If I Could Tell It

Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 647

The first time I took a man’s life I learned two things.

One, it is much easier to fight to kill than to fight to knock someone to the ground. Two, there is nothing special about anybody.

The first thing I learned was self explanatory, and I should have realized it before I fought. Obviously it would be easier to fight if I could simply run someone through or slash their face rather than come up with a complex strategy to knock them off of their feet without hurting them. The second was slightly more complicated.

When I ran down the side of the valley down to the battle with my men, there was no pause from our opposing side. No brief moment to assess us or who we might be. These people that were coming at me were no longer men with thoughts and aspirations. They were vicious, bloodthirsty wolves with only the thought of our death plaguing their thoughts. And because of this, we too, must become these wolves.

Because when you fight to kill, you do not see right and wrong, and you do not think of the life in your hands as you slice with the pulsating sword in your hands and stab fingers into throats. You think only of your two goals. Your two morals that determine your imminent success.

You must kill, and you must not be killed.

And that is all that matters.

Excalibur was slick in my leather gloves, and my armor felt at least fifty pounds heavier than when I strapped it onto my body that morning. My left shoulder hurt terribly as if it was about to pop out of its socket at the slightest jostle. My feet were mechanical; they did not move by my mind’s accord. I breathed hot condensation onto the inside of my helmet that stuck on my cheeks. My vision was a blur of green and brown leaves and forest terrain. I could not see details well, only enough so that I did not run into trees. One step after another, one shooting pain through my shoulder after another. Even if I wanted to stop walking, I knew that I could not. My body would not let me.

Then, all of the sudden, the ground was no longer there. I was falling, and for a second, because of the lack of gravity, I did not feel the pain that was coursing through my veins. I knew at any moment I would hit the ground and the pain would be amplified a hundred times, but I still felt relieved for the brief moment I was falling aimlessly without boundaries.

Then, as predicted, I hit the ground with an immeasurable amount of force that was translated into the same amount of piercing, sharp pain. I tried to cry out, but my body would not let me. I tried to move, but I could not. Fireworks shot behind my eyelids, feeling exactly like the explosions that were going on beneath my skin.

I closed my eyes and tried to lay as still as possible. I did not care if anyone found me.

I would welcome death.

Arthur

I had not dreamt in so long because of there. Every time I went to sleep it was only to wake up in America. However, when I let myself go during the battle, I dreamt for the first time I could remember since I was twelve years old.

I was taller than I was normally. At least six and a half feet. My shoulders were broader as well, and I felt much heavier yet, at the same time, stronger. I put my hand on my cheek to feel rough stubble covering my face. I came to the conclusion that I must have been old.

I was in Avalon. Literally in Avalon. My feet were bare, and icy water lapped at my ankles. Grey water stretched out in front of me while mist curled over the surface like an elaborate maze that only the priestesses on the island knew how to navigate.

I saw Viviane standing in the lake in front of me. Her white dress was in tatters, and her right eye was blackened as if someone had hit her. Her skin was so pale it looked blue, and her body that I had once thought so voluptuously beautiful was now as thin as bone.

I began to run to her, the water making it difficult to sprint. I realized that I was naked and the frigid lake was freezing my blood and making it unable to flow correctly. After not so long a time, I felt my limbs go numb, and I could run quickly without pain.

When I reached her, it was no longer Viviane. It was a young boy, no older than ten. His skin was as pale as mine, and he had the same rolling gray eyes as me, the same square jaw. However, the hair that flowed around his face separated his looks from mine. It was wavy and as black as midnight, shining in the dull grey light that filtered through the mist down to the lake.

By some unknown force I put my hand on his cheek. It was cold, colder than the lake, which surprised me. No living human was as cold as that boy. As my hand rested gently on his cheek, the boy began to grow, or age rather. I saw his face mature and his hair grow down past his waist. The top of his head that had barely come to my navel was now to my neck.

Suddenly the boy, who had become a young man, grabbed my wrist. He grabbed it hard and ripped my hand away. I felt myself blench as if I desperately wanted his affection.

I looked down for a moment and then back up. Excalibur was in the boy’s hands now. He wielded it as if he had never held a sword before. His grip was wrong, and I could have taken the sword away from him quite easily, especially with the height I now had.

Then, as quick as if he had done it a thousand times, the boy plunged my sword deep into my chest. I felt him pierce my heart; it hurt so badly, but, at the same time, I felt an overwhelming wave of relief. In my mind I heard a voice tell me that this was what I wanted. For so long this was what I wanted, and it was finally here.

