KingJonandQueenDany

Now onto the more ridiculous criticism: God forbid Mozart isn't played by a fully white man. Yet again, people are clutching their pearls for no reason. He's still played by a good actor, and a gorgeous one at that. If anyone is irritated that Will Sharpe is portraying Mozart, then just get a grip. He's acting. He's doing his job.

Whether you admit it or not, it is fucked up to be outraged at a half Japanese man playing Mozart.

Some people on YouTube, when I have commented about how this Amadeus version is a play ADAPTATION even had the audacity of replying to me "but I was in the play and the dialogues aren't like those in the trailer!". My guy... do you even know what an ADAPTATION is? Are a screenwriter? Do you know how much our beloved movie differs from the source material? Mh? Do you REALLY KNOW?

Queen Guinevere's Maying, oil on canvas (ca. 1897) John Collier (1850–1934) depicts a scene from the Arthurian legend where Queen Guinevere and her court ride into the woods to gather flowers for the spring celebration. The lush greenery and bright blooms capture the season in the classic Pre-Raphaelite style.

He stands—practically bounces out of his chair—and then sways, very slightly. He catches himself on the table. Guenevere doesn’t miss the way he swallows and stares at the plate he’s left behind.

“Your majesty,” she says, watching his face, “are you well?”

Now his head snaps up. “Perfectly,” he says, smiling, and his eyes are bright—too bright, she thinks. She opens her mouth to protest, but he announces, “My good queen, today we are going to change the world, just wait and see.”

“I’ll be waiting and watching,” she says wryly as they start down the hall. He takes her hand as they walk along, which sends a flash of surprise through her—but she doesn’t say anything more. Sometimes he is impulsive in his affections, her king, like when he leaves flowers on her vanity, or when he asks her favorites in the middle of a conversation. It’s endearing, the way he flits from thing to thing, and always with that boyish grin when she surprises him—

Suddenly he presses her hand very hard. When she looks up at him, his face is pale. “Your majesty, what is it?” she asks.

He smiles, but it’s clearly painful. “Genny,” he whispers, and then he’s falling against her, almost collapsing but his boots are scuffing the floor, trying to find his footing. She struggles to hold his weight up, wraps her arms around him like a desperate lover’s embrace.

“Your majesty? Your majesty,” she says urgently. “Arthur, what’s wrong? Are you going to faint?”

He huffs a laugh against her hair, reaching outwards—for the wall, she realizes, and tries to guide him so he can lean against the stone instead of her poor support. “I must confess,” he says, voice weak, “I do feel a little lightheaded.”

“Well, sit down,” she demands, masking imperiousness over her panic. “I’ve—I’ve heard it’s good to put your head between your legs. It’ll get the blood flowing to your head.”

He slides down the wall, still grasping her hand tightly, and she does her best to help him settle, sitting down beside him. After a moment he takes a deep breath and raises his head to look at her. “Well,” he says, “I don’t suppose I’m going to the Table this morning.”

She wants to scoff at him, but he looks so miserable, even smiling. “You’re quite flushed,” she notes, reaching for his face; and then, feeling it, “Oh, Arthur, you’re burning up.”

“Not literally, I hope,” he says, “because I feel quite cold.”

“Arthur,” she says. “Stop making jokes.”

“Do you know, this is the most you’ve called me by my name instead of your majesty?”—and there is a tease in his voice but his eyes, though fever-touched, are soft.

Footsteps round the hall, and Guenevere turns away. “Oh, Sir Kay,” she says with some relief, as the knight stops and looks at his sovereigns sitting against the wall. “The king is ill. Would you please help him back to his rooms?”

“Certainly, your majesty,” Kay intones. Arthur groans as the knight hauls him off the floor. “Not sure I was up for standing yet, Kay,” he manages, and Kay slings an arm around his shoulders.

“Please rest, your majesty,” Guenevere says.

He smiles; he’s always smiling. “Go to the meeting, Genny,” he says. “You know all the policy. Go change the world—since I’m not fit to do it today.”

“Make sure he actually lies down,” she tells Kay. Kay, already looking beleaguered—perhaps familiar with the king’s flightiness—nods.

