sheathing his swords. He smiled thinly at Cei's back. Yes, he'd have his grave one day, but before that he intended to follow this path before him. Until he had his full vengeance.
Then she met Arthur. Who was better than an officer, because he was here and now, standing on the earth. She knew his mind absolutely, he had spoken of his plans, when he would be a warleader of the planet, and they'd talked for hours about such matters. She'd been dragged along on a couple lessons with that magician as well, none of which had exactly been enjoyable.
Ultimately, she was a loyal woman, not just to Avalon, not just to the Imperium, but to people and ideals. Arthur was her lover, and she'd hoped at some point in the future her war-leader. It was supposed to be that simple.
She was a knight and soldier, and that was supposed to be simple as well. They followed orders. Yet her father's orders defied her very essence, her intense loyalty. Arthur was not a traitor, or a pawn of the wizard, she knew this entirely well. But she could say nothing that would convince her father. Anyone who tried risked getting hurt.
Presently, she was trying to distract herself with a book, paging slowly through it, barely reading. The old book of strategy seemed to not understand human nature, why someone would shy away from battle. She would have shrugged off such a critique of the old text, used to train officer candidates, but now the flaw seemed quite obvious.
She threw the book aside with a growl. It fell with a hard clunk to the metal floor. "Everything well, milady?"
"I'm fine. Get me my armor." She was already pulling on her clothing. "I'm tired of lying around feeling sorry for myself," she whispered, so only she could hear.
Armored, she felt more like herself. She looked more like herself as well, if the nerves of her servants were any indication. She ignored them, as the final steps were finished.
"Milady, what do you intend to do?" one asked, nervously.
"Be with my fellow knights," Agra snapped. Beyond that, she still had no idea.
As she stomped toward the door, it swung open, and Gawain stalked in. He looked decidedly irritated, but blinked in surprise when he saw her. "Sister. You are dressed."
She laughed. "I wasn't exactly going around naked, brother. Do you really consider armor my normal dress?"
"Frankly, yes." Gawain sat down with a sigh. "I for one never did like walking about in full armor all day."
"One must always be prepared, brother," Agra said solemnly. The talk comforted her, somehow, as if she were reaching out and grasping what was important about her. "You were going to that vox unit, right? Did you speak with father?"
"No. He seems to be busy, meeting with the Anti-Myrddin alliance."
"The what?" Agra snapped. 'Surely you mean the Anti-Arthur alliance?"
"No, Lady Jenna specifically said the Anti-Myrddin alliance."
She looked away from Gawain. "So, they don't even acknowledge Arthur as the true leader of the faction they stand against, but want us to murder him anyway. To what, spite the wizard?"
"No doubt they think it would put a halt to his works, if his favorite playing piece was taken off the board," Gawain replied grimly.
She shook her head. "He wouldn't need Arthur. If the magician wanted to rule the world, he'd simply do it. We both know him, we both joined Arthur on lessons. He really was grooming Arthur for command, for rule, we both understand that in hindsight."
"Of course we do," Gawain sighed.
"What do you intend?"
"I'm going to try and contact father again tomorrow. Past that, all I can do is what I think is right."
"Can I join you tomorrow?" Agra asked.
"Of course. It is rather cramped."
"That's fine." She set down her visor. "I'm done moping around feeling sorry for myself, brother."
**************
"Balin Womanslayer!"
Balin sighed as he stopped walking. It had to happen eventually. It was inevitable, given how he had been taken by King Arthur from his usual crowd of Freeblades to this gathering of more respectable worthies. Some would have heard of his exploits, no doubt, and his tale was not one respected by such people.
He turned slowly. The other man was in full armor, and in his right hand was a warhammer, of the sort designed to break skulls and armor alike. "I don't recall accepting that particular epitaph."
"It is given to you by reputation," bellowed the antagonist, "all here know that you are a killer of women, and all have only been kept back by the fact you rode into here with King Arthur. But not I! I intend to kill you for your crimes, womanslayer, and King Arthur will forgive me, as no doubt he will understand it as a service unto his new realm!"
