King Arthur
Title: n/a // Prologue
About: Set back in time of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, this is a story of Maurus, the Dark One. Brother of the legendary Galahad the Pure and son of Lancelot the Great, Maurus's right hand is possessed by the devil Beelzebub and brought shame to his family. At the age of sixteen, he leaves his home out of shame after his brother is invited to finish training at Camelot with their father. On his journey, Maurus is joined by a young blind priestess, Odila, who was excommunitcated from her church after they believed her to be practicing witch craft. In Camelot, the young man tries to find a way to free his arm--and his soul--from the devil's clutches, at the same time combatting the issues of the Court that stare him in the face.
Other: It's acutally a lot better than it sounds. I'm terrible at summarizing things... While Galahad was the son of Lancelot, there was no such person named Maurus in the Arthurian legends. Odila's character is roughly based of an 8th century nun, Odilia, who was born blind but gained sight when she was bapthized. But enough about that. This is the prologue. Enjoy cute little 6 year old Galahad. Maurus is 1 year older than him.
Prologue
The sun was beating down hard, glinting gold off the rippling waters of the large lake, but a small breeze stirred the braches of the beech tree.
A boy, no more than six years old, stood on the shore with a pile of smooth rocks in his little hand. He rubbed his finger over a stone, then snapped his arm out and flicked his wrist. The stone skidded over the surface of the lake, then sunk beneath the waters.
The boy was about to send another rock skipping over the lapping waves, but his hand froze in mid-flick.
A small, wooden boat drifted lazily on the water, urged towards the shore faster than the waves could possibly carry it.
Raising one hand over his soft brown eyes, the little boy watched as the boat drew closer. It took a few moments, but soon the boat bumped onto the shore and rested there.
Curious, the little boy stepped closer. When his boots hit the side of the boat, he leaned over the edge to peer inside.
A wizened old man, long silver hair and beard, lay in the boat. His wrinkled hands were folded peacefully over his chest. As soon as the boy’s gaze settled on the figure, the old man’s lids snapped opened and piercing blue eyes glared up at the sky.
With a strangled squeak, the six-year-old stumbled away from the boat-rocks tumbling from his hand.
The old man sat up and turned to look at the boy. “What is your name, son?”
“I-I am Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot.” The boy’s hands trembled slightly at his side, but he clenched them into fists.
Stroking his beard where his chin jutted outward and furrowing his wrinkled brow, the man began to mutter to himself under his breath. Something about a “seege” that Perry lost, a holey grail, and the pure one… A lot of words that didn’t really make sense to a young child.
“U-um, excuse me, sir,” the boy ventured-rather afraid of interrupting this brooding stranger, “but what did Perry loose?”
The grey-beard paused and stared awkwardly at the child. “I beg your pardon?” he finally asked. The old man was still seated calmly in the boat.
Galahad locked his hands behind his back and looked nervously down at his feet. “The ‘seege’, sir, that Perry lost… What was it?”
There was another, longer, pause between the two, but both were saved by the arrival of a tall young man with dark brown hair and eyes that matched the child’s.
“Galahad!” the man called warningly. He had reached the beech tree and now stood a few yards from the stranger in the boat.
“And you must be Sir Lancelot, the brave, I presume?” the old man intoned wisely, rising to his feet but remaining in the boat.
Lancelot hesitated, then bowed low. “That I am, sir, but who are you?”
The older man returned the bow, keeping his balance as the boat rocked with the movement. “I am Merlin, council to the great and glorious Arthur, King of the Britons.”
After another slight hesitation, Lancelot dropped down onto one knee. “My Lord… to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Merlin folded his hands together-pale flesh vanishing beneath his dark grey sleeves. Without even rocking the boat or stumbling, the old man took a graceful step over the edge and settled peacefully on the stony shore. “I have come in search of knights who would be willing to risk everything they have in order to follow King Arthur on his God-given quest for the Holy Grail.” Though his words were directed towards Lancelot, Merlin’s piercing eyes were staring at Galahad.