She watches them for a moment, then shakes herself. Nothing to do but go to the meeting alone.

--

It’s a few hours into the meeting and she’s half-heartedly listening to Lionel and Sagramore argue for the twentieth time that morning when Sir Kay slips into the room. She meets his eyes with a smile, expecting him to take his seat at the Table, but instead he makes his way behind her to speak in her ear.

“Your majesty,” he says quietly.

“Sir Kay,” she murmurs, trying to keep her eye on Lionel as he gesticulates wildly. “How is the king?”

“He’s asked for you,” Kay says. “Repeatedly.”

She looks at him, astonished, but keeps her voice low. “For me? Whatever for?”

Kay looks uncomfortable. “He’s very insistent, milady. He sounded…”

Now the panic is beginning to creep up her chest again. “He sounded what?”

“Very desperate,” he says. “Ma’am.”

For a moment she’s frozen, hearing Sagramore’s reply but not comprehending any of the words. She has to make a choice.

“Excuse me,” she interrupts. Twelve heads swivel in her direction, and she clasps her hands in her lap as a way to keep hold of her composure. “Thank you, gentlemen. Something urgent has come up that I must attend to.”

“Is everything all right, your majesty?” Dinadan pipes up.

Her first instinct is to lie, but she knows that if the king’s illness is actually serious, she’ll have to tell them eventually. “I hope so, Dinadan,” she says carefully. She sweeps her gaze around the Table. “We’ll reconvene tomorrow at the same time.”

If the king is better, she doesn’t say. She can see curiosity, doubt, maybe even hostility on some of the knights’ faces—Lionel looks particularly suspicious—but she turns her back on them and leaves the room.

Kay catches up with her in the hall. “Ma’am.”

Annoyance rears its head; she had been relieved to be able to show her true feelings on her face walking alone. “Yes, Kay, what is it?”

“I was just going to escort you, your majesty,” he says, undeterred by the irritation in her voice. He pauses. “And to tell you—you did well in there.”

She glances up at him. He sounds genuine. And, now that his small kindness is extinguishing her frustration, she can admit that she likes him. There’s a steadiness about him, a quiet security that isn’t threatened by ego, so unlike the other knights. She remembers suddenly that Kay is Arthur’s cousin, the same that led Arthur to pull the sword in an attempt to find a blade for a trivial tournament. He does not seem jealous of Arthur’s position; he does what his king asks, without complaint. And now, somehow knowing that she feels inadequate in this crisis, he compliments her. What a strange man.

“Thank you,” she says, a bit awkwardly. They walk in silence for a few moments. “You must love him very much,” she says finally, as they round a corner.

The twist of a smile. “Oh, he makes me want to throttle him sometimes, your majesty,” he says. “But. Yes. I do.”

“I haven’t known him for nearly as long,” she says, fighting her own smile, “but I feel much the same way.”

She’d meant the throttling, but he looks at her for a long moment. Whatever he sees in her face, he nods at. “I’m sure you do, ma’am,” he says quietly.

--

Kay doesn’t tell her anything more about the king’s condition, just leads her to the door of the king’s room and leaves with a bow. She has to shake off the sudden apprehension she feels standing in front of the door, alone. Arthur’s voice is coming faintly through the wood, and that must be a good sign. If he was silent, she reasons, pulling the handle, then she would know something was wrong. Perhaps her fears had been misplaced. Maybe he thought of an idea and simply had to share it with her. She will feel foolish for ending the meeting early, but there are worse things than feeling foolish.

She can see the king chattering at the physician as she approaches the bed. “—just lie still, your majesty,” the physician is saying, sounding haggard, but he turns at her approach. “Ah, my queen,” he greets, bowing hastily. “I’ll leave you—I must get a few things from my apothecary—”

He bustles out of the room before she can ask about the king’s condition.

“Your majesty,” she says, turning to the bed, perching on the chair the physician had left behind. The king in nightclothes now, covered up to his waist by a thick quilt, but he doesn’t look much better than he had in the hallway—pale except for the color high in his cheeks, hair a little mussed. And, she notes, looking closer, not entirely present. He’s quiet now, not looking at her, focused on something in the distance. It’s a familiar expression—when he is really deep in thought, he’ll adopt the same look, standing still in the middle of a room—made chilling by the glassiness of his eyes.