Balin grinned nastily. "You make it sound as if I made a sport of murdering fishwives and serving girls. No sir, I killed damsels, and those that directly serve the Lady at that. I'd hardly count them among the ranks of innocent women."
The other knight snarled like a wild animal. "Enough talk, savage! Get on your armor and fight me like a man!"
Balin slid into a combat stance, and got his twin blades ready, half-drawn. "No, I think this should be a fair fight."
The hammer flashed as it came up with the man's charge. In his full armor, there was something inhuman about the rush, like Balin was facing a vehicle hurtling right at him. He held still until the last minute, until the hammer was hurtling toward his brow, and then he slid away, his swords flashing out.
He tested the armor, quick stabs deflected by the thick metal. He had to duck a return stroke that would have cracked his skull open. Even with his helmet, it would have caused major damage and probably cost him dearly.
The exchange taught him quickly. His opponent was impulsive, but stupid and slow despite his sheer strength. He was overdoing his swings with the hammer, even now he was still trying to recover his momentum, and get his weapon for another stroke. Perhaps he was unused to it, and had only grabbed it on impulse.
Balin was more than willing to take advantage of that weakness, regardless of where it came from. His swords flickered, between the man's legs, and though they couldn't cut, they could impede the man's movements with solid metal. From there, the trick was to make sure the man didn't crush him in his fall.
Unexpectedly, his enemy dropped the hammer, and focused instead on directing his fall. Balin swore, as he was forced to drop his weapons as well, springing back as the man crushed mere inches away from him.
Here would be the perfect opportunity to go for a gap in the other knight's defenses, slice open his throat or bash his brains out, but Balin had dropped his weapons, and had no knife. Already, the man was forcing himself to his feet, his sheer strength suddenly a benefit.
Balin dove for the hammer, snatching at its hilt, but his enemy pushed himself in front of him, and his hand instead grabbed at the gauntlet. His opponent backhanded him with his other, and Balin saw white as he fell back on his arse.
He was on his feet, his enemy only on one knee by the time he rose. He thought briefly of running, but discarded the impulse instantly. He still had some honor, some dignity to his name.
His rival was grabbing for one of Balin's fallen swords now, and Balin decided to do something desperate in response. He had no weapons, but his boots were solid and well-made, metal and leather.
With a roar, Balin drove his foot hard into his enemy's face, the resulting sound ringing out like a gong. Something crunched, and Balin hoped it wasn't the bones in his foot.
There was an instant where he could do something to defend himself, and Balin took the chance to grab up his sword.
The other knight yelled, his voice muffled and pained, and snatched up the other.
Balin pointed the blade downward, toward the throat. If he was lucky, he'd impale the throat and end this. Of course, he'd have more fights here, especially after killing another knight. Well, if need be, he'd kill a hundred.
"Enough!" barked a woman. Lady Cei barged through, shoving several other knights aside. "Quit fighting, damn both your eyes!"
The sword points drifted to the ground. "Lady Cei," groaned the knight, "I was just avenging those women he killed, Sir Balin is a butcher, a loathsome devil."
"Who works for King Arthur now," Cei snarled, "so King Arthur will determine his fate, and right now King Arthur has decided he will earn redemption through service."
The armored man hung his head. "I will not go against King Arthur," he said stiffly, "but I will speak to him of this insult. Bringing this man into the fold will only lead to ill." He set the sword down to the ground, then picked up his warhammer. He stormed away, and several others followed him.
Balin could still feel glares at his back. "Thank you, Lady Cei," he said stiffly.
She glared at him. "Don't thank me. I wouldn't have intervened if King Arthur didn't want you with him. You dug your own grave, Sir Balin, I suspect you will lie in it one day. Now come, the King wants to speak with you."
"Very well," Balin sighed, sheathing his swords. He smiled thinly at Cei's back. Yes, he'd have his grave one day, but before that he intended to follow this path before him. Until he had his full vengeance.
