Poker-Face-William

Lucan was twelve years old when he met his elder brother

Lucan was making his way down the stone halls of Castle Bedrydant, wiping the sweat off his brow after a long day of sword training in the yard. The master at arms had sent him away, telling him that he couldn’t teach him anything, and hopefully his father would have better luck showing him how to rule than he did showing him to fight.

He was just around the corner from his father’s study when he saw him walking out, wearing black velvet instead of his usual gold and red finary. Lucan ran up to the man, bowing deeply before speaking.

“Hello father, Ser Macaain is done with me for the day,” Lucan said, the older man looking down at him. “He said that I was to come to you for my other lessons.”

“I’m sorry?” He asked, furrowing his brow down at Lucan.

It was then that Lucan looked up at the older man, and saw pale purple eyes staring down at him instead of his fathers almost gray eyes.

“I apologise ser, I thought that you were my father,” Lucan said hurriedly, bowing deeply again. “You do look quite similar to him, are you a cousin?”

“Something to that effect,” the man answered, a sly smile coming across his face. “My name is Ser Bedivere, you must be Lord Bedrydant’s heir.”

“Yes Ser, my name is Lucan Draco of house Bedrydant, fifth of my name,” Lucan stood up straight from his bow, putting his hand to his chest.

“I am glad that Lord Bedrydant taught you proper manners, that will take you far.”

“Thank you Ser.”

“So, what lessons were you going to have with your father,” Ser Bedivere asked, kneeling down so he was closer to eye level with the younger man.

“I’m not sure Ser, something involving my duties as the next lord.”

“I’d suggest waiting a moment, he tends fume a little after my visits.”

“Why is that Ser?”

“Well… Lord Bedrydant and I have a complicated history, and he doesn’t like that the king uses me as his voice,” Bedivere answered, kneeling down in front of the young man. “So, why don’t you tell me what your father has taught you while you wait?”

“I suppose that should be alright,”

And the two of them sat for almost an hour, Bedivere helping his unknowing brother to review his lessons before finally sending him in to their fathers study. And as Bedivere left, he began devising a plan.

Lucan was fifteen when he became his brothers squire

The young squire fell on his rear as his dueling instructor disarmed him, and kicked him in the gut. “Come on lad, get up!” the instructor spat, dropping Lucan’s shortsword at the boys feet. Lucan slowly reached for his weapon, but just as he was about to wrap his fingers around it’s hilt, the instructor kicked it away, hitting Lucan’s fingers at the same time. “You’ll have to be quicker than that, if I were a Albian you’d be dead right now!” Lucan stood up, stumbling over to his sword under the weight of his armor when the door from the entrance courtyard swung open, ending the training session then and there. Ser Bedivere, Lord Bedrydant, three guards, and a gaunt man not much older than Lucan wearing black velvet with silver embroidery, and the three ravens of the king emblazoned on his chest stormed through the now open doors, shouting at one another.

“If you think I’ll let this happen Raven, you’re sorely mistaken!” Lord Bedrydant shouted, grabbing Bedivere’s shoulder and whipping the younger man around.

“Well unfortunately for you, it’s out of your hands my Lord!” Bedivere retorted.

“The hell it isn’t!” Lucan’s father spat, glaring down at Bedivere. “This is my castle, and I have the final say in what goes on here!”

“Do not forget whose presence you are in Bedrawd!” The young black clad man said, stepping between the other two men. “I am your king, and what I command will be done.”

“And you should remember who made you king,” Lord Bedrydant snapped, glaring down the black clad teen when Ser Bedivere put his hand on his chest, pushing him back. The lord looked as if he were about to snap again, but he seemed to think better of it, bowing to the teen. “My apologies sire, It is just, he is my only son.”

This broken Lucan out of his shocked awe, and he slowly walked over to the small group, bowing deeply to the three older men. “I am sorry for listening in on your conversation, but, I could not help but overhear that is in some regards about me.” Lucan said inquisitively, not looking up from his bow. Lord Bedrydant looked down at his son for his moment, his jaw tight and his brow furrowed as he mulled over the situation.

“Yes my son, but you need not be involved in the discussion,” Lucan’s father answered finally, placing his hand on his son’s shoulder before turning his attention back to the man in black. “Ser Macaain, if you wouldn’t mind continuing my son’s much needed training?” he continued, calling out to the instructor who began to make his way over to the group as well. “My liege, if you would not mind, we could continue this discussion in my study, away from any more distractions.”

“If I may suggest Lord Bedrydant, I think it would be better if your son had a say in the decision we come to,” Ser Bedivere replied before the man in black was able, grabbing the hilt of his sword as he hissed out the word. “Afterall, it is his fate we are deciding.”

Lucan froze, expecting his father to lash out in fury at what looked like a poorly veiled threat to him, but his father seemed come as he considered Bedivere’s words. “Yes, that does make sense. Macaain, belay that order, insure that the guards are on appropriate shifts for the king’s visit instead, Lucan, come back here.”

Bewildered and in awe at the knight’s persuasive talents, Lucan returned to his father’s side, bowing once more to the three gentlemen. “I am honored to be in your presence True King Urien.”

“Rise Lucan of house Bedrydant,” the man in black responded, a crooked grin on his face as he watched Lucan obey his command. “I see your father has done well in teaching you proper courtesy, which he seems to have forgotten.”

“My father is an excellent instructor,” Lucan replied, making sure that he was standing up straight, and looking into the cole black eyes of his sovereign. “I have learned much about being a lord from him, and am most grateful for the time and energy he has put into my tutelage.”

“Good, very good,” the king said, stroking the thin wisps of hair around his chin. “And how has he done in teaching you knighthood?”

Lucan bowed his head again, in shame more than respect. “I am afraid that despite my father’s best efforts, I am a poor warrior…”

“Is that all you think a knight is?” Bedivere interjected, his eyebrow cocked as he looked at the Lucan sadly.

“Am I incorrect Ser?” Lucan asked, looking up at his role model.

“Don’t be foolish boy!” Lord Bedrawd snapped, raising his hand to hit Lucan, but something prevented him as he instead placed his hand on the boys shoulder. “I have told you that a knight is a protector of the realm and it’s peace, have I not?”

“You have, but, that is also how you described the men at arms that we deploy to our borders and cities,”

Lord Bedrydant’s jaw tightened again, as he gave a strained smile to his son, digging his nails into his shoulders.

“I was told that your teachings were less than adequate Bedrawd, but I could not have imagined they were this bad after you delivered my finest knight to me,” the king said, his voice sounding close to laughter. “Bedivere, I am granting you your request starting immediately. I would prefer if one of my most powerful lords had an heir befitting his station.”

