The Flower of King and Knights

THe Quest of Sir Bedivere and Sir Llewiquin

Sir Derfel then spoke, “I have heard their new leader is not as cunning as the ones they recently had. He cheated his away into his position and has shown little resilience when it comes to being a proper leader.”

“How well does this man fight?” asked King Ector.

“As well as most men,” replied the warrior monk, “But he is not above low methods to win a fight. He is a sly bastard, one we should not underestimate.”

King Ector turned to Merlin, “What should we do?”

“You are the lord of this land, and I will not be always here to guide you.”

King Ector took a long look at the men he had to use, “Bedivere, you and Llewiquin go down there and see that this problem is no more.”

“Should we take any prisoners?” asked Llewiquin.

“Do what you see best. If these men will not follow my rule now, then why give them the chance to rise up again?”

Both men readied their steeds and move off into the Northern lands of Mercia. The lowlands mixed with the marshes, marshes intertwined with the grass plains of wild lands of the world. Llewiquin looked with wonder at the world he was in, he had heard so much of the stories of Britannia, but Avalon was the closest he had ever come to see these realms of man. Bedivere was less joyous on their journey.

It wasn’t that he showed bitterness for their quest, he showed no emotion at all. He answered Llewiquin’s questions and response politely, as he had nothing ill against the Fae prince, but he felt the desire to keep to himself, to let the world ignore his presence, and hopefully forget his existence was noticed.

A fortnight had passed since they left Camelot and both men settled within one of the many forests. The tree’s branches intertwined and left the canopy overhead with little room for light. It was hard to tell if it was day or night, and the two knights agreed to take time to rest before they continued on with their journey. Llewiquin was finishing a light meal as he noticed Sir Bedivere looking out into one of the regions of the forest. The knight was silent, as if stricken with rigor mortise before death.  It was a deep thought the Llewiquin understood well. He had seen members of his own family show such peculiar traits once they returned from war.

“How do you think it will be until we reach this castle?” the Fae prince asked.

Bedivere barely moved as he spoke, “I think another day or two, not much more than that I suppose.”

“Hmm,” Llewiquin tried to finding fitting to say, but nothing he could think of felt proper to mention.

“How many campaigns have you been on?” asked Sir Bedivere, staring off into the distance.

“I’m sorry.”

Sir Bedivere repeated his question.

“Oh, one. But nothing really happened.”

“Nothing?”

“Well, there was a rebel group calling themselves The Ravens, I never knew why they were revolting, but my uncle decided to send some men to handle them, and I was only fifteen years of age, so he thought it best to take me with him.”

“So what do you mean that nothing happened?”

“Well, when we arrived to the province that The Ravens had acquired, most were already gone. Those who remained simply disappeared into the woods and worked in more nomadic forms of chaos. Nothing that merited full military strength.”

“So you never killed a man before?”

“…Not that time, no.”

“So you have killed?”