He took a deep breath, taking a few steps towards the little boy. Merlin leaned over so his eyes were level with Galahad’s. “Are you a Christian, my son?”
The little boy swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir…”
“Do you believe that Christ is the Son of God?”
Galahad’s forehead creased in uncertainty. “Of course, sir…”
Merlin nodded. “Are you training to become a knight?”
The creases deepened. “Yes, sir. My Father is training my brother and me in the ways of the knight.” A spark of energy lighted in his eyes.
“Good, good… Now, Galahad, my son… Do you believe there is evil in the word?” The old man’s face was serious, his hands still folded and hidden beneath his voluminous sleeves.
The child nodded, taking a step back. “Of course, sir…” he repeated.
Nodding in approval, Merlin let a small smile cross his face. His weathered features, however, wouldn’t release a trace of it aside from at the corners of his mouth. “Good boy. One last question: Do you believe in magic?”
Galahad’s lips parted slightly, and the little boy twisted around to look at his father.
“Look at me, my son,” the old man commanded.
Nervously, the boy’s brown eyes returned to the wizened old face. He shook his head, his eyes betraying his confusion and fear.
Merlin unfolded his hands, extending one towards Galahad. Pinched between two fingers was a white flag with a red dragon emblazoned in the middle. He displayed it to the boy, then crumpled it in his fist. In the same fluid motion, the old man flicked his wrist down and opened his fingers.
A tiny red dragon burst from the white cloth, swirling up into the air.
Galahad followed it with his brown eyes, jaw slack.
With a bright flash of light, the dragon burst into a thousand of tiny sparkles, raining back down onto the boy’s upturned face.
Giggling and scrunching up his nose, Galahad looked back down at Merlin.
The old man had a genuine smile on his face. “Well, you had better start believing in magic.”
The little boy grinned and nodded. “Yes, si-” His smile faded and he looked up when his father put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“What do you want with my son?” Lancelot demanded.
Merlin’s face went emotionless once more as he straightened up to look at the boy’s father. “A few weeks ago, I received a vision. God’s grace was hovering over one member of this household… but…” His eyebrows drew together, the wrinkles multiplying. “You’re so young…” Merlin remarked towards the boy at Lancelot’s side.
He perked up, looking intently into Merlin’s face. “Maybe you meant my older brother!”
“Galahad!” Lancelot scolded, pulling back hard on his son’s shoulder so the boy winced.
“No, Father, let me talk,” the boy stated firmly, his eyes hardening and turning towards his father. After a few seconds, Galahad’s face lightened and he looked back at Merlin. “My brother, Maurus, is only a year older than me, but he is much stronger than I am and he would be the one to inherit the family fortune.” His face was eager, and his brown eyes were full of curiosity.
Merlin frowned, one hand returning to his beard to stroke it-much like he had while sitting in the boat. “Maurus…” he muttered. “No… no, not your brother…” The old man extended a hand and let it rest on top of a mess of curly blonde hair. “God smiles on you, in this family.”
“Absolutely not!” Lancelot shouted. He pulled Galahad behind him and reached for his sword. “I am not letting you take my son on some quest-God given, or otherwise!” Despite his young age, Lancelot’s face was hard and his jaw was firm.
“I will not return to my king in Camelot empty handed.”
The knight hesitated, then let his hands drop back to his side. “Then I will go in my son’s place. I am as competent as any other knight out there.”
“Father…?” Galahad questioned, peering around his father’s side.
Merlin seemed to consider the man’s offer. “I accept,” he said finally. Rearranging his long sleeves, the old man leaned over and pulled his staff from the bottom of the boat. “Lead on, then. You can gather your belongings, but we must be off soon.”
Lancelot bowed and turned on his heel, striding wordlessly away from his son and the wizard.
Galahad looked frantically back and forth between Lancelot and Merlin. The old man was following behind the knight, but the boy remained rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth, trying to form words, but nothing would come.
Just after the two men disappeared around the beech tree, Galahad sprinted off towards the house, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could.