“My lord, please reconsider, I will admit my teachings are not as they used to, but any other knight besides him,” Lucan’s father pleaded as the king began to walk across the courtyard to the main keep before turning on his heel and quickly approaching Bedrawed, forcing him to back away.

“Your LIEGE, not your Lord, I am a King, not a lowly lord, do not assume to be my equal!” The king shouted, beginning to pull out his blade when he seemed to stiffen up. He stood there, glaring at Lucan’s father who standing nearly as still as the king, his eyes wide as saucers. “Ser Bedivere will be taking over your duties as your son’s mentor, and that is final, now I shall be retiring to the kings quarters.”

The king looked over Bedrawd’s shoulder, and Lucan followed his gaze to Bedivere, who was holding the hilt of his sword again, a faint purple glow emanating from it that vanished when the knight loosened his gauntlets grip. In the same moment the king seemed to unfreeze from his position, putting his half drawn sword back in it’s sheath, turning around once more and entering the keep proper followed by the guards that had followed the trio into training yard.

“I am not letting you take my son from me,” Lucan’s father said quietly turning around to look at Bedivere who was simply standing by the door, looking as stoic as ever.

“I have no intention of doing so,” Bedivere responded, finally walking out into the courtyard as well, standing next to Lucan. “Unless Lucan thinks it is necessary?”

“No Ser, if it is possible for me to be your squire without having to leave my home, I would very much like that.”

“How exactly do you plan on accomplishing that?” Bedrawd said, the confidence returning to his voice as he approached the pair. “If Lucan is your squire, you will need him to help you dawn your armor and weapons, to care for your horse, to take care of any repairs your equipment requires. Those aren’t things he can be expected to do when you are living in two seperate castles.”

“I never said we would be living in separate castles,” Bedivere said, a subtle smile gracing his too often somber expression. “I was thinking that I could stay here when the king does not require me. He has need of me less often these days, which is why I decided to make this request now.”

“You cannot possibly believe this will work,” Bedrawd scoffed, his face betraying his faith in his own words.

“I will stay out of your way, don’t worry Lord Bedrydant,” Bedivere said, that small joy he had already fading away into his normal melancholy. “Lucan, please go fetch my things from the stables and return them here so that you can show me to my new room.”

Lucan looked to his father who scowled for a moment before nodding, and Lucan began to withdraw, staying by the doors just long enough to hear what the two older men were discussing.

“What do you expect to gain from this boy?” Lucan’s father asked, his voice sharp, but it had a different quality than his usually fierce anger.

“I just want to see my mother again,”

Lucan was nineteen when he first asked his brother about his magic.

The two men were in castle Bedrydant’s large library, looking over a large map that outlined the positions and movements of two armies during a castle siege. They had been looking over the various mistakes that the sieged castle made that led to the ease with which they were taken. Things such as not having any portcullises at their four separate gates, only drawbridges that went over a shallow moat, and having windows barely over five feet off the ground.

“Now why do you think their defenses were so lackluster?” Bedivere asked, having finished reading another paragraph.

Lucan starred at the map for a few moments, looking around the battlefield. There didn’t appear to be any natural defenses in the way of mountains as their were gates on all four sides, but the map didn’t show elevation, so it was possible that the castle itself was higher than the surrounding landscape, but that would usually mean that there would be some form of path up to the castle.

“They had blockades set up around their border, but the enemy forces either payed off the men working them, or simply fought their way through,” Lucan finally answered, receiving an impressed smile from Bedivere in return.

“You’re wrong, but you have the right idea,” Bedivere replied, turning the book upside down and handing it across the table to his squire. On the left page was an illustration of a woman with a long robe like dress, flames burning in her hands and eyes. “The would be king who had this castle made had a sorcerous at his beck and call, and knowing that she was able to set up defenses that no mortal weapon could break, they built their defenses around that, daring anyone to challenge them. Of course no one could beat them, until another lord offered to make the sorcerous his queen if she simply let down the castles defenses.”

“How is that anything like what I said?” Lucan asked, bewildered. “Are you trying to be nice, or did you just not pay attention to what I said?”

“Neither,” Bedivere answered, sitting back into his chair. “Though the physical mechanics are very different, the core issue is the same. They were too reliant on a single method of defense, and without that method, they were completely helpless.”

“Is that why you don’t use your magic very much?” Lucan asked innocently.

Bedivere just stared at his squire for a few seconds, his expression the usual stoic stone carving that it almost always was until he finally responded. “What are you talking about?”

“You know, like when you stopped the king from attacking my father when I first became your squire, or the way you shattered that shield a few months ago during the siege of Listeneise before your sword even tou...,” Lucan continued before Bedivere shushed him, looking around the library quickly before turning back to his squire.

“Listen, Lucan, magic is, very complicated,” Bedivere began, still looking about the room carefully. “Not only to do, because it really isn’t for me, but the way that people view it. Most people think the only way to get magic is from the gods, or demons.”

“So yours is from the gods then?”

“In a way, yes,” Bedivere said, his face squishing in awkwardly as he spoke. “I was born with this power.”

“My mother mentioned something like that!” Lucan said excitedly, prompting Bedivere to shush him once again. “Sorry, but, my grandfather was like that. He was able to cast spells and things of that sort, and so could his mother because…”

“She was a Pendragon,” Bedivere interrupted, his face returning to it’s stony likeness, his eyes wetter than Lucan had ever seen them.

“Yeah, how did you know?” Lucan said, calming his voice down from his excited tone.

“As one of our king’s advisors, it is my duty to know noble family lineages,” Bedivere answered, returning the map to its case. “I think that is enough battle strategie for today, please return these to where they belong Lucan, I will see you at the sup.”

Lucan tried to reply, but before he could his mentor was gone, out the door and likely make his way quickly down the long hall to his chamber. Lucan began gathering up the scrolls and books, wondering what he had done to upset Bedivere so badly.

Lucan was twenty one when he learned that his brother was his brother.

It had only been a few months since Lucan and Bedivere had joined Arthur Pendragon in his crusade for the throne. Because of this, neither of them were fully trusted by the other men at arms, and were never allowed to do any missions on their own. On this particular occasion, Lucan was assigned to a scouting mission alongside Ser Lanval.

They had spent the last three days riding and walking ahead of the rest of the horde on their way to Dolorous Gard. The two of them were currently on foot, making their way through the waterway into the castle. Luckily, neither of the two men wore particularly bulky armor and were able to squeeze through the bars with particular ease.

“I thought this place was supposed to be difficult to enter,” Lanval whispered as he pulled himself onto a stone platform at the maintenance entrance to the waterway. “The last man who tried to scout it out said the moment he got past the bars he was attacked by twenty knights the moment he got into the keep.”