After my heart was hit, I fell back into the water. I felt the icy liquid surround my body and I stared up at the gray sky, waiting for my world to fade.

Then a spidery black darkness crept into the mist; in curls and spirals it slowly took over the sky until my vision was completely gone.

I had no concept of my reality that had just ended.

The Forest outside the Central British Battle Camp, Britain, 647

There was heavy breathing coming from above my head. I looked up to see the silvery blade of a cavalry sword aimed at my throat.

I acted purely on instinct and immediately rolled away, wincing as my body weight fell onto my shoulder. I got to my feet as fast as I could, fighting through all the cries of my body to just lay back down and let this stranger kill me. I raised Excalibur, which had been clutched tightly in my hand since I had fallen asleep, offensively and narrowed my gaze at him.

It was a boy, a few years my senior with no armor covering his body. He had on a long dark brown cape and a hood covered the eyes in his dark face. His left hand, that was not clutching the cavalry sword, was pressed against his stomach and I saw a bit of red blood spreading like a blossom on his light brown tunic.

He jabbed at me and I blocked easily, I could tell he had not had the training that I had.

I spun on my heel backwards and struck at his left side. A burst of pain shot through my shoulder, through my chest, down my arm. I resisted the urge to scream.

The boy barely blocked me and we held in a lock for a few seconds. Then he cried out and he used the hand that was holding his stomach to strengthen his block. We broke our lock together and we precariously stood, facing each other for a moment.

Both of us were breathing heavy. We knew that we were supposed to fight to the death now. But what if we did not? Both of us were hurt, we could very well both die. What if we called a truce? What if I called a truce? Would my rank count in these terms? Could I command him to call a truce? Probably not.

I put my hands up above my head, still holding my sword in case he did not follow what I was doing. I looked him square in the eyes, trying desperately to convey my message with my expression because I doubted that he spoke English.

He looked at me, I expected utterly confused for I could not see his eyes that were hidden by his hood, for a brief moment. Then he copied what I was doing with his long cavalry sword above his head, he did not remove his hand from his stomach wound.

I took a breath and held it. I dared to take a possibly life-threatening risk. I dropped my sword to the ground, I told myself that I could take it back up defensively if I needed to. Then I slowly pulled my helmet over my head and wiped my sweaty hair from my forehead. I hoped that I was showing him that I wished to stop fighting by putting my head on the line.

The boy dropped his sword as well and pulled his dark hood back from his head revealing chocolaty brown, unmarked skin. Almond shaped eyes almost as dark as Lancelot’s gazed at me from under a mask of uncertainty that hovered above his face. I was right about my age, he could not have been more than a couple years older than I was and I was already taller than him.

I pointed to my chest with a gloved hand to motion to myself. “Arthur.”

“I speak English.” The boy said in a fairly high, yet mature voice.

“You do?” I asked stupidly, I should have just moved to the initial problem which was the fact that we were supposed to be killing each other.

He just nodded.

“I think we should call a truce between us.” I stated professionally. “Both of us are wounded and we will both die if we fight. We can help each other, nobody has to know.”

“I agree.” The boy said. He sighed as if greatly sad about something. “I am a Briton after all.”

That would explain why he knew English.

“Why are you fighting for the Saxons then?” I asked him, almost suspiciously.

He sat down on the forest floor and I copied him. “I am from Ashdown, very far north. Saxon invaders killed my parents and threatened to kill me and my little sister as well if I did not fight for them. They have her in their camp right now.”

“I am sorry.” I said in quiet respect. “What is your name?”

“Ellion.” He said and wiped short, straight dark hair back from his forehead. “You said your name was Arthur? Are you named after the prince?”

I smiled to myself and had to force myself not to chuckle. I figured that I could trust Ellion after all, if need be I could kill him at a second’s notice.

“I am the prince.”

Ellion bowed his head. “My lord I am so sorry I should have realized from your armor.”

I laughed. “Well considering that you were about to kill me I think we should skip the titles.”

He smiled. “Good thing I waited.”

“Good thing.” I twirled a dead leaf between my fingers. “What do we do now?”

“Wait out the rest of the battle I suppose.” Ellion said. “We cannot go out like this.”

I nodded. I stared at Excalibur. I wondered what Viviane would do if she knew that I was sitting in the woods like a coward on my first battle, barely able to stand.

“Was your father a knight?” I asked him.

He shook his head. “A blacksmith.”

I nodded. “What about you? Would you want to be a knight?”

Ellion smiled. “I would love to be a knight. However, I am afraid that no noble blood runs in my veins. I am as much a peasant as they come.”

