The Flower of King and Knights

Ghosts of the Past

Kay stretched his legs in his old bed , "God it's been years since I've slept here." The old cot was dusty and smelled odd, but it still felt better than the elaborate bed that was his in personal bedchamber. He crossed his legs as he laid back, his head resting on his arms.

Merlin was looking at the bows and arrows that had broken from their old age. "I'm glad you're eager to be back home."

“Why not? It's not like we haven't wanted this for how long. A thousand years?"

"One thousand, five hundred, and sixty-eight years, fourteen days, twelve hours, thirty-five minutes, and thirty second. Roughly," said Bedivere. He was standing near a wet stone as he sharpened his blade. His brooding demeanor made Merlin and Kay apprehensive of including him for this journey.

Kay rose from his cot. "Bedivere, is everything all right?"

"Everything's fine." Bedivere looked at his blade, thumbing the blade to test its sharpness. "Damn thing still needs work," he muttered to himself.

Merlin looked at the man with great empathy, the thought of what he went through, losing a brother and then being the one to throw the sword into the lake. He saw men break down from this kind of pressure, and yet Bedivere still soldiered on. Each war he joined, fighting, killing, all without end. The sweet boy who became the noble knight was now a bitter shell of the man he used to be.

Merlin knew why Bedivere joined them. Vengeance, simple vengeance, the chance to maybe find peace to his nightmarish existence. The visions of Camlann still haunted his dreams. Kay knew this truth as well, but he wanted to think that his friend was still there, still the same Bedivere that he knew.

"I'm going to check the other rooms. Make sure we don't have any trespassers in the castle." Bedivere grabbed the blade and sheathed it as he left the room. Kay looked at Merlin.

"Don't say anything to him." The sorcerer's voice made the knight want to speak out, but prudence made him remain silent. "You weren't there when that wicked day was made true."

"You know why I wasn't there. And you damn well know that I regret not being there."

"I know, I know, my good knight. But you didn't see Bedivere when he threw the sword into the lake. My God, he looked like he committed the worst form of treason imaginable. His whole body seemed to ache in some kind of unknown pain that is well beyond the knowledge of Heaven and Hell combined."

"But Arthur..."

"It doesn't matter. That sword represented an ideal as much as the man who wielded it. And throwing it into the lake killed that ideal. More than what Mordred did."

Kay growled at the name. "God if I had the chance. I'd strangle that bastard's neck."

"I think you may still get that chance."

Bedivere journeyed through the dark halls of the castle as he looked for any wanted visitors. The smell of dust and decay was strong as it mixed with the night air. Small scratches from the scampering of mice and lizards echoed softly against the hall walls. Bedivere hated this form of silence. It allowed the voices and cries to return. His thoughts returned to that day. That hellish day of destiny. When men, steel and flesh met and tore each other apart. The faces of the lost tore through his mind like his blade that day. Mordred's legions of Saxons, Germans, Danes, Geats, Swedes, Huns, Gauls, and all companies of lords who sided with the traitor from all of Britannia howling as they charged Arthur's forces.

So many brave knights on both sides fell in that brutal battle. And yet the two men who led both hosts were the last to fall. He began to see Arthur and Mordred meet in mortal combat when he forced himself to forget that day. Too many nightmares reminded him of the event. Sweat was already beading as he returned to the castle hall. It began to break his resolve and Bedivere began to cry silently.

"Are you all right my friend?" Kay walked towards Bedivere as the moonlight hit his face.

"Yes, just...contemplating." Bedivere wiped the tears from his eyes and cheek.

"If you want, I can search the halls for intruders. And you…"

"No! No, I..."

"Bedivere, I know you and the others never liked me that much. But please don't lie to me, I know you're in pain.  Hell, Hector can see it in your face."

"You weren't there Kay." Bedivere's voice was filled with pain. "You weren't the one who threw the sword back. When the sword, when it touched her hand, it was worse on Arthur's heart than Guenevere sleeping with..."

"Don't utter that name here! The vermin deserved a worse fate than what he’s had."

Bedivere was silent. He tried to not think, clear his head, regain his composure.

"I'm sorry," Kay said solemnly. "I know you two were close friends."

"We were both squires together, remember. Learned how to be knights, how to fight, how to kill, how to serve and live with honor. He could've been the greatest knight. For a while he was the greatest. He bested you, Gawain, and me in one fight. Hell he almost bested twenty knights at the same time."

"Yeah, I remember that day. He was glowing from those victories as if his soul was on fire. I noticed that she was even glowing after that day too."

"Who?"

"Her." Kay's voice was acidic as he thought of the whore and the destruction she had wrought upon them.

Bedivere was silent as he thought of the queen. It was tragic twist to how as a squire he loved her as every man did throughout the kingdom, but now all he had was a deep hate that was potent to shield him from the cold air within the castle's walls. The memories of guards, knights and friends, all cut down by Lancelot when he rescued the queen from the stake. The bodies of Gareth and Gaheris laying on the ground, bleeding onto the ground. Bedivere wondered how things would’ve been different if the two had not been killed on that night?

A heart-breaking scene to have witnessed. And yet, he couldn't help but feel some sense of admiration for the man who committed such a treasonous act. Against all odds and chances of success, one man charged into a fortress to save the woman he loved. Testing his skill and limitations, sacrificing his honor, and all for one woman. Bedivere couldn't help but see Lancelot still a true knight, even when he betrayed king and country. It was a unique form of treason, but treason nonetheless. Though none could have seen the greater betrayal would follow.

"I think all that can be said, has been said my friend," the knight told Kay.

Kay was reluctant to agree. "I guess you have a point."

"Come, there are a few more rooms I want to check before I feel comfortable to sleeping here again."

The two journeyed through the rooms more to reminisce about old times than searching for hidden foes. Much had changed within the fortress, though they still felt as if they were home again. Kay found his old bedchamber, the bed fallen into disarray and broken onto the floor, and the saddle he rode when he broke his sword at the tournament was still in good condition. He picked it up and could smell the leather against the dust inside the room.

Bedivere found the room of his brother, Lucan, and those of Gawain and Palomedes. He even found the room Iseult's used when visiting there court. Here she and her lover Tristan would engage in the acts of love now legendary throughout the lands.  Bedivere even remembered how he and Lancelot first came to resent each other when he blamed Lancelot for Tristan's death. Three bouts of jousting quickly ended to feud, Bedivere saw the scabbard on a table that was given to him by Lancelot afterward as a token to repair their friendship. Bedivere held the dagger in his hand as he tried to find some part within him to forgive his friend. But even after so many years, all he had left was his hate. The scars were too much for the knight to overcome.