Lanval turned back to Lucan with a grin, but then clammed up, seeming to remember who he was talking to.

“Perhaps the Lord who lives here thought that would be enough to scare off anyone trying to siege his castle,” Lucan suggested, climbing up after Lanval who was working on breaking the lock on the gate between them and the actual keep.

“Perhaps,” Lanval responded, the gate swinging open, Lanval barely managing to stop it from slamming against the stonewall of the stairwell it lead to. “We can think about that after we figure out how many people are defending this place, and if it has any weak points.”

“Right, mission first,” Lucan said solemnly, following closely behind Lanval as they made their way up the stairs into the castle proper. They silently made their way through the castle, keeping a careful eye out for guard patrols, or servants working in the early hours of the morning. Surprisingly however, not only did they not come across any servants, but they didn’t find any guards either. The two men had found a small room with only one entrance in the middle of the wall.

“Okay, so are we in the wrong castle or something?” Lanval asked as he closed the door behind him. “Even if the last scout exaggerated how hard it was to get in, I doubt they were completely lying.”

“I agree, but this is definitely Dolorous Gard,” Lucan said, pulling out the map that he had in his travel bag, laying it out on the dusty ground. “And it’s only been about a week since the last scout, so, any ideas?”

“Two, maybe three if we want to get a little crazy” Lanval responded curtly, drawing his bow and knocking an arrow as he watched the door. “Lord Brandon might have decided to move his entire household to an allies keep after trying to kill the king. Option two is that a group of raiders could have wiped out all of the soldiers, taken the servants, and buried the bodies after cleaning up the blood. Yes, before you say it, I know that’s far fetched.”

“What’s option three?” Lucan asked, cocking his eyebrow at the older knight.

“Well, it’s possible that the faeries of the Lake to the north came down and whisked the people away to their home,” Lanval answered, shrugging his shoulders after he was done.

“That, is even more far fetched than the second option,” Lucan chuckled, though he did see the sacred fae lake marked on the map a little to the north of their location.

“Aren’t you the one who’s brother is a sorcerer?” Lanval asked humorously, looking over his shoulder at Lucan who was looking at him with shock and utter confusion.

“I-I don’t have a brother,” Lucan said, trying to keep his attention from the map. “Why would you think I did, especially one who was a sorcerer?”

“You really don’t know?” Lanval asked, lowering his bow and fully turning to face the squire. “I mean, you look exactly like he did when he was your age.”

“Wait, are you talking about Bedivere?He’s my cousin, not my brother.” Lucan said, laughing everything off, but when Lanval didn’t follow suit, he began getting nervous. “Why do you look like you know something that I don’t Ser Lanval?”

“Lucan, haven’t you ever noticed that Bedivere’s last name is The Raven, a title?” Lanval asked, putting his arrow away and placing his hand on Lucan’s shoulder. “He was disowned by your father after he chose King Urien over your father and his reputation.”

“That, that doesn’t make sense,” Lucan said, brushing Lanval’s hand off of his shoulder. “If he was my brother, he would have told me. We’ve lived in the same castle since I was sixteen.”

“Bedivere’s a man of honor and tradition Lucan,” Lanval continued, feeling worse and worse for the young man. “He cared for you, and everyone in his family. I remember before he moved back to Castle Bedrydant that he would write to your mother every week. I honestly assumed he would never tell you he was your brother, but, I thought it would be obvious to you.”

“Look Ser Lanval, I know you don’t like us, and I don’t blame you, this war is partially our fault!” Lucan said, walking over to the window at the back of the room, looking out over the courtyard. “But that’s no reason to make up lies about our father, I mean, my father, I mean, SHUT UP ALRIGHT!”

As Lucan turned around, the door to the room swun open, and a man with black hair clad in blue armor put the point of a spear to Lanval’s back. Lucan began panicking, barely able to properly see either of the two men. Luckily Lucan didn’t need to react, as Lanval still had his bow out, and managed to spin around, locking the spear in his bow and pulling the other man forward before kicking him in the chest. Unfortunately for Lanval, the other man had a good grip on his spear, and pulled Lanval down with him, flinging the blonde knight over him so that he landed hard on his back. The metal clad man swiftly moved to his hands and knees, but Lucan, having recovered from his shock at both discovering his role model was actually his brother, and his companion suddenly being attacked in what they thought was an empty castle, manages to kick the spear out of the man’s grasp.

This doesn’t seem to phase the blue knight, as he simple stands up, and strikes up a fist fighting stance, a smirk spreading across his face even as Lucan unsheathed his rapier. Lucan jabbed ineffectively at the blue knight, who, despite being in heavy metal armor, was surprisingly nimble and managed to dodge Lucan’s attacks. Lucan almost managed to stab the knights unarmored neck, but he dodged out of the way, and hooked his gauntlets around the blade and wrenched it from Lucan’s grasp. It was at this moment the Lanval, his shortsword in hand instead of his bow, rejoined the fight, whipping the blue knight around and attempting to stab him, but the knight turned slightly, deflecting the jab. The blue knight pushed Lanval back into a wall, picking up his spear as he dropped Lucan’s rapier and back against another wall, making sure he was equal distance away from Lanval and Lucan.

“So I’m afraid that I didn’t have time to introduce myself,” the knight said in a thick Alsatian accent, smiling at the two men, bowing deeply. “My name is da… Lancelot DuLac.”

“You paused, I feel like that isn’t your real name,” Lanal said, before looking at Lucan and then to his bow. “What do you think Lucan?”

“I agree Ser, most men don’t have to restart when introducing themselves,” Lucan said, nodding to his companion. “So why don’t you tell us your real name.”

“That is my real name, I promise,” the knight said, lowering his spear so that it was pointed toward the ground. “I just only learnt about it yesterday.”

“How do you learn your name a day ago?” Lucan asked, simultaneously actually confused, and trying to keep the blue knights attention as Lanval made his way over to his bow. “You definitely don’t look as if you were born yesterday.”

“Well, it’s rather complicated,” the blue knight began, flipping his spear so that it’s blunt in was on the ground so he could lean against it. “You see, I was raised by an Undyne, and thought I was Fae as well. My foster mother named me Darian DuLac, but according to a family tree I just found in my future coffin, my actual name is Lancelot.”

“Do you realize how crazy that sounds Ser?” Lucan asked, legitimately bewildered at how casually he explains all of that. “Even if you did find a coffin with a family tree in it, why would you believe that it was for your family?”