“Your majesty,” she repeats, concerned, “you were asking for me?”—and now he seems to hear her, because his head twitches and his eyes settle on her face.

“Oh, Genny!” he cries. “Merlyn was telling me we’d lost the war in France, but I told him I’d show you to him and prove him wrong. See, Merlyn”—and he’s looking away.

“Your majesty,” she says carefully, “there’s no one here but us.”

He looks at her, blinks dazedly, and there, he seems to see her again. “You are really here, aren’t you?” he murmurs, soft, unsure, raising a hand slowly as if to touch her. “You’re not something I dreamed up?”

Oh, and what if he’s gone mad? What if the fever has taken his brain and she’s left to rule this stoic, cultureless country alone? She tries to take a deep breath. Fevers give terrible dreams sometimes, she reminds herself, and maybe this is something like that. “No, your majesty,” she answers him.

“We really did win the war in France?” His breath is shallower than usual. “Sometimes I thought we’d be fighting forever, you know, just hacking away at the country until it was a bloody piece of meat. I’m not very good with a spear but I can use a sword alright. I don’t know how many people I killed. I don’t ever want to know.”

She is stunned at how forlorn he sounds. “You won the war,” she whispers. “You won me.”

“And then we traded one kind of death for another,” he continues hopelessly, “except it was your death, because we took your choice from you. I can’t begin to apologize for that, I can’t—”

The physician returns then, shattering the moment, and she’s too much in shock still to do much of anything but get out of his way.

“Your majesty, you must rest,” he chides the king. “Here, take this, it will help you to sleep—”

He helps Arthur drink the foul-looking draught he’s brought from the apothecary. It must taste as bad as it looks, for Arthur makes a face. “Merlyn,” he mumbles.

“Rest, milord,” the physician intones, gathering up his empty bottles on the nightstand. Guenevere watches as Arthur shuts his eyes. His brow smooths over. In moments, he’s asleep, vulnerable as a child.

“Is it—” she whispers, and the physician seems to realize she’s still in the room. At his probing look she clears her throat softly. “Is it a—dangerous sickness?”

The physician—she finally remembers his name is Gaius—sighs. “It might not be,” he admits. “It’s the season for fever, milady. Several of the knights have had some form of it in the last few weeks.”

“But?”

“But,” he continues, looking more grave, “it is a higher fever than I’ve seen recently. You’ve seen his moments of delirium. If it doesn’t pass in the next day or so—”

She has no thought for her expression, too caught in the tempest of worry building in her chest, but he must see something in her face because he stops and smiles, grandfatherly. “I’m getting ahead of myself,” he says.

“His dreams,” she says woodenly, meaning to ask a question, not remembering what she had wanted to say. The physician nods as though she had made perfect sense.

“The king has had vivid dreams just about as long as I’ve known him, your majesty. The fever seems to make them more palpable. It’s not a particularly bad sign.”

She swallows, trying not to think about Arthur’s pained expression. “What can be done?”

I have to ask: how many knights/sirs show up in the round table the most? How many members are there that show up the most/canon wise? (Arther, Lancelot, Gawain, and I assume Galahad and Mordred do the most obviously) but who else shows up the most?

Or just more simply: how many knights are there in total? How often does each knight show up?

(If this is confusing I’m sorry- please and thank you!!^^)

No apologies necessary! I’m happy to answer when I can. :^)

Like most things with Arthuriana, it depends.

In the Prose Tristan, Merlin created/enchanted the Round Table to seat 13, the same as at the Last Supper, with the Siege Perilous being the chair Judas had sat in, which is why only someone worthy enough could sit in it and survive (IE Galahad).

“The great and skilfull Merlin had exhausted all the secrets of his art in the constructing of that table. Thirteen seats were placed round it in honour of the thirteen apostles.”

In the Vulgate, the knights of the Round Table originated with Uther, who then went over to Leodagan, where it’s stated there are at least 250 knights of the Round Table.