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
The problem of a loyal soldier, when facing with orders they don't like.
It is pretty heavy.
I'm sure Arthur was prepared for that.
Answers and More Questions
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
Arthur pulled on a long robe, too weary to dress fully. After these matters, he'd strip and go to bed immediately. As he started out the door, Gwen placed his sword belt over his head, helping tighten it around his waist.
"I doubt it will be necessary," Arthur told her, "not for this."
She looked up at him. "Better to have it and not need it." She had a serious, worried look in her eye, and Arthur decided not to argue the point.
As he walked out the door, she was just behind, in a long robe with the hood up, operating as a clerk to record his actions on a long sheath of paper. Arthur could just make out the laspistol under her robe, strapped to her still-naked hip. She really was taking this seriously.
The veteran Sir Ulfius was seated at the now empty table, making awkward small talk with Archimedes. He rose and bowed as Arthur approached. Archimedes gave him a grateful look over the old man's shoulder, then vanished into a side chamber.
"Sit, Sir Ulfius, this is hardly a ceremony." Arthur slid into a seat next to the veteran, not bothering with the high seat at the end of the table. He found he wanted to speak to Ulfius man-to-man, as close to equals as possible.
Ulfius sat back down. "Thank you, your majesty." He fiddled with his hands, resetting a sword belt that wasn't there. "It has been some time since I've spoken to a man of your stature. Pray give me a moment to remember my old courtly manner."
Arthur chuckled lightly. "I did tell you, this isn't a ceremony or a court. But take any time you need, sir."
Nonetheless, Ulfius took a second to compose himself. He sat up in his chair, straightening his back, putting a hand through his hair, trying to settle it flat on his head. "It has been some time since I have been in good company. After King Uther's death, I was much dishonored for my proximity to him. So I've spent my time among Freeblades, still fighting, but not with a true army, with warriors who barely counted as knights."
"I know other knights who served King Uther, but they were not so destroyed," Arthur replied gently, "I doubt you are much different."
Ulfius laughed harshly. "They had distance, I was right there when Uther did the deed that killed his honor. Right next to him, in point of fact. I was there when Myrddin worked his enchantment, just downstairs in Tintagel while Uther took Igraine to bed."
"You were an accessory to the most infamous crime?" Guinevere asked suddenly. She kept her head bowed, hidden behind her hood.
Ulfius shrugged. "I stood about as it happened. That's about it. I cut no throats, and slept with no women under false pretenses. King Pellinore, then Sir Lancelot, took the head of Gorlois as I recall, and the poor fellow let the guilt eat him alive. Getting nearly blown up in the Chaoslands isn't my idea of earning atonement, but I do hope he is at peace now."
"You don't seem very guilty," Arthur noted calmly, "you seem more upset that it lost you employment."
"I don't feel much guilt," Ulfius sighed, "because the claim Igraine was raped are at least somewhat exaggerated. Uther was a damned fool for doing it, but it wasn't so violent as Myrddin and Pellinore will tell you. Both those men are strangely innocent, for all their tendency for violence and sin."
"I think you'll have to explain that claim further," Arthur said dryly.
"Igraine was damsel-trained, nearly on the level of enchantress," he said, voice low as if speaking of conspiracy, "it was said in some circles Nimue was preparing her to take command of the entire sect. She'd know enchantment when she saw it. I was there, I saw the recognition in her eyes. She knew from the moment we walked into the castle that her husband was dead, and we were imposters. Myrddin's glamor was to trick the guards, not her. I don't know everything, but I know she wasn't tricked." He put a hand through his hair. "If you wish to put me through a formal challenge for my part in the matter, that is fine by me. I just want the matter settled, and wanted to say my piece to an authority as high as my old King."
Arthur was quiet for a moment. "I believe, Sir Ulfius, your formal challenge will be fighting alongside me when the time comes. Same as any Freeblade. I'll be making that formal soon enough."