“Because a faerie told me of course!” the blue knight responded at the same moment that Lanval arrived at his bow, lifting it off the ground with his foot as he drew an arrow, immediately firing at the blue knight. Despite most certainly being surprised, the blue knight quickly moved his spear, knocking the arrow out of the air returning to a combative posture. “My apologise, I forgot we were fighting. But please, before we continue, what are your names and who you serve?”

Lucan and Lanval looked between each other, both resisting a smile as they thought about their king. They nodded to each other, and Lanval went first.

“My name is Ser Lucan, sworn knight to the lady Morgana and servant of the King of Knights Arthur Quei,” Lanval said, bowing deeply, drawing another arrow and knocking it as he stood back up straight.

“And I am Lucan Bedrydant, squire to Ser Bedivere the Raven and servant to the King of Knights Arthur Quei,” Lucan mimicked, bowing deeply as well before pointing his sword at the blue knight.

The blue knight’s eyes were wide as a circular shield now, and a massive smile had spread across his face. “You’re knight’s of Arthur Queis?” he exclaimed, tapping the blunt end of his pear to the ground, causing it to collapse into what looked like just the head of a spear with strange runes carved into it. “I was looking to join King Arthur, but I became lost along my way, and upon discovering this cursed castle decided that I should remove the curse and offer it to him if he ever came this way. I can’t believe it took so little time!”

Once again, the two men looked between each other, unsure what to make of him.

“May I ask, are you from the sacred fae lake?” Lucan asked, remembering the location that was at most a days walk from them.

“I am, have you been there?” he asked excitedly, looking between both of them. “You look like a man who would appreciate it Ser Lanval, the old gods are powerful there.”

“That does sound pleasant,” Lanval said, lowering his bow, glancing over at Lucan. “You do know that the sacred fae lake is only a days walk, and a few hours ride from here, do you not?”

“I did not,” the blue knight said, furrowing his brow. “I am admittedly quite bad with directions. I am a fair rider, and a decent fighter, but I do not know how to travel outside of the forest that made up my home.”

“You are far more than a decent fighter ser,” Lanval said, putting his bow back into his quiver. “If you truly want to serve our king, I am sure he would be more than happy to accept you, especially if you were able to empty an entire keep on your own.”

“Oh it wasn’t hard, I only had to beat twenty men before breaking the magical artifact that was manifesting the curse, causing Lord Brandon to flee into the wilderness.” The blue knight said, in the same matter of fact voice in which he had said everything thus far.

“Are you thinking the same thing as me Lucan?” Ser Lanval asked, looking over to the squire.

“I believe I am Ser,” Lucan responded, looking up at the blue knight before extending his hand forward for a handshake. “Do you have a horse Ser Lancelot?”

“Of course!” Lancelot replied, shaking Lucan’s hand excitedly. “I cannot wait to serve the once and future king, thank you so much for this opportunity!”

Lucan smiled as the blue knight shook his hand excitedly. The three men made their way down to the stables were, and mounted onto Lancelot’s white horse. They moved at walking pace, as only two of them could be mounted until they made it back to the village where Lucan and Lanval had left their horses, allowing the three of them to travel at full pace back to the horde as it marched towards what Lancelot called Joyous Gard.

Upon arrival back at camp, Lanval made sure that the three steeds were properly taken care of before heading into the center of camp where they met Ser Kay, Ser Bedivere, and King Arthur in front of Arthur’s tent.

“Hail Ser Lanval, how did the scouting mission go?” Arthur called, looking at the three gentleman, lingering on Lancelot.

“It went well, it seems that this man cleared out the entire keep,” Lanval replied, gesturing to Lancelot.

“Well now that’s impressive,” Arthur laughed, looking at the blue knight, extending his hand to his. “I am Arthur Queis, and your name?”

“I am Lancelot DuLac, it is an honor to be at your service,” he responded, shaking the kings hand vigorously.

“Well, why don’t we talk a minute in the tent brother,” Kay said, placing his hand on Arthur’s shoulder.

“Agreed, I would quite enjoy to hear how one man took an entire keep on his own,” Bedivere continued, gesturing to the king’s tent. “After you.”

Arthur, Kay, Lanval, and Lancelot all went into the large tent, Bedivere quickly following behind when Lucan grabbed his arm. The older man looked down at Lucan, his brows furrowed in confusion.

“Once you’re done, I think we need to talk,” Lucan said, looking up at the man he had once mistaken for his father upon their first meeting.

Bedivere, in his usual stoic manner nodded in response before entering the tent and closing the flap. Lucan went back to his tent, waiting for his mentor to arrive, spending the several hours that it took making sure that his equipment was properly kept, sharpening his rapier in the places that it had grazed Lancelot’s armor. Finally, long after he had run out of things to do maintenance on, Ser Bedivere arrived, looking tired and haggard.

“I am sorry that it took so long,” Bedivere said, sitting next to Lucan on his cot. “What was it that you wished to speak with me about?”

“It’s, something that Lanval said to me while we were out on our mission,” Lucan said, looking at his hands as he spoke. “At first I thought he was just trying to rile me up, but the more I think about it, the more I thought about how much sense it made. And, I just need to know. Bedivere, are you my brother?

Bedivere just looked at Lanval for a while, his stonelike face not flinching at all, but his eyes slowly became wetter and wetter until tears began to stream down his face, and Lucan no longer needed his answer.

Bedivere was fifty two when he died for his brother.

The two knights were standing in the halls of the dungeon as Lancelot was having his last meeting with his lover before the execution. Neither Lucan nor his brother were entirely comfortable with the situation, but they also knew why it needed to be done. After a long discussion, Bedivere lead the condemned up to the courtyard, leaving his brother with the other prisoner to keep them company.

After a few minutes of attempting to strike up any level of conversation, Lucan heard a shuffling sound around the corner before Ser Hector De Mares walked around the corner, stumbling slightly, almost as if he were drunk.

“Ser Hector, I thought that you’d be at the execution,” Lucan said, standing up straight and placing his hand on the hilt of his mostly ceremonial sword. “Though, I guess it makes sense that you would want to miss it, seeing as Lancelot and you are brothers.”

“Yeah, ‘at’s why I’m ‘ere,” the ginger said, grinning at Lucan. “See, a few of us aint too happy with the king’s decision.”

“Most of us aren’t happy with what’s happening Hector,” Lucan responded, walking up to his fellow night, placing his hand on his shoulder. “But, Lancelot and Guinevere’s actions directly caused the death of two other knights.”

“Those knights ‘ad it comin’,” Hector said, pulling the morning star out of his belt, haphazardly swinging it by his legs. “‘Ey got into things ‘at wasn’t any of ‘eir business.”