About: Set back in time of King Arthur and his knights of the Round Table, this is a story of Maurus, the Dark One. Brother of the legendary Galahad the Pure and son of Lancelot the Great, Maurus's right hand is possessed by the devil Beelzebub and brought shame to his family. At the age of sixteen, he leaves his home out of shame after his brother is invited to finish training at Camelot with their father. On his journey, Maurus is joined by a young blind priestess, Odila, who was excommunitcated from her church after they believed her to be practicing witch craft. In Camelot, the young man tries to find a way to free his arm--and his soul--from the devil's clutches, at the same time combatting the issues of the Court that stare him in the face.
Other: It's acutally a lot better than it sounds. I'm terrible at summarizing things... While Galahad was the son of Lancelot, there was no such person named Maurus in the Arthurian legends. Odila's character is roughly based of an 8th century nun, Odilia, who was born blind but gained sight when she was bapthized. But enough about that. This is the prologue. Enjoy cute little 6 year old Galahad. Maurus is 1 year older than him.
Prologue
The sun was beating down hard, glinting gold off the rippling waters of the large lake, but a small breeze stirred the braches of the beech tree.
A boy, no more than six years old, stood on the shore with a pile of smooth rocks in his little hand. He rubbed his finger over a stone, then snapped his arm out and flicked his wrist. The stone skidded over the surface of the lake, then sunk beneath the waters.
The boy was about to send another rock skipping over the lapping waves, but his hand froze in mid-flick.
A small, wooden boat drifted lazily on the water, urged towards the shore faster than the waves could possibly carry it.
Raising one hand over his soft brown eyes, the little boy watched as the boat drew closer. It took a few moments, but soon the boat bumped onto the shore and rested there.
Curious, the little boy stepped closer. When his boots hit the side of the boat, he leaned over the edge to peer inside.
A wizened old man, long silver hair and beard, lay in the boat. His wrinkled hands were folded peacefully over his chest. As soon as the boy’s gaze settled on the figure, the old man’s lids snapped opened and piercing blue eyes glared up at the sky.
With a strangled squeak, the six-year-old stumbled away from the boat-rocks tumbling from his hand.
The old man sat up and turned to look at the boy. “What is your name, son?”
“I-I am Galahad, son of Sir Lancelot.” The boy’s hands trembled slightly at his side, but he clenched them into fists.
Stroking his beard where his chin jutted outward and furrowing his wrinkled brow, the man began to mutter to himself under his breath. Something about a “seege” that Perry lost, a holey grail, and the pure one… A lot of words that didn’t really make sense to a young child.
“U-um, excuse me, sir,” the boy ventured-rather afraid of interrupting this brooding stranger, “but what did Perry loose?”
The grey-beard paused and stared awkwardly at the child. “I beg your pardon?” he finally asked. The old man was still seated calmly in the boat.
Galahad locked his hands behind his back and looked nervously down at his feet. “The ‘seege’, sir, that Perry lost… What was it?”
There was another, longer, pause between the two, but both were saved by the arrival of a tall young man with dark brown hair and eyes that matched the child’s.
“Galahad!” the man called warningly. He had reached the beech tree and now stood a few yards from the stranger in the boat.
“And you must be Sir Lancelot, the brave, I presume?” the old man intoned wisely, rising to his feet but remaining in the boat.
Lancelot hesitated, then bowed low. “That I am, sir, but who are you?”
The older man returned the bow, keeping his balance as the boat rocked with the movement. “I am Merlin, council to the great and glorious Arthur, King of the Britons.”
After another slight hesitation, Lancelot dropped down onto one knee. “My Lord… to what do I owe the honor of your visit?”
Merlin folded his hands together-pale flesh vanishing beneath his dark grey sleeves. Without even rocking the boat or stumbling, the old man took a graceful step over the edge and settled peacefully on the stony shore. “I have come in search of knights who would be willing to risk everything they have in order to follow King Arthur on his God-given quest for the Holy Grail.” Though his words were directed towards Lancelot, Merlin’s piercing eyes were staring at Galahad.
He took a deep breath, taking a few steps towards the little boy. Merlin leaned over so his eyes were level with Galahad’s. “Are you a Christian, my son?”