“Very great indeed was the hue and cry from the seven thousand fighting men and the weeping and wailing from two hundred fifty knights of the Round Table mourning for King Leodagan, whom they had lost.”

So either the literal physical table is absurdly colossal to seat this many people or “the Round Table” is a guild that one can join but doesn't necessarily correlate to literal butts in seats.

King Arthur himself aside, the most commonly mentioned knights of the Round Table also depends on what country the text you’re drawing on originates from or even the nature of the text itself.

For example the Italian La Tavola Ritonda, named perfectly for this conversation, is a Tristan/Isolde text, so they're the main characters with knights of the Round Table introduced in the Prose Tristan as the most prominent secondary characters including Palamidesso (Palamedes), Dinadano (Dinadan) and Amorotto (Lamorak). However the story does cover the entire fall of Camelot, so all the characters you mentioned also appear: Calvano (Gawain), Lancilotto (Lancelot), Mordarette (Mordred), Galasso (Galahad), etc, they’re just not as cool and important as Tristan (according to this text).

In the Welsh Mabinogion, a multitude of characters exclusive to Welsh mythology have significant page time. There are a few predominant ones you may already recognize: Gwalchmai (Gawain), Cei (Kay), Bedwyr (Bedivere), Owain (Yvain), Peredur (Perceval), and Geraint (Erec) with mention in the Welsh Triads of Medrawt (Mordred) and Trystan (Tristan). All of these characters were adapted into many subsequent stories/languages for centuries to come, plus continental characters Lawnslot (Lancelot), Galaad (Galahad), and Bort (Bors) were retroactively included in the Welsh Triads for narrative consistency.

The romances of Chretien de Troyes and the subsequent Perceval Continuations added a lot of characters for the first time that show up repeatedly throughout the stories, such as Gawain’s brothers Agravain, Gaheris, and Gareth, the unruly/wild knights Sagramore and Dodinel, and possibly Meleagant (unclear if he or Welsh counterpart Melwas came first, doesn't really matter for the purpose of your question but he's worth mentioning). All of these knights reappear in the aforementioned Vulgate, La Tavola Ritonda, and Le Morte d'Arthur as well as modern retellings and adaptations.

So! I hope that answers your question, sort of. There are literally hundreds if not thousands of characters but having read pretty broadly I would say these knights are the most common. Their stories were adapted repeatedly in Medieval times from Welsh to French to German to Italian to Norse etc for Arthurian enthusiasts around the world. You can find Medieval adaptations/localizations of, say, Geraint/Erec and Enid or Owain/Yvain and Laudine romances in literally like 6 or 7 different languages, not to mention both knights are included in the Vulgate without their titular stories even adapted (RIP Enid and Laudine).

This 2018 French cartoon does seem to have an English version called “Arthur and the Children of the Round Table”, and it seems like the release was in July 2019, but it’s impossible to find. Not sure if it was actually released or not.

I decided to subtitle the Italian version, so that English speakers can watch this absolutely adorable animated series too.

The show is adorable, it has Arthur, Guinevere, Tristan, Sagramore, Morgana and Gawain as main characters, with Merlin, Uther, Ulfin, Morgause, Mordred and Ygerne as secondary characters as well.

Under cut you will find the subtitles of the episodes and how to download the videos.

STATUS: 6/52

Have fun!

Lancelot slaying the dragon (from King Arthur)

Depuis le début de Kaamelott il repousse cette partie de lui, l'enfance, les classes à Rome, il en parle que quand on lui pose des questions et encore les réponses sont pas grandioses. Il cache la promesse à Aconia à tout le monde, surtout à Guenièvre, et pourtant.