“They still didn’t deserve to die,” Lucan said, pulling his rapier from his sheath as Tom Lincoln rounded the corner, his bastard sword in hand.

Hector turned to Lucan, drawing the attention away from Lucan for a moment. As Hector raised his morning star to strike Tom in the head, Lucan slashed across his armored back.

“Tom, run!” Lucan shouted, backing up a few steps, taking up a fighting stance as hector turned back to the other knight, his attention temporarily away from young Tom. “There are others involved, warn Bedivere, hurry!”

As Lucan finished his warning Hector knocked the rapier out of his hand, slowly backing the smaller man back towards the end of the hall. It had been over a decade since Lucan had been in any sort of battle, and he knew that he had no chance in beating this battle hardened knight, but he also knew that he didn’t need to. All he had to do was keep him busy long enough for Tom to make it to the courtyard directly above them. Lucan managed this by dodging around the larger man’s slow yet powerful swings as his morningstar bent the bars of various cages, and broke off the stone bricks of the walls. Once they reached the end of the hall, and Lucan’s back was truly against the wall, he simply smiled up at Hector.

“What are ye smilin’ about?” Hector demanded, pointing one of the spikes of his morning star against the older man’s nose. “Ye know yer about te die, right?”

“I do, but I also know that the rest of your plot is going to fail,” Lucan replied, the smile spreading across his face even further. “And you and the other traitors, well, you’re all going to end up down here anyway.”

Bedivere was fifteen when he was told what it meant to be a knight

It was a time of great stress and turmoil in Castle Bedrydant. The great King Uther Pendragon had fallen to a murderous traitor, shattering alliances and loyalties that had held for generations. The only thing stopping the hordes of barbarous warriors of Albion from marching south and destroying everything Bedivere knew, was the Lock and Key treaty, and Bedivere’s father, Lord Bedrawd, had little faith it would hold. Seemingly more important to the Lord however, was that Bedivere was nearing the end of his squire-ship, and there was no king to bestow the title of knight upon him. Even so, Bedrawd continued his son’s education as a knight.

“What is the most important thing to a Knight?” The lord called out from his seat at the edge of the training yard.

“Loyalty,” Bedivere answered, narrowly ducking under his dueling instructors sword swing.

“To whom?”

“First the gods,” Bedivere began, parrying another blow. “Second is King, and then their country.”

“Incorrect,” Bedrawd replied coldly, keeping focused on his scroll, even as the hunk of steel the instructor called a sword clanged against his sons armor.

“Keep focused squire.”

“I’m sorry father, but I do not understand my mistake,” Bedivered raised hi hield, blocking the next swing.

“You’re order was wrong,” Bedrawd answered offhandedly. “If a knight begins a task, how should he proceed?”

“He should see to its completion, even at the cost of his own life,” Bedivere answered, swinging at his instructors chest, dinging against the breastplate. “What is the correct order My Lord?”

“Corrections will be given after the lessons,” Bedrawd answered as the instructor knocked one of bedivere’s swings out of the way. “How does a knight respond when challenged by a fellow knight?”

“He accepts it!” Bedivere quipped, striking the side of his instructors leg.

“Incorrect again.” The dueling instructor lunged at Bedivere, but the young man leaned slightly out of the way, catching the blunted sword between his arm and breastplate. Bedivere raised his sword to the soft spot under his instructors chin, the looked over to his father. “Your instructions were to defend yourself until you had answered all of the questions.”

“I was also instructed to learn the code of Chivalry!” Bedivere snapped, dropping his sword to raise his visor. “And I did, so why are my answers wong!?”

The dueling instructor took this moment to free his sword, and kick Bedivere to the ground. He placed his boot on Bedivere’s chest, and pointed his sword at the squires exposed face.

Painfully slowly, Lord Bedrawd made his way over to Bedivere, kneeling beside him. “You have memorized the words, but not their meaning.”

“Their meaning seemed clear to me.”

Bedrawd sighed, closing his eyes before speaking again. “You accept a duel from you equal, buta knight will not always be your equal. You will be a Lord one day Bedivere, and few knights can claim the same. And though the code says to keep the faith once, there are two separate instances where it declares your liege Lord as an authority.” Bedrawd stood, returning to his seat.

“What if there is not King?” Bedivere asked as his instructor removed his boot from his chest.

“Without a king, their is not knight,” Bedrawd answered, returning to his scroll. “However, there is always and heir.”

“Apparently not.”

“Or so it seemed,” Bedrawd said, rolling up the scroll. “Lord Oer’s son has claim to the throne thanks to an engagement to the late king’s daughter Morgana. Lord Oer, in his wisdom, believes that there are some treacherous Lords who would challenge his claim, and has thusly summoned those loyal to Uther and his will to Rheged.”

“Was it the king’s will to put Urien on the throne?”

“Doubtful,” Bedrawd answered, a small grin spreading across his thin lips. “It is mine however.

Bedivere was seventeen when he was told he was a Knight.

Lord Bedrawd was neither the only, nor the first to swear fealty to the boy king. Still, he was the most devout in aiding his ascension. While most lords and their sons feasted and made themselves drunk at Lord Oer’s expense, Bedivere and his father brought gifts and council. As such, when they did make an appearance, they were sat at the king’s table.

“How do you advise we proceed Bedrawd?” the raspy voice of Lord Cynfarch Oer asked over the music and shouting of the hall. “The oaths have all but ceased, and the lords we have are severely outnumbered compared to the other would-be kings.”

“It’s time the king began a campaign to take his throne by force. If we mo…”

“Did you not hear the outnumbered part?” Cynfarch laughed, “I thought you were supposed to be some kind of brilliant strategist.”

“If we continue waiting, our numbers will only diminish,” Bedrawd retorted couldly, taking a drink from his goblet. “Your concerns are justified, however, I see few other options.”

“Well let me hear those then!”

“They are fool hardy my liege,” Bedrawd began, his tone stiffening. “In the time it would ta…”

“Bah!” Cynfarch said, waving his hand dismissively. “Boy!”

“Me?” Bedivere asked, having been watching the two men attentively.

“Yes you!” Cynfarch barked, pointing his bony finger at Bedivere. “You’re father must discuss these plans with you!”

“Of course Lord Regent,” Bedivere answered nervously.

“What are these ‘fool-hardy’ plans your father speaks of?”

Bedivere looked over to his father for approval, but he was giving him a pointed look instead. When Bedivere returned his attention to Lord Cynfarch, he made a decision.

“Well, my father is correct my liege. Most of the plans we discussed were not feasible,” Bedivere answered, receiving a nod from his father. “However, one plan could work, though it would require a great deal of patience.”

“Please ignore the boy my lord, he si…” Bedrawd began, acid his speech.

