Return to Camelot by Jeffrey Allen White (classic fiction .txt) 📖

Return to Camelot



by Jeffrey Allen White


Chapter 1

The nightmares had become a continuous, unending way of life. It had been over ten years, ten years of torment, pain and remorse. The dreams never changed, they never varied. It was always the same. A huge, monstrous dragon had taken over Camelot. The hideous beast was chasing his fair Guinevere and Arthur felt powerless to help her. He could see her. Guinevere’s long auburn hair flew behind her as she ran across the courtyard. The dragon was in pursuit, breathing flames of fire and ash. Her face covered in soot and blackened ash as the dark burning rain showered down from the advancing dragon of death.

Shackled to the wall on the roof above the courtyard as his beloved Camelot was in flames, Arthur’s castle laid in ruins. The knights of his round table were all dead as death rampaged throughout his once great kingdom. Bodies and destruction were everywhere.

The dragon marched effortlessly towards Guinevere, forcing her into a corner. She had dropped to cower behind a broken burned wagon. The dragon stopped and she could hear his breathing. A mixture of ashes and hot wet rain swirled around her with each haunting breath.

Arthur strained at his ties. He felt them loosen. A few tugs and they released him. He jumped to his feet, out of breath and tired from his imprisonment. As he raced down the steps, he stumbled, catching his tunic on a broken board, scraping his side drawing blood. He winced but moved on. He watched as the dragon stood menacingly over his Guinevere. Arthur would save her. He must. Arthur loved her as no other and he could not live without her.

His hand touched something in the darkness. It was Excalibur, his sword. The sword, which had vanquished so many foes and enemies before stood before him. “Merlin”, he mumbled and looked around expecting to see his old friend. However, Merlin had not appeared.

Arthur picked up the sword and ran to the dragon. He would slay it and that would be that. His Guinevere and his Camelot would be safe. No dragon would end this moment in time.

The bleeding king made his way between the fierce dragon and the sobbing Guinevere. His faced the mighty beast from hell. “Be thrust gone, evil lizard of darkness, you have no claim to this woman.” Arthur brought the sword up and over his head.

The dragon arched its neck and its eyes widened as the sight of this mortal. The dragons’ head seemed to shift, to change, its features melting and turning into grotesque shapes. It had become the face of Lancelot, his friend, his brother knight, his alley.

The dragon/Lancelot brought up his head and reached out over the king. Arthur stood in its looming shadow, he felt so small. He could not believe it was his brother knight, this dragon of death. It was Lancelot, who had fought along side him in battles. The same Lancelot rode all the way from France to swear his allegiance to the king and his kingdom. He was the same Lancelot who committed treason with his passion for his own wife. The deception ended it all by Lancelot who must now die and pay for his sins.

Arthur brought the sword down and sliced into the dragon’s neck. The monster roared and bellowed with the screams of the unearthly. The head of Lancelot now separated from the dragon’s armored body rolled along the bloodied ground. It is now headless neck, writhing in pain and anguish. The eyes in Lancelot’s head turned white and inward. Arthur fell to the ground. He tried to stand but his feet were now sliding into the cobblestone beneath him. Arthur was sinking; no, he was melting into the stones as snow on a fire. First, his feet started to fade, then his legs, now his torso and finally one of his arms. Excalibur, raised in his right hand held high above his head in protest. The stone ground swallowed him up inch by inch. His head sucked into the heavy stones and finally, only his armed right hand remained above. Then it too disappeared. The light of the torches flickered on its’ metal blade and then darkness.

Silence, dark silence with no movement surrounded him. No wind, no presence of any kind. There was a vast void and a stillness that burned his nostrils and sickened his stomach. The hairs on his head were smoldering from the intense heat all about him. He was burning but he was still alive. The smell of burning flesh filled his senses. His pain was that of an evil so great and powerful. It began engulfing him, dragging him to the nothingness that surrounded him and ate away at his body and soul. The inferno of this darkness would take his last breath and with no mercy. He begged to die. His lungs filled with hot dirt and stone, burning with every breath he tried to take. His last thoughts were of Guinevere. Guinevere....” he shouted but who could hear him? His lungs burst with his last murmured breath.

Arthur bolted from his bed screaming in terror. It was that tormenting dream again. The same nightmare repeated itself repeatedly, night after night and year after year. He looked around the room. The glow of the dying fire embers cast an eerie light that bounced on the walls. Shadows of phantoms and demons danced wildly along its walls. His heart was beating loudly and his mouth was parched and dry. His lips were cracked and bloody. He searched for his flask of water. Arthur stood before his table and drank the water, spilling most of it on himself and on his beard that he had grown these past ten years. The water sung his mouth.

Arthur wiped the wet beard and sat on the floor next to the hearth. The soot and ashes disturbed by his quick movement. The fire glowed through the dark recess of the hearth. The crackle of the wood rang loudly in his ears.

“Ten years... ten years. Why Merlin? Why have you abandoned me? Where are you? Where did you go? Why, when I needed you the most? “Arthur cried into his worn robes. The colors faded and the material tattered. He was no more a king of a great land but only a hermit of a dead castle and a leper hiding from all those who still walked its’ halls.

It was morning when he finally fell asleep. He would sleep most of the day as he always did. It seemed safer in the daylight to sleep. The dreams were not so persistent. He could stave them off sometimes. He could hide in the bright light of the day.

The door to Arthur’s room opened slowly. The light from the hall broke across his face. He felt the cool air rush into his room and circled about him, kicking up bits of dirt and dust. The fire had died out completely. The intruder was a servant no doubt, one of the few remaining servants to pledge their undying loyalty to the dying king in his last days. Arthur did not blame the others for leaving. How he wished he could leave this world and find peaceful sleep.

“Sire, are you all right? Could I get you some food and drink?” A small voice asked from behind the stinging light that flooded the doorway. The figure moved into the room and walked over to the large table in the center. The small voice filled the ewer with liquid and put down a platter of food. The smell made Arthur’s stomach turn and growl in disgust.

Arthur rose to his feet pulling his bedclothes around him for warmth. He threw himself down on his bed. The dust of many years flew around him like flies on a dead carcass.

“I will clean your chambers for you, your majesty.” The small voice said. Arthur did not recognize this voice. It was too young for either Dinadan or Sagramore. They were both much older and this voice was that of a child, a boy child, he imagined.

Arthur lifted his head towards the figure. “Who thoust ye be, lad? Are you the servant of death? One, who has come to claim me from this immortal nightmare?”

The voice stepped closer to the ailing king. He now inched his way up next to the bed and in full view of Arthur. It was indeed a lad, a mere boy of about ten or eleven years of age.

“Sire, will you drink this?” The boy offered him a cup of water. “I have been trained sire to serve you. My father, Sire Dinadan has been....”

Arthur sat up hearing of Dinadan’s name. He looked into the boy’s eyes. “Your father... is Sir Dinadan?” Arthur squinted to see him better, his eyesight not accustomed to bright light of the day.

“Yes, Sir Dinadan is my father or really he is my adopted father. I was found by him as a baby.” The boy’s featured were clear to him now. His eyes were blue, the same blue