Et pourtant dans LA scène il admet que le problème c'est pas elle, c'est lui.

aussi je sais pas si aujourd'hui le refus d'arthur de coucher avec guenièvre a toujours un lien avec aconia, personnellement je pense que sa promesse envers elle elle est morte et enterrée depuis kv1. j'ai plus l'impression que c'est sa dépression qui parle, mais surtout, personne à part lui ne sait qu'il est soi-disant "infécond" ; tout le monde s'agite à vouloir lui faire faire un héritier, à remettre ça sur la table en permanence, et lui se traîne un truc dont il est le seul au courant et qu'il continue de ruminer sans rien avouer à personne.

quand il dit que c'est lui le problème et pas guenièvre, je pense sincèrement qu'il y a un peu de ça, en plus de sa perte évidente de libido liée à sa santé mentale. c'est un truc qui le bouffe tellement de l'intérieur, de se dire qu'il aura beau essayer ce sera peine perdue, il a pas envie de voir la déception dans les yeux de sa femme, pas envie qu'elle se dise qu'elle est là depuis le début pour rien, il a pas envie de se confronter au jugement des autres à ce sujet-là

Doggust Challenge - The kings

[GB]

Here we go again with the three kings sitting around the Round table.

Calogrenant -> English foxhound. Solid and tough dog, as the king of Caledonia is.

Léodagan -> Bouvier des Flandres (herdsdog). An impressive dog, known to be redoubtable and deterrent (but not that bad actually), just as the king of Carmélide.

Bohort -> Greyhound. Another giant dog, but kind and faithful. Excactly like the king of Gaunes.

__

[FR]

Je me suis rendue compte que j'avais oublié de poster les Semi-croustillants avant Hervé de Rinel, donc, pour la peine, je vous poste les 3 trois qui siègent autour de la Table ronde.

Calogrenant en foxhound anglais (il me tuerait s'il savait que je lui avais collé un chien anglais, mais il n'y a pas de foxhound écossais. ^^; ). Un chien robuste, endurant, tout terrain, toujours en meute ; ça ressemble quand même pas mal au roi de Calédonie (toujours présent, qui sait s'adapter et qui règne sur le pays des clans).

Léodagan en bouvier des Flandres. Encore une fois, il me fallait un chien à bouclettes et à poil foncé, donc bim ! Nous avons donc là un chien impressionnant, connu pour être redoutable et dissuasif, mais qui, en vrai, est plutôt équilibré et digne de confiance. Vous allez me dire que, sur la fin, ça dérape un peu, mais je rappelle que le gars se tape des cagettes de fraises, qu'il est constant dans son délire sur les tourelles et qu'on peut lui faire confiance pour casser les pieds à Arthur. Donc, parfait pour le roi de Carmélide.

Bohort en greyhound. Parce qu'il me fallait un chien plus grand que Léodagan (car, oui, rappelons que Bohort est plus grand que Léodagan), mais avec un physique de crevette. Alors, certes, Bohort est une tanche à la chasse, mais il est gentil, fidèle et doux avec les enfants. Donc, c'est le chien idéal pour le roi de Gaunes (oui, oui, Bohort est roi ! :D).

___

C'est comme si les Dieux avaient déjà décidé que Lancelot devait être l'antagoniste d'Arthur, que l'un devait être tué par l'autre mais que tous les deux luttaient contre ce destin. Ni Arthur, ni Lancelot ne souhaitent la mort de l'autre, mais les Dieux ont déjà décidé pour eux, parce que la légende, c'est ça et pas autrement : il faut un combat, il faut deux ennemis, il faut la victoire de l'un sur l'autre. Doomed by the narrative !!!

Et Perceval là-dedans... je me demande de plus en plus s'il a vraiment été choisi par les Dieux ou s'il n'est pas plutôt un "accident" : il était pas prévu dans la légende, mais bon, voilà, il est là quoi, il a été trouvé dans un cercle de culture (déposé par ??? pour moi, c'est comme dans la légende, une femme qui a perdu toute sa famille à la guerre et qui veut éviter que son fils devienne chevalier à son tour -> l'abandonne pour qu'il devienne fermier. Ou alors, c'est un alien), il est tombé par hasard sur Arthur dans le livre VI donc il s'est retrouvé autour de la Table ronde, sans que son rôle soit clairement établi, sans même être adoubé ! Quand la Dame du Lac dit qu'il a un fort potentiel, ça veut dire que, contrairement à Arthur et Lancelot, les Dieux ne le surveillaient pas depuis sa naissance : sous-entendu, ils viennent de s'en rendre compte, tiens ce mec bizarre à Kaamelott, il est pas si inintéressant finalement...