“Quiet Bedrawd!” Cynfarch interrupted, not taking his sunken eyes off of Bedivere. “Continue boy.”

“The most important thing now is strengthening the kings claim, so we should begin searching for the Lady Morgana, as well as any survivors of the late King Uther’s court,” Bedivere started, keeping his voice low, but still audible over the crowd. “However, as my father said, the lords will grow tired of waiting, and might find themselves a new king. To avoid this, you need to make theme rely on you. Now, what do you have that few others do.”

“Control of the border,” Cynfarch answered,a toothy grin spreading across his face.

“This has gone far enough!” Bedrawd interrupted, but before he could say more, Cynfarch put one of his fingers to his mouth.

“We will send forces into Albion, carrying banners of Britanian as well as Albion houses. Have them raid villages of powerful lords as Albions, and take smaller ones as Britanians. It will incite panic, and civil war. The lords we have will gladly begin paying whatever you ask for protection, and there are bound to be Albions who will ask you for aid in their war.”

“My liege, I can not let this go further!” Bedrawd snapped, his pale blue eyes flaring in rage. “The Albions may be oafs, but they know war. The risk of them breaching the border is too high!”

“Which is why we will only strike weaker houses as Britanians, and use their banners to attack the greater lords!” Bedivere retorted, doing his best to keep his voice steady.

“And what of the other border lords?” Bedrawd demanded, turning his nose up at his son.

“We will request their allegiance in person to show our dedication of course,” Cynfarch interrupted, taking both men by surprise. “Bedrawd, I will put you in charge of the raids, I expect battle plans by the end of the month. And Bedivere, pack your bags, you will be taking Urien to the Keys on the morrow.” Cynfarch clapped his hands together, his smile stretching his loose skin surprisingly tight across his face.

As Lord Cynfarch commanded, Bedivere and the young Urien began their journey west to the Keys, along with seven guards and their squires. Luckily, they never needed their weapons except for hunting food, which was rarely successful. Even so, the fortnight of travel was fairly comfortable.

“Announce yourself!” a guard called down as they approached the two towered keep that House Queis called home.

“I am Bedivere Bedrydant, escort to Urien, the True King of the Kingdom of Camelot!” Bedivere called back, raising the triple ravens. “I sent a messenger raven to inform Lord Queis of our approach!”

There was no answer, but the gates opened and the party made their way inside. They were met by the family of the keep. Lord Ector was dressed in a blue sleeveless tunic emblazoned with the two silver keys of his house, lambskin trousers, and a large belt holding his naked falchion. Bedivere made note of that last detail. Both Ector and his son had bright orange hair, and even though Bedivere knew that the boy was only seven, he would have sworn they were the same age. The Lord’s wife had sandy orange hair, and wore a simple blue dress with silver accents. In her arm was a small boy Bedivere knew to be on year old, with blonde hair and bright golden eyes. Bedivere made note of this as well.

“Welcome young lords,” Lord Ector said, extending his hand to help down Urien who gladly accepted the assistance. “I hope the journey wasn’t t’ hard on ye.”

“It was long, but no bandits dared accost us,” Urien answered, the words sounding almost humorous in his unbroken voice. He looked beyond out of place in the courtyard, being short, even for a fourteen year old, and the only person he was taller than was the baby. Still, he stood with pride as he dusted off his black velvet tunic. “We will begin business in the evening, in the meantime, point me toward you physician.”

Lord Ector was taken aback for a moment, but recovered quickly. “Kay, take our guest t’ Myrrdin.” Ector’s son nodded, giving Urien a shallow bow before leading him into the keep.

“I apologize for my liege’s behavior,” Bedivere said, bowing deeply. “He has spent the last year having Lords try to attain favor with him. It has made teaching him courtesy difficult for his father.”

“Ah,” Ector said, slowly nodding. “I guess nothin’ can be dun until the evenin’ then. I’ll ‘ave yer men a place in my barracks, an’ my stable will ‘ave yer horses fed.”

“You have my thanks Lord Queis,” Bedivere said, bowing once more. “I should attend to my liege, would you mind guiding me to your physician so we may lay the ground works for this evenings business?”

“O’ course, though ye might not like what I ‘ave t’ say.”

Lord Ector was right, Bedivere did not like what he had to say. The lord of the Keys had no desire to swear fealty to Urien, saying that Uther’s true heir was out there somewhere. Still, Bedivere did his best to remain calm and polite, saying that Urien was to marry Uther’s eldest daughter upon her discovery. Still, Lord Queis would not be swayed in the time it took them to reach the physician’s study.

“I hope you reconsider my lord,” Bedivere said, bowing his head

“I won’t,” he said simply, but somehow politely before bowing himself and continuing down the stone corridor.

Bedivere opened the door to see and old man with a long white beard wearing a green robe and a tall pointed green hat. The old man was holding Urien down on a stone table, forcing the contents of a bottle down the boy’s mouth. Bedivere wasted no time closing the door behind him and drawing his long sword.

“What are you dong?!” Bedivere snapped, the old man looking up as Urien went limp

“Woah lad,” the man said in a Britanian accent, raising his hands as if to defend himself. “It’s just a sleeping potion.”

“Prove it!” Bedivere ordered after a notable pause, heat growing behind his pale purple eyes.

“You can check his heart,” the old man said, gesturing to the boy when Bedivere’s sword cut his cheek.

“No!” Bedivere hissed, keeping his sword next to the mans face. “Drink it.”

The old man seemed shocked for a moment before a smile spread across his face. He placed the half empty bottle to his lips and quickly downed before walking over to a chair in the corner of the room. “I’ll be up in about fifteen minutes, you won’t mind waiting, I’m sure.”

As he finished his sentence, he drifted into unconsciousness. Bedivere quickly placed his head against Urien’s chest. The young kings heart was beating normally, and his breathing was slow but present. Bedivere was relieved, and he sheathed his sword. He spent the fifteen minutes examining the room. The shelves and table were full of salves, herbs, as well as potions Bedivere had never seen before. There were also stacks of books scattered throughout the room, most of which were covered in dust. It was when he began reading one of the books that he realised who the old man was.

“Well that was a lovely nap.” the old man said, stretching out his limbs. “Are you satisfied now Bedivere?”

“You’re the wizard,” Bedivere said, awestruck as he put the book down. “You’re Merlin.”

“I’m more of a sorcerer really,” Merlin replied, standing from his seat. “Not unlike yourself.”

“What?” Bedivere asked, staring at the seemingly unfazed man. “Wait, how do you know my name?”

“I’m a sorcerer, keep up now,” he replied, waving his hand over Urien, blue and red lights coalescing around his body before fading away. “Now let me look at you.”

