One of my "Merlin" stories. The first part anyway... Unfortunately, all the words and sentences in italics seem to have disappeared...
It was early evening in Camelot, and Arthur, Gwen, the knights and their squires, and several ladies-in-waiting were gathered before a roaring fire in the Great Hall, listening to some wandering minstrels who sang songs of love and war; and told stories of places far away. Their voices mingled with the sounds of their bagpipes, fiddles, flutes, a hurdy-gurdy and tabors, the notes rising and falling as gently as leaves in a summer breeze. Sumer is icumen in, one minstrel sang, and the knights involuntarily looked out of the windows where the autumn winds were howling and torrential rains were beating down on the whole of Camelot. Sumer is icumen in, summer has come indeed… Summer won’t come for at least another six month. Arthur too liked the singing and the stories, but above all, he wanted to hear the news these minstrels were wont to bring wherever they came. Hebban alla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic anda thu, Donal, the singer, softly sang, and looking rather flirtatious at a smiling Gwen, who blushed a little at hearing those words; but she did not look away, far from it. All the birds have made their nests, all but you and me… After a few more songs the minstrels fell silent and bowed low to Arthur and even lower to the ladies. “Splendid,” Arthur said, “please eat and drink now, and afterwards I long to hear some news you undoubtedly have.” “I have indeed, Sire,” Donal said, and again with great flourish he bowed as low as he could. The deeper the bow, the greater the reward, he always said. After everybody had eaten their fill, Gwen said she would retire for the night, and leave the men to the serious talk. “There is talk of a Black Knight,” Donal said after the ladies had left the Great Hall, “somewhere in the White Mountains, and his castle is filled with riches and the most wondrous of artefacts, or so I’ve heard. Many a knight has tried to get into the castle, but none has succeeded so far; and many have lost their lives. No, not many, all of them I’m afraid. Yes, not one of them was ever heard of again. Furthermore, only the bravest of knights can reach the castle, for the road leading to it is fraught with dangers and all but impossible tasks, or so the stories go.” All the knights were sitting close to Donal now, drinking in every word. How they longed to go on that quest, for each of them was sure to be the one to succeed. “And don’t forget,” Donal continued in his most mysterious voice, “many of the artefacts in that castle are magical and therefore priceless beyond description, but the road to the castle is guarded by a giant, a creature made of magic. Or so I’m told.” His voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper now. “No wonder everyone wants to lay his hands on that treasure: imagine the power you would get; power to conquer the whole of Albion and beyond!” “I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was just a rumour,” Arthur murmured, “but if this is true, we must act at once. I can’t allow magical objects to fall into the wrong hands. Think of all the chaos it will cause! No, the best thing we can do is to get those items and store them in the Vaults where they can do no more harm.” Not all magical items are evil, Merlin thought, frowning a little at Arthur’s words; but he was careful not to speak his mind. Gaius’ mind was racing, for he had heard those stories too, long ago, and he thought he knew who that Black Knight might be. He once read of a certain Thorolt who over two hundred years ago had fled to a castle in the White Mountains, taking a sword with him, a sword named Ælif, reputedly capable of prolonging life. “Please, Sire, may I offer myself to be the one to undertake this quest?” Mordred said as he fell on one knee in front of Arthur, head bowed, breaking the almost mystical spell that Donal’s story had woven. “I know I’ve been a Knight of Camelot for only a short while, and every other knight here is far more worthy than I could ever hope to be, but I know I can do this. Please, Sire, let me prove my worth to you and all the knights.” Of course you can do this, Merlin thought. You’re a sorcerer; you can slay people with a single word. “Very well,” Arthur said after a while. “I will grant you this quest.” “Thank you, Sire.” Mordred whispered. “First you must find the Golden Horn,” Donal said, drawing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand, “it is guarded by a lion, and some knights too, I believe. Then you must climb the mountain, find the castle, blow the horn three times, defeat the Black Knight, and that’s it, really.” “And where will I find this lion and the rest you speak of?” Mordred eagerly asked, barely able to contain the wonder from his face. Donal shrugged his shoulders, indicating he didn’t have all the answers. “Anyone seeking it will find it,” he answered casually. “Just follow the path to the White Mountains.”