“So?” I asked, almost angrily. “That should not matter. If you are a worthy man then you should have the right to knighthood.”

“I wish it was that way.” He sighed. “But it is not, and I have accepted the fact that I will be a smith like my father. And I will be a good one at that!”

I just looked at him. I could tell that he wanted to be a knight like I wanted to be an architect. The difference was that I had the opportunity to fulfill my dream, in America that is.

“When I am king it will be different.” I said quietly. “I am going to make it so that any man can be knighted as long as he proves himself worthy of the title.”

“Can you do that?” Ellion asked half excitedly.

“I am not sure.” I answered. “But I am going to try. I want to knight whomever I see fit.”

Ellion nodded slowly and smiled. “I hope that you can.”

I smiled back.

Then we just sat there for what seemed like an eternity, just waiting for something to happen.

I was not sure exactly what we were waiting for because if a man from either side came to our rescue then the other would surely be killed. It would be difficult to explain to one of the men I fought with that a Saxon warrior was actually a briton and that I had made a truce with him and that he would inevitably not turn on us.

Then I had an idea. Technically, Ellion was a briton and if the saxons had not threatened him and his sister he would undoubtedly have been apart of the British army and probably would have fought under me this very battle.

“Ellion?” I asked.

“Yes Arthur?” He asked back. I smiled inwardly because he had used my name and not my title. It made me feel as if we were actually friends and could possibly have a future friendship.

“What if you come back to my camp with me?” I asked, trying not to sound quite as presumptuous as I thought I did.

“Your men would kill me.” Ellion informed me. “I fought for the Saxons.”

“Because you were forced to.” I argued. “You are a Briton at heart and blood and if blood seems to matter so much in the matter of things then it should matter for this as well!”

I let out a breath I did not know I had been holding.

“Also I am-” I thought for a moment, deciding whether or not to bring my rank into the argument. If there ever was a right time I figured that now would be it. “I am their prince, and I am going to be their king one day. By the virgin, if I say you can come to camp with me then you can!”

Ellion looked shocked by my sudden burst of passion and enthusiasm. Truthfully, I was too. Somehow I just thought that Ellion desperately needed to be a part of my life, I wanted his approval, his friendship, and I was not even sure why.

“What do you say?” I said a little softer but with just as much force.

“What about my sister?” He asked, a gentle vulnerability creeping into his dark eyes. “They will kill her if they find out that I am fighting for the British army.”

“Then we will rescue her.” I said, I felt fire burning behind my eyes with passion. I knew what I wanted and there was nothing that could stop me now. “My friends and I will sneak into their camp and rescue her. I will do it alone if I must.”

“Could you even do that?” Ellion breathed.

“I have slayed a dragon.” I said proudly. “I can very well rescue her.”

Ellion gaped at me. “You slayed a dragon?”

“It is quite a story.” I said with a chuckle, thinking of Kay’s and my tiff. “Now we must get to my camp though. They will think I am dead if I am here too much longer.”

Ellion grinned, revealing a mouth of white teeth that contrasted against his dark skin. “Thank you.”

“Of course.” I said and put my hand behind me to hoist myself off the ground, completely forgetting about my shoulder. “Agh!”

“Let me help you.” Ellion said and stood up with his left hand still over his stomach wound.

He helped me to my feet with his right hand and I thanked him.

“How did this happen anyway?” He asked me, he picked up my helmet from the ground and carried it for me under his arm. I cradled my arm with my other, desperately trying to alleviate some of the pulsing pain that seemed to be pumping through my nerves at an impossible rate.

“I swung too hard I guess.” I said as we began to walk in what I thought was the direction of the British camp. “Then while I was fighting the man I was he forced the pommel of his sword into the back of my shoulder and I heard this terrible popping sound and then it was crying out in pain. I knocked him to the ground with a final blow and then I ran into the forest, that was what the plan was to do when we got injured. I fell down that edge when I was running and I think I made it worse. What about you?”

“There was this boy.” Ellion explained. “He was dressed all in peasant clothes but he had on the cape of a nobleman and he was walking very strangely.”

“Gawain.” I said and laughed slightly. I felt my face fall. “You did not...kill him, right?”

“No.” Ellion assured me. “But I scraped his face up a little with my mace.”

“Good.” I said. “He deserves a few scrapes on his face.”

Ellion laughed. I told him about our meeting and what Lionel had done when Gawain had walked in on us.

“What is the name of your sister?” I asked when our laughter had died down.

“Elaine.”