"You should be careful," Ulfius said slowly, "some unsavory types might take advantage of that."
"Indeed?" Guinevere asked, suddenly. "I'm sure King Arthur will be very careful in such dealings."
Ulfius seemed to notice her for the first time. "I'm sure he will, lady," he said stiffly.
"I intend to, with help from others," Arthur replied calmly. "If that is all, Sir Ulfius, I welcome your aid. Stand ready for battle."
"Always." The veteran rose to his feet. "I won't bother you any further, thank you for the opportunity, King Arthur." He bowed, and left the room.
When he was gone, Gwen walked up behind, and placed her hands on Arthur's shoulders. "A frightful man," she said softly in his ear.
"Do you think he was lying?" Arthur asked her, looking up at her.
"I don't think he was lying, but I also don't think it would make much of a difference if Uther actually had committed a violent rape just above him. He'd just make his defense in a different way. Men like Sir Ulfius aren't necessarily wicked men, but they hold their leaders to very little standard, and always follow orders, even if they lead to despicable ends. All I say is be careful."
Arthur reached up, and squeezed her hand gently. "Always."
She slipped around, and slid into his lap. With a sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Would be easier if we just knew the whole truth."
"King Uther died on the battlefield," Arthur said with a sigh, "he paid his price for his crimes. What I can do is make this realm a beacon of justice and nobility, once the war is over and we are united at last." His hand, going for her hand, instead pressed on her naked thigh under her robe, he blushed, but she smiled lazily at him. "Can I expect your help?"
"Of course," Gwen replied breathily, shifting a bit on his lap, pleasurably.
Arthur took a deep breath. "Gwen, would you be-"
The door slammed open, and in barged Cei, almost dragging Balin into the audience chamber. "King Arthur I brought Sir Balin to speak with you." She blinked, and blushed. "Are we interrupting?"
Gwen had sprung from Arthur's lap, almost striking the table in her haste. She smoothed down her robes, and Arthur could tell she was resisting the urge to scowl at Cei. He smiled, despite everything. "Nothing that can't wait," he told Cei.
"Right," Cei said, clearly unconvinced.
Sir Balin, evidently nonplussed, stepped up to the table. "Lady Cei says you want me to come with you on some grand quest of yours. What do you wish to speak with me about, before we head out?"
"I need to know," Arthur declared, "why they call you 'womanslayer' Sir Balin. Before we move forward as companions, this is something I need to understand from you."
Balin scowled, then opened his mouth to speak.
Ulfius walked out of the audience hall, frowning in thought. In truth, he was very little upset by King Arthur and his little secretary's clear suspicion of him. That was something he understood well by this point, and the fact the young King was willing to let him fight in his army was good enough. "Fight, pass on my throne, settle on an estate," Ulfius sighed. That probably was ultimately more than he deserved, but he'd fight for it nonetheless.
It was the other thing that made him pause. King Arthur was familiar. He had a resemblance he couldn't fully place, but was certainly there. Almost like…
"Sir Ulfius!" a familiar voice gasped.
He turned, and smiled thinly. "Sir Ector." He gripped his old friend's hand. "Good to see you."
Ector didn't quite look like the feeling was mutual, but shook the offered hand crisply. "I trust King Arthur has agreed to let you fight?"
"He has. And that is all I intend to do. I'll fight, and then settle into obscurity, once I've regained some honor."
"See that you do," Ector replied stiffly. Or die, his eyes seemed to say.
Ulfius weighed what he was about to ask, knowing he didn't have much stock with Sir Ector anymore. They'd fought together, bled together, but Ector hadn't helped with Uther's final scheme, and Ulfius had. That made all the difference. "Ector," he said softly, "I don't think we will ever be friends or companions again. I understand this. But I need to ask this one thing of you."
"You want me to do something for you?" Ector asked gruffly.
"No, I just need you to answer a question. King Arthur is your foster son, yes?"
"Aye."
"But tell me, do you know who his father was?"