It was early evening in Camelot, and Arthur, Gwen, the knights and their squires, and several ladies-in-waiting were gathered before a roaring fire in the Great Hall, listening to some wandering minstrels who sang songs of love and war; and told stories of places far away. Their voices mingled with the sounds of their bagpipes, fiddles, flutes, a hurdy-gurdy and tabors, the notes rising and falling as gently as leaves in a summer breeze. Sumer is icumen in, one minstrel sang, and the knights involuntarily looked out of the windows where the autumn winds were howling and torrential rains were beating down on the whole of Camelot. Sumer is icumen in, summer has come indeed… Summer won’t come for at least another six month. Arthur too liked the singing and the stories, but above all, he wanted to hear the news these minstrels were wont to bring wherever they came. Hebban alla vogala nestas hagunnan hinase hic anda thu, Donal, the singer, softly sang, and looking rather flirtatious at a smiling Gwen, who blushed a little at hearing those words; but she did not look away, far from it. All the birds have made their nests, all but you and me… After a few more songs the minstrels fell silent and bowed low to Arthur and even lower to the ladies.
“Splendid,” Arthur said, “please eat and drink now, and afterwards I long to hear some news you undoubtedly have.”
“I have indeed, Sire,” Donal said, and again with great flourish he bowed as low as he could. The deeper the bow, the greater the reward, he always said.
After everybody had eaten their fill, Gwen said she would retire for the night, and leave the men to the serious talk.
“There is talk of a Black Knight,” Donal said after the ladies had left the Great Hall, “somewhere in the White Mountains, and his castle is filled with riches and the most wondrous of artefacts, or so I’ve heard. Many a knight has tried to get into the castle, but none has succeeded so far; and many have lost their lives. No, not many, all of them I’m afraid. Yes, not one of them was ever heard of again. Furthermore, only the bravest of knights can reach the castle, for the road leading to it is fraught with dangers and all but impossible tasks, or so the stories go.”
All the knights were sitting close to Donal now, drinking in every word. How they longed to go on that quest, for each of them was sure to be the one to succeed.
“And don’t forget,” Donal continued in his most mysterious voice, “many of the artefacts in that castle are magical and therefore priceless beyond description, but the road to the castle is guarded by a giant, a creature made of magic. Or so I’m told.” His voice had dropped to a conspiratorial whisper now. “No wonder everyone wants to lay his hands on that treasure: imagine the power you would get; power to conquer the whole of Albion and beyond!”
“I’ve heard of it, but I thought it was just a rumour,” Arthur murmured, “but if this is true, we must act at once. I can’t allow magical objects to fall into the wrong hands. Think of all the chaos it will cause! No, the best thing we can do is to get those items and store them in the Vaults where they can do no more harm.”
Not all magical items are evil, Merlin thought, frowning a little at Arthur’s words; but he was careful not to speak his mind.
Gaius’ mind was racing, for he had heard those stories too, long ago, and he thought he knew who that Black Knight might be. He once read of a certain Thorolt who over two hundred years ago had fled to a castle in the White Mountains, taking a sword with him, a sword named Ælif, reputedly capable of prolonging life.
“Please, Sire, may I offer myself to be the one to undertake this quest?” Mordred said as he fell on one knee in front of Arthur, head bowed, breaking the almost mystical spell that Donal’s story had woven. “I know I’ve been a Knight of Camelot for only a short while, and every other knight here is far more worthy than I could ever hope to be, but I know I can do this. Please, Sire, let me prove my worth to you and all the knights.”
Of course you can do this, Merlin thought. You’re a sorcerer; you can slay people with a single word.
“Very well,” Arthur said after a while. “I will grant you this quest.”
“Thank you, Sire.” Mordred whispered.
“First you must find the Golden Horn,” Donal said, drawing everyone’s attention back to the matter at hand, “it is guarded by a lion, and some knights too, I believe. Then you must climb the mountain, find the castle, blow the horn three times, defeat the Black Knight, and that’s it, really.”
“And where will I find this lion and the rest you speak of?” Mordred eagerly asked, barely able to contain the wonder from his face.
Donal shrugged his shoulders, indicating he didn’t have all the answers. “Anyone seeking it will find it,” he answered casually. “Just follow the path to the White Mountains.”