The little boy swallowed nervously. “Yes, sir…”
“Do you believe that Christ is the Son of God?”
Galahad’s forehead creased in uncertainty. “Of course, sir…”
Merlin nodded. “Are you training to become a knight?”
The creases deepened. “Yes, sir. My Father is training my brother and me in the ways of the knight.” A spark of energy lighted in his eyes.
“Good, good… Now, Galahad, my son… Do you believe there is evil in the word?” The old man’s face was serious, his hands still folded and hidden beneath his voluminous sleeves.
The child nodded, taking a step back. “Of course, sir…” he repeated.
Nodding in approval, Merlin let a small smile cross his face. His weathered features, however, wouldn’t release a trace of it aside from at the corners of his mouth. “Good boy. One last question: Do you believe in magic?”
Galahad’s lips parted slightly, and the little boy twisted around to look at his father.
“Look at me, my son,” the old man commanded.
Nervously, the boy’s brown eyes returned to the wizened old face. He shook his head, his eyes betraying his confusion and fear.
Merlin unfolded his hands, extending one towards Galahad. Pinched between two fingers was a white flag with a red dragon emblazoned in the middle. He displayed it to the boy, then crumpled it in his fist. In the same fluid motion, the old man flicked his wrist down and opened his fingers.
A tiny red dragon burst from the white cloth, swirling up into the air.
Galahad followed it with his brown eyes, jaw slack.
With a bright flash of light, the dragon burst into a thousand of tiny sparkles, raining back down onto the boy’s upturned face.
Giggling and scrunching up his nose, Galahad looked back down at Merlin.
The old man had a genuine smile on his face. “Well, you had better start believing in magic.”
The little boy grinned and nodded. “Yes, si-” His smile faded and he looked up when his father put a heavy hand on his shoulder.
“What do you want with my son?” Lancelot demanded.
Merlin’s face went emotionless once more as he straightened up to look at the boy’s father. “A few weeks ago, I received a vision. God’s grace was hovering over one member of this household… but…” His eyebrows drew together, the wrinkles multiplying. “You’re so young…” Merlin remarked towards the boy at Lancelot’s side.
He perked up, looking intently into Merlin’s face. “Maybe you meant my older brother!”
“Galahad!” Lancelot scolded, pulling back hard on his son’s shoulder so the boy winced.
“No, Father, let me talk,” the boy stated firmly, his eyes hardening and turning towards his father. After a few seconds, Galahad’s face lightened and he looked back at Merlin. “My brother, Maurus, is only a year older than me, but he is much stronger than I am and he would be the one to inherit the family fortune.” His face was eager, and his brown eyes were full of curiosity.
Merlin frowned, one hand returning to his beard to stroke it-much like he had while sitting in the boat. “Maurus…” he muttered. “No… no, not your brother…” The old man extended a hand and let it rest on top of a mess of curly blonde hair. “God smiles on you, in this family.”
“Absolutely not!” Lancelot shouted. He pulled Galahad behind him and reached for his sword. “I am not letting you take my son on some quest-God given, or otherwise!” Despite his young age, Lancelot’s face was hard and his jaw was firm.
“I will not return to my king in Camelot empty handed.”
The knight hesitated, then let his hands drop back to his side. “Then I will go in my son’s place. I am as competent as any other knight out there.”
“Father…?” Galahad questioned, peering around his father’s side.
Merlin seemed to consider the man’s offer. “I accept,” he said finally. Rearranging his long sleeves, the old man leaned over and pulled his staff from the bottom of the boat. “Lead on, then. You can gather your belongings, but we must be off soon.”
Lancelot bowed and turned on his heel, striding wordlessly away from his son and the wizard.
Galahad looked frantically back and forth between Lancelot and Merlin. The old man was following behind the knight, but the boy remained rooted to the spot. He opened his mouth, trying to form words, but nothing would come.
Just after the two men disappeared around the beech tree, Galahad sprinted off towards the house, his little legs carrying him as fast as they could.