"I doubt it will be necessary," Arthur told her, "not for this."
She looked up at him. "Better to have it and not need it." She had a serious, worried look in her eye, and Arthur decided not to argue the point.
As he walked out the door, she was just behind, in a long robe with the hood up, operating as a clerk to record his actions on a long sheath of paper. Arthur could just make out the laspistol under her robe, strapped to her still-naked hip. She really was taking this seriously.
The veteran Sir Ulfius was seated at the now empty table, making awkward small talk with Archimedes. He rose and bowed as Arthur approached. Archimedes gave him a grateful look over the old man's shoulder, then vanished into a side chamber.
"Sit, Sir Ulfius, this is hardly a ceremony." Arthur slid into a seat next to the veteran, not bothering with the high seat at the end of the table. He found he wanted to speak to Ulfius man-to-man, as close to equals as possible.
Ulfius sat back down. "Thank you, your majesty." He fiddled with his hands, resetting a sword belt that wasn't there. "It has been some time since I've spoken to a man of your stature. Pray give me a moment to remember my old courtly manner."
Arthur chuckled lightly. "I did tell you, this isn't a ceremony or a court. But take any time you need, sir."
Nonetheless, Ulfius took a second to compose himself. He sat up in his chair, straightening his back, putting a hand through his hair, trying to settle it flat on his head. "It has been some time since I have been in good company. After King Uther's death, I was much dishonored for my proximity to him. So I've spent my time among Freeblades, still fighting, but not with a true army, with warriors who barely counted as knights."
"I know other knights who served King Uther, but they were not so destroyed," Arthur replied gently, "I doubt you are much different."
Ulfius laughed harshly. "They had distance, I was right there when Uther did the deed that killed his honor. Right next to him, in point of fact. I was there when Myrddin worked his enchantment, just downstairs in Tintagel while Uther took Igraine to bed."
"You were an accessory to the most infamous crime?" Guinevere asked suddenly. She kept her head bowed, hidden behind her hood.
Ulfius shrugged. "I stood about as it happened. That's about it. I cut no throats, and slept with no women under false pretenses. King Pellinore, then Sir Lancelot, took the head of Gorlois as I recall, and the poor fellow let the guilt eat him alive. Getting nearly blown up in the Chaoslands isn't my idea of earning atonement, but I do hope he is at peace now."
"You don't seem very guilty," Arthur noted calmly, "you seem more upset that it lost you employment."
"I don't feel much guilt," Ulfius sighed, "because the claim Igraine was raped are at least somewhat exaggerated. Uther was a damned fool for doing it, but it wasn't so violent as Myrddin and Pellinore will tell you. Both those men are strangely innocent, for all their tendency for violence and sin."
"I think you'll have to explain that claim further," Arthur said dryly.
"Igraine was damsel-trained, nearly on the level of enchantress," he said, voice low as if speaking of conspiracy, "it was said in some circles Nimue was preparing her to take command of the entire sect. She'd know enchantment when she saw it. I was there, I saw the recognition in her eyes. She knew from the moment we walked into the castle that her husband was dead, and we were imposters. Myrddin's glamor was to trick the guards, not her. I don't know everything, but I know she wasn't tricked." He put a hand through his hair. "If you wish to put me through a formal challenge for my part in the matter, that is fine by me. I just want the matter settled, and wanted to say my piece to an authority as high as my old King."
Arthur was quiet for a moment. "I believe, Sir Ulfius, your formal challenge will be fighting alongside me when the time comes. Same as any Freeblade. I'll be making that formal soon enough."
"You should be careful," Ulfius said slowly, "some unsavory types might take advantage of that."
"Indeed?" Guinevere asked, suddenly. "I'm sure King Arthur will be very careful in such dealings."
Ulfius seemed to notice her for the first time. "I'm sure he will, lady," he said stiffly.
"I intend to, with help from others," Arthur replied calmly. "If that is all, Sir Ulfius, I welcome your aid. Stand ready for battle."
