I am Lancelot, a knight of The Round Table of Camelot, and this is my story. Not much is known about my birth, but that it must have been painful for my mother, due to the scars about my body, at least that is my reasoning, as I have had these physical memories with me for forever.

 

They are wormholes to the past, a past, that of which I do not know, and am quite comfortable not knowing. Most of the men who follow me, consider myself an able officer, and my superiors seem to think of me as a capable subordinate. Whatever it is that she went through, my mother had quite absolutely no effect on my life.

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I have seen the past, keep many great men up at night, but not me, I sleep quite well. Which is weird for a man that shed as much blood as I have. It is on nights like this, I realize that I was born with a gift, as the others say. The nights that I stand watch and hear the scream of my men in their dreams.

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Most likely haunted by an act committed the day before. What makes a man? What Subjugates a man to another man’s rule? Why are some men stronger than others? Why are some men so weak? When the act of killing is just that, an act? These are some of the very questions that seep into my mind at times like these, a Philosopher I am not, neither do I have any intention of becoming a man of the cloth. Why then? Do I think like both?

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As the wind inches closer to our camp, a foul stench soaks the air and I begin to laugh, “this air smells of death!” A voice says. “If it was death, I would know for we have both been at each other's throats a thousand times, this is something much worse.” I say with a laugh.

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In an instant the men begin to awake one by one, in cold sweat and shivers, the lesser men begin to throw up. I smile, it seems as if death might be up on us indeed.

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I shackle my waist belt and sheathe my sword, “where is Arthurius?” I ask. “At midnight prayers, I believe.” Says a voice.

On the hill just beyond us something can be seen, and it is on a horse at that. “Behold the pale rider and his name was death, if tonight be the night, I fall………., it shan’t be!” I say.

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Some of the men begin to laugh! “Come death, come!” Says a voice.”

 

“Too many times have I been in the clutches of death, too many times have I faced my own mortality, to be a warrior is to be without fear, to die with fear in your heart, is to deny yourself a chance at peace in the other life.” I say to myself.

The horse barrels toward the encampment, at an amazing speed. “Hold your arrows, it is but a single rider, perhaps they bring news of surrender.” I say to the men.

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Anyone could see that this horse rider was inexperienced. Or was it something else?  The being makes towards me with that of the pace of a lightning bolt, but my men are behind me, so I must not flinch. As soon as I am about to be trampled upon, I sidestep, grabbing the horse by its reins, jerking its head backwards and causing it to stop almost instantaneously as the rider goes flying in the opposite direction.

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In an instant the rider sprung up to its feet, with the vigor of that of a well-trained knight in battle. The rider speedily removes their hood and looks in every direction too many times to count. Until she finally fixed herself upon me, she walked towards me with the elegance of a Royal, grabbed me by both hands and said, “quickly Lancelot, we must leave before it is too late.”

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I was caught by surprise! To think that the savages can pronounce my name. Indeed, they are a people of noteworthy, I have come to respect their great resourcefulness and love for this land called Britannia, or perhaps a name such as mine, Lancelot is so powerful that it transcends languages, maybe it is that my face is so recognizable due to my many victories that none cannot do without recognizing it.

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Lancelot a voice says, what does the woman say and how is it that you can understand it?

It is none other than Arthurius the Celt born Roman, heir apparent to all that is The Isle, my friend and companion. “My friend” I say, it bamboozles me, that I am the only one that can understand this woman, as I am no member of the academic fellowship of languages.

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You know this best that academia has never interested me. I am a warrior at heart!

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“It is not your loyalty that I question my friend” Arthurius responds, “but the knowledge of the ancient arts of my people.” “Quickly” Arthurius adds! “What does she say?”

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I look at her immediately, “woman, why do you want me to go with you to wherever?” I ask, “Balor has been resurrected” she replies.

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“Balor!” Arthurius responds in a somewhat of a moment of unease to him. “What are her instructions?” The Great Arthur asks. “For her and me to get off The Isle.” I responded.

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“Then do it.” He responds! “Seize him, men.” Arthurius commands. “It seems your faith is not to die here tonight, Lancelot, the powers that be, have other hopes for you, if Balor walks the earth once more, then everything that we have come to love is in danger of perishing. This Enchantress has selected you, of all of us, Lancelot, indeed, you are special, warn Rome and whomever will listen of what is to come.” Says Arthurius. “Briorius, bring me my sword, bring me Excalibur.” Arthurius asked of the soldier.

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“When this is all said and done, bring it back to me my friend.” Arthur says with a smile, before he clubs me over the head with the hilt, leaving me in a state of disorientation.