Merlin grabbed Bedivere’s face, turning it so he could have a better view of him.

“What are you doing?”

“The dark hair and gaunt face are definitely from your father,” the sorcerer said, completely avoiding the question. “The slightly pointed ears, those hooked eyebrows, and those purple eyes though. You’re mother’s grandmother was a Pendragon if I remember correctly.”

“Yes, she was,” Bedivere answered, escaping the sorcerer’s grasp. “I do not see why you are so focused on me.”

“Yes, of course, you’re here about Urien,” Merlin said, waving his hand dismissively as he walked to one of the tables.

“Exactly!” Bedivere exclaimed, excitement entering his voice. “I know you are working for the Queis, but if you swear allegiance to Urien, then you will serve a king again.”

Merlin was quiet for a moment, mumbling something about bees before returning back to Bedivere. “I’ll consider it.”

This was enough for Bedivere, and was that kept him going as his young king failed to gain the allegiance of either of the other Border Lords. His hope slowly began to fade when Merlin finally arrived to serve as Urien’s official advisor.

Bedivere was knighted before his father finished his battle plans for the raids. Bedivere was disallowed from using his family's crest, but Bedivere didn’t mind, he took his king’s sigil as loyalty to the king was more important than anything else.

“I promise to you my sword so that I may cut down your enemies, and I give you my hand so that you may raise up your allies.”

Bedivere was thirty five when he learned what it meant to be a knight.

It had been a week since Queen Morgana and her sisters went missing. The court were left with two grim options to consider. Either they had been caught up in one of the battles that now raged across Albion, or, they were being held for ransom by one of the many warlords. Hoping for the best, Bedivere and his squire Lucan Bedrydant, to the camp of the warlord the people called King of Knights. Bedivere cald himself in the heavy black armor that was common among his king knights, while his brother wore simple chain and a padded yellow shirt witha red Alphyn stitched into the breast. As they approached the camp there was a guard blocking the road. He wore heavily battle scarred armor, a longsword at his hip, a helmet that obscured all but his golden eyes, and a blue tabberd with the crest of house Queis emblazoned on it.

“Hail and well met!” The Knight called out, surprisingly in a Britanian accent. “What is your business here?”

We seek an audience with the so called King of Knights!” Bedivere answered, pulling his horse to a stop.

“And who are you to seek such a thing?” The knight asked, his voice light and humorous.

“I am Ser Bedivere the Raven, knight of the True King Urien Oer of Rheged,” Bedivere began, keeping his voice level yet commanding. “And this is my squire, Lucan Bedrydant.”

The knight gave the two brothers a shallow bow. “I am afraid I have two more questions for you good knight.”

“On with them then.”

“Why does a knight of Urien seek an audience with the King of Knights?”

“We have reason to believe that your king has custody of our queen, and if this is the fact of the matter, we intend to retrieve her.”

“A good answere Ser Bedivere,” the knight replied cheerfully. “And my last question, I was under the impression that the title the people used for Urien was the Bandit King, not the True King.”

Bedivere drew his sword, pointing it at the gap between armor and helmet. “Never insult my king ever again you filthy mong…” Before Bedivere could finish, the knight lunged forward, letting Bedivere’s sword deflect off his breastplate. The knight grabbed Bedivere by the arm and pulled him off his horse, disarming him in the process.

Bedivere feared that the fight would be over before he had the chance to get off the ground when his sword landed next to him. He stared at it for a split second before grabbing the hilt and standing to his feet. The knight had drawn his own sword, and had positioned himself so his shield was toward Lucan, but his blade was still trained on Bedivere.

“Stay back Lucan!” Bedivere called out as he swung at the knight. Their blades clashed together for an instant as the knight deftly parried Bedivere’s strike. Bedivere barely had time to center himself when the knights lunge came towards him, denting his breastplate. Bedivere leaned into the blow, twisting to his right, taking another swing, but the knight quickly moved his shield to deflect the blow. The two knights danced like this for several minutes, twisting around each other, at one point Bedivere positioned his opponent between him and his squire. Lucan took this opportunity to ride up behind the knight, swinging his sword down at the gap between his pauldron and his helmet. The knight was not surprised however. He leaned slightly to the right, letting the blad hit his pauldron, and grabbing his arm and throwing him off his horse between Bediver and himself.

“You should teach your squire not to attack from behind,” The knight said, the jovial tone gone from his voice.

Bedivere spat a string of Arcane words that Merlin had taught him, swinging directly for his opponents sword, shattering the blade. Wasting no time, Bedivere lunged at his opponent, but before the tip of his blade could reach its mark, an iron bar twisted around his joints, locking him in place.

“That’ll be enough!” a familiar female voice shouted from behind him.

“You’re kind of undermining my point Morgana,” the knight said, walking out of Bedivere’s reach, moving Lucan’s horse out of the way as well.

“I’m not a knight, I have no devotion to honor,” The woman replied, walking into Bedivere’s view. It was indeed his queen, her loyal knight Lanval by her side, and an iron rod awash in purple light in her hand. “And neither should you with your life on the line.”

The knight laughed, lifting his helm from his head, two toned golden hair falling onto his breastplate.

“You’re Arthur Queis…” Bedivere said, still unable to move.

“The King of Knights?” Lucan asked, still sprawled out on the dirt.

“The one and only,” Arthur agreed, giving an overly grand bow. “I’m sorry for not introducing myself sooner, I simply enjoy seeing how I am viewed when people think I’m a knight and not a king.”

“What are your findings?” Bedivere asked, the acid clear in his voice.

“Today specifically?” Arthur asked, smirking at Morgana, then turning his attention back to Bedivere. “I get to see honor and loyalty in its full extent. I understand your mission, but I’d like you to stay for a while, and see the only person Morgana is in the custody of is herself.”

“Excuse me?” Bedivere asked, befuddled by his enemy’s words.

“Yes, excuse me?” Lanval echoed. “He just tried to kill you!”

“Because I insulted his king,” Arthur said, a soft smile painting his expression. “That kind of loyalty should rewarded. Morgana, if you wouldn’t mind?”

Morgana eyed the king of knights for a moment, and then sighed. “Ser Lanval, could you disarm them for me?”

“Of course.” Lanval started by taking Lucan’s sword and scabbard, promising to take care of it, and the moved on to Bedivere, struggling to pry the sword from his grasp.

“Traitor,” Bedivere spat under his breath.

“My oath was to my queen,” Lanval replied as he resorted to pulling of Bedivere’s gauntlet to free the sword from his grasp. “Finished m’lady!”