"Always." The veteran rose to his feet. "I won't bother you any further, thank you for the opportunity, King Arthur." He bowed, and left the room.
When he was gone, Gwen walked up behind, and placed her hands on Arthur's shoulders. "A frightful man," she said softly in his ear.
"Do you think he was lying?" Arthur asked her, looking up at her.
"I don't think he was lying, but I also don't think it would make much of a difference if Uther actually had committed a violent rape just above him. He'd just make his defense in a different way. Men like Sir Ulfius aren't necessarily wicked men, but they hold their leaders to very little standard, and always follow orders, even if they lead to despicable ends. All I say is be careful."
Arthur reached up, and squeezed her hand gently. "Always."
She slipped around, and slid into his lap. With a sigh, she leaned her head against his shoulder. "Would be easier if we just knew the whole truth."
"King Uther died on the battlefield," Arthur said with a sigh, "he paid his price for his crimes. What I can do is make this realm a beacon of justice and nobility, once the war is over and we are united at last." His hand, going for her hand, instead pressed on her naked thigh under her robe, he blushed, but she smiled lazily at him. "Can I expect your help?"
"Of course," Gwen replied breathily, shifting a bit on his lap, pleasurably.
Arthur took a deep breath. "Gwen, would you be-"
The door slammed open, and in barged Cei, almost dragging Balin into the audience chamber. "King Arthur I brought Sir Balin to speak with you." She blinked, and blushed. "Are we interrupting?"
Gwen had sprung from Arthur's lap, almost striking the table in her haste. She smoothed down her robes, and Arthur could tell she was resisting the urge to scowl at Cei. He smiled, despite everything. "Nothing that can't wait," he told Cei.
"Right," Cei said, clearly unconvinced.
Sir Balin, evidently nonplussed, stepped up to the table. "Lady Cei says you want me to come with you on some grand quest of yours. What do you wish to speak with me about, before we head out?"
"I need to know," Arthur declared, "why they call you 'womanslayer' Sir Balin. Before we move forward as companions, this is something I need to understand from you."
Balin scowled, then opened his mouth to speak.
********************
Ulfius walked out of the audience hall, frowning in thought. In truth, he was very little upset by King Arthur and his little secretary's clear suspicion of him. That was something he understood well by this point, and the fact the young King was willing to let him fight in his army was good enough. "Fight, pass on my throne, settle on an estate," Ulfius sighed. That probably was ultimately more than he deserved, but he'd fight for it nonetheless.
It was the other thing that made him pause. King Arthur was familiar. He had a resemblance he couldn't fully place, but was certainly there. Almost like…
"Sir Ulfius!" a familiar voice gasped.
He turned, and smiled thinly. "Sir Ector." He gripped his old friend's hand. "Good to see you."
Ector didn't quite look like the feeling was mutual, but shook the offered hand crisply. "I trust King Arthur has agreed to let you fight?"
"He has. And that is all I intend to do. I'll fight, and then settle into obscurity, once I've regained some honor."
"See that you do," Ector replied stiffly. Or die, his eyes seemed to say.
Ulfius weighed what he was about to ask, knowing he didn't have much stock with Sir Ector anymore. They'd fought together, bled together, but Ector hadn't helped with Uther's final scheme, and Ulfius had. That made all the difference. "Ector," he said softly, "I don't think we will ever be friends or companions again. I understand this. But I need to ask this one thing of you."
"You want me to do something for you?" Ector asked gruffly.
"No, I just need you to answer a question. King Arthur is your foster son, yes?"
"Aye."
"But tell me, do you know who his father was?"
Icipall
Don't worry, we can fanfix that!
- Location
- Cold snow fields of Finland
She is not really happy with this.
Good goal. Lets hope it goes better than in the original legend.
Dun-dun-duuuun!
I thought it was known who his father was?
MysticKnightJoe
Defender of Holy Terra
- Location
- Fighting the Forces of Evil Across the Cosmos
It is not. A couple people have guessed, but it is not widely known