(Source: Ystoria Trystan/Trystan ac Essyllt)

During some researching I was doing for something, I ran across this diary written by Scottish artist, Eleanor Vere Boyle. In one of her diary entries (pp. 46-47), she writes what types of trees King Arthur, his Knights and Some Ladies would be. Here is a list (which I found very amusing):

King Arthur – Wellingtonia

Sir Launcelot – Nordmanniana

Sir Bedevere – Douglas Fir

Sir Agravaine – a young Cedar of Lebanon

Sir Bors – English Yew

Sir Palamedes – Thuia

Sir Gawaine & Sir Gaheris – Cupressus Lawsoniana erecta viridis

Sir Tristram – a fine young Pinsapo

Morgan la Faye – Deodara

Sir La Cote Mal Taille – an ill-formed Lawsoniana

King Mark – a wretched ill-grown Cedrus.

Dame Bragwaine – a curious Cryptomeria Elegans

Queen Guenevere – no tree was found.

La Beale Isoude & Isoude les Blaunch Mains – Pampa tufts

References

King Mark and La Belle Iseult (Yseult, Isoude, Isolde)

Artist: Edward Burne-Jones (English, 1833-1898) 

Date: 1862

Medium: Watercolour, bodycolour and gum arabic on paper

Collection: Birmingham City Museum and Art Gallery / Birmingham Museums Trust, Birmingham, England

Alternative Titles:

A complete version of The Byelorussian Tristan translated by Zora Kipel is now available thanks to @wandrenowle!

Okay, I saw @thescrapwitch's tag just moments before I was going to make the AO3 post for this, so technically at the time of writing this is still a wip (to me they are wips until they are posted because anything could happen). So have a little look at the Tristan and Iseult (more like Tristan and King Mark) story that demanded writing over the past 24 hours.

Putting a hand under his chin, Mark drew the boy up from the floor so that he was standing before him. His face was puffy from the tears, his eyes red, yet beneath it his beauty was still untarnished. “This I will do for you, Tristan. More, I will help you pluck the seed of sin from your heart, for it is my duty and I am remiss in not seeing your struggle in the years since you came to me.”  The boy possessed such an art for storytelling, he could not be surprised that it spilled out in other ways at times. Mark thought it might not take long to break him of the habit: he seemed to lie for a reason other than self-aggrandization, else why would he tell the priest he’d lost his harp rather than spent the time in service. He only needed some aid in the path of honesty to set him right again and keep him from straying in a flight of fancy.   In a movement so tentative it must have been reverence, Tristan set his hand over the one Mark placed under his chin and slid it up to rest upon his cheek, saying “Delay not, sire. I am prepared for His punishment if thou will give it to me.” He dropped his hand from his face, clasping them both behind his back. Then he stood motionless, eyes closed, waiting as though he expected Mark to strike his face. That, he would not do.     “What punishment do you desire?” He asked. Tristan opened his eyes, surprised to be asked. “I must feel His hand raised against me,” he repeated. “Sire, please, lay His justice upon my flesh.” If a beating was what he sought for absolution, Mark would do it, though it would bring him no small pain to lay hands on him.

(the world is not prepared for the kinds of things i want to do to Tristan)