The rod in Morgana’s hand ceased glowing, and Bedivere regained control over his body.

“Thank you my Queen,” Bedivere said politely, bowing to Morgana before helping his brother to his feet. “Are you alright?”

“I am fine brother,” Lucan answered in the same hushed tone.

“Lanval, would you ask Kay to find a tent up for Urien’s emissaries?” Arthur asked as he gathered up the two horses leads. “And tell him not to give him the smallest one possible if he could be so kind.”

Bedivere and Lucan followed their former fellow through the camp, passing soldiers, smiths, and peasant folk alike until they came upon the behemoth that was Ser Kay. He was a boisterous man, and Bedivere immediately disliked him, and it seemed the feeling was mutual as he placed Bedivere and his brother in what he described as the second smallest tent possible.

When evening fell a messenger came to invite the brothers to sup with the king, but they declined as they did not want their rations to spoil, or, that was their excuse at least.

It was late into the night, after Lucan had gone to bed, when he arrived, clad in those green robes, and that ridiculous pointed hat atop his head.

“There you are!” Merlin said, his voice calm and energetic as ever. “I never expected to find you here.”

“Nor I you,” Bedivere replied, staring incredulously up at the fellow sorcerer. “What are you doing here? How did you sneak past the guards?”

“I didn’t,” Merlin answered matter of factly. “I serve their king after all.”

“You’re a traitor as well then!?”

“Never, the only oaths I swore were to house Pendragon,” the sorcerer replied as he sat down on Bedivere’s co. “And now, all six heir are together. I guess I’ll have to bet on one horse now.”

Bedivere turned, holding himself back from striking his aged mentor, but when he turned back to question him, he was gone.

“Damn old man and his cryptic shit.”

Bedivere was thirty six when he became a knight.

Bedivere and Morgana had spent the last few months traveling, delaying the return to Rheged as long as possible. It was Bedivere’s idea, but Morgana ended up urging him forward as much as he did her. Now that they had finally arrived, they both sat on their horses, paralyzed, staring up at the black iron portcullis.

“Ready?” Morgana asked, giving her friend a nervous smile.

“As I’ll ever be,” Bedivere answered, steeling himself before calling out. “Hail Rheged! I, Bedivere the Raven, have returned with Queen Morgana La Fey, as requested by King Urien Oer!”

There was a long pause, that must have only been a minute or so, but felt like years to Bedivere. Finally, without a word from the guards, the portcullis was raised. Bedivere looked to Morgana who gave him a nod and urged her horse forward. Bedivere drew his sword, following close behind her as they entered the gray, dusty courtyard. Luckily, Bedivere’s sword was not necessary, as two stable hands greeted them instead of knights. As their horses were taken away to the stables, they were escorted through the grim hallways to a large sparsely decorated study.

Sitting behind a white wooden desk at the back of the room was Urien, his pale brow furrowed as he glared across at his two former subortinates.

“You look well my lord,” Bedivere lied, kneeling before him.

“Shut up Raven!” Urien snapped, starring rays of ice into Bedivere’s head. “Don’t think I don’t know of your betrayal! Both of you!”

“I admit that I betrayed you as my king,” Morgana began, stepping closer to him. “But I have not betrayed you as my husband, or your pure intentions.” She continued, reaching for his hand, but he pulled away, abruptly standing from his seat.

“I don’t give a damn about that! I want a crown, and you were supposed to give it to me!”

“The circumstances were out of her control Lord Oer!” Bedivere called, rising to his feet. “When the Lady Morgana heard that her brother survived, she had to run to his side and…”

“Quiet Raven!” Urien snapped, cutting Bedivere off. “You swore your oaths to me! You are a knight because of ME!”

“I have a title because of you!” Bedivere snapped back. “I am a knight through my own actions!”

“How dare you speak to the True King in such a manner?!”

“You are no true king!” Morgana interjected, advancing around the table to Urien, who shrank back into his seat. “You claimed the throne through deception! Now that my brother is the heir apparent, all but the most stubborn will stay loyal to you. If you value your people, you will denounce your claim to the throne, and return Rheged to guardian of the Eastern Lock, and not at all the capital!”

“I see no reason to make this easy for you,” Urien whined, trying to straighten up in his chair. “I gave you my trust, and you ran it through the mores like a pack mule.”

“As I said Urien, I did not betray the oath I made you,” Morgana answered, maintaining

her position above Urien, but lightening her voice as she lied through her teeth. “And I would like nothing more than to continue being your wife.”

“And what of the treacherous knight?” Urien proclaimed as he rose back to eye level with Morgana.

“You shall have everything that I promised you,” Bedivere answered, drawing his sword, and holding it out to Urien. “My sword, to slay your enemies.”

Urien eyed the hilt of the blade before tentatively taking it in his hand. “There is still one more promise you have to fulfill,” Urien chuckled, a large grin spreading across his face, and he turned to Morgana, as if to say he’d won, but she refused to meet his gaze, and when he looked back Bedivere was kneeling, his left hand placed on the desk, and his purple eyes glaring up at Urien.

“You will have to figure out how to raise up your allies with it, but my hand is yours.”

Bedivere was sixty six when he ceased being a knight.

The battle was long and bloody, and there had been no victors, but that was behind them. Now, Bedivere was riding as fast as he could, his king bleeding out on the back of his horse. He pushed through the thick forest underbrush, barely able to see by the dim light his false hand was giving off, and he almost gave up hope when he suddenly broke through the treeline onto the rocky shore.

“Morgana! Morgana!” Bedivere called, jumping from his steed and grabbing Excalibur. “Morgana, where are you!?”

“I’m here Bedivere!” She answered, coming out from the darkness surrounding the water. “You’re covered in blood.”

“It’s not mine,” Bedivere responded, walking to the back of his horse, trying to pull his still fully armored king off. “Please help me.”

“Of course,” she said, walking to the horse's flank.

The two of them struggled getting him off the horses flank, and slowly yet hurriedly carried him towards the water.

“Camelot, Camelot can’t…” Arthur moaned, squirming in their arms. “Morgause? Is that you Morgause?”

“What happened to him?” Morgana asked, staring at the large gash that began at his shoulder and ended at his hip.

“Merlin was right. The boy brought more dread to Camelot than we could handle,” Bedivere answered, kneeling by the small rowboat Morgana had prepared for their journey. “Are you sure this will work?”

“No,” Morgana replied, stepping into the boat, Bedivere helping her move her brother in with her. “Even if it does, it won’t be fast.”

“Well, let’s not make it take any longer,” Bedivere said, beginning to push the ship off when Arthur grabbed his wrist.

“Excalibur,” he croaked, his gold eyes staring through Bedivere.