If I Could Tell It

Cadbury Castle, Britain, 645

I had won the two other duels from the day before so I advanced to the second day. The melee was not until the fourth day of the tournament, winter Solstice day, so I had not competed in anything else.

My father said nothing to me during dinner that night after the first day of the tournament. He just watched me carefully, as if we were playing an elaborate game of chess with our eyes and his life depended on the outcome.

Gawain also won his duels from the first day, surprisingly, somehow he had come up with a sword that he used to compete. My guess was that he had been working for the village smithy in order to receive that sword.

My favorite thing to eat in the morning is apple pastry with honey. It has been since I was six years old and my mother let me try some during a breakfast that my father had hosted for some of his knighten. The honey, well that is a more complicated story. Because of this, I was very happy when I found soft sugary dough filled with crushed golden apples wrapped in a cloth on the table inside of my tent in the arena field. That kitchen maid, Halaina, who seemed to always be watching me, must have brought it.

I sat down at the table and scarfed down the pastry as if I was starving. It tasted sweet and fresh, as if the apples had been picked only that morning.

Lancelot glided into the tent through the flap.

“Oh good!You are here already.” He said a little too excitedly.

“Why so good?” I asked suspiciously.

“Well not good I suppose.” He thought for a moment. “Never mind that! Your sister has run away again!”

“Again?” I stood up to face him. “Seriously?”

You see, Morgain has this interesting habit of running away for a few days at a time. Then search parties are formed and there is a state of panic and then she comes back. I know where she goes. She goes to Avalon to talk to the lady of the lake. I promised her that I would not tell anyone though.

“Yes!” Lancelot said. His dark brown eyes were wide and nervous. I was not exactly sure why however, she did this all the time. “We have to find her!”

“Why?” I asked, crossing my arms over my chest. “She will come back.”

“Are you not the slightest bit concerned about the welfare of your sister?!” Lancelot accused me of being unthoughtful.

“Not really.” I shrugged and sat back down in my chair. “She is always mean to me anyway.”

Lancelot followed me to my chair. “Have you ever thought that maybe you are mean to her Arthur?”

“I am not.” I said simply.

“Sure.” He said sarcastically. “Just like you are nice to everyone else.”

“What are you trying to say?!” I asked angrily.

“That you are mean Arthur!” He yelled at me. “I do not know why, but you are!”

Lancelot thought that I was mean. How interesting.

I did not see how I was mean. I think that I treated people only as they should be treated. I suppose that I see people as stupid quite a lot, but I have reasoning for that; they are. People are so utterly stupid that it bothers me to the point of anger. I may react sharply, but it is their fault for being stupid. Morgain was oftentimes one of those people.

It made no sense to run away. Her life was fine. She lived in luxury as if she was a princess. Maybe my father did not particularly like her, it is not as if he liked me either. I did not run away. That is probably because I recognize that I have responsibility and I am not so selfish that I run away from it. Morgain is, and therefore I do not believe she deserves me to be actively nice to her.

As for average people, while still sometimes irritating, I try to be fairly pleasant towards them. I have been told in America that I am blunt however, inconsiderate. They only think that because I am honest though. I would rather be honest and have people a little irritated with me than lie. I do not understand why people can live with so many lies on their back. I lie enough to cover up my strangeness due to there. I do not want to lie anymore than that.

“I do not think that I am.” I stood up again and lifted my chin although I was already a few inches taller than him. “I am honest, and I treat people as they should be treated.”

Lancelot shook his head. “You have no empathy whatsoever.”

I thought Lancelot maybe had a little too much empathy. Anyone who thought that much about feelings probably had his head so full that he could not learn anything more. “Alright.”

“Whatever. I cannot talk to you right now.” Lancelot sucked in air through his nose. Okay then. I did not see what I did to make him so upset.

My mother came into my tent about a half hour after Lancelot in a state of panic.

“I told Uther to cancel the tournament.” She said to me. I was sitting on the ground examining a blade of grass. I found that it was made up of lots of little green strings.

“Why?” I asked. For some reason this grass was greatly interesting me.

“Did Lancelot not tell you?” My mother asked, she looked very concerned.

“Oh…” I trailed off for a moment. “About Morgain running away again?”

“Yes!” She pushed my ungreased hair out of my face. I looked up at her from my grass. “Are you not concerned!?”

“She will come back.” I told her. “She always does.”

“Arthur!” She scolded me. “How dare you act so cavalierly!”

Cavalier. That was an interesting word. I must remember to look it up in a dictionary there.

I just looked at her.

She glared at me as if I was stupid. “You know where she is.”

I did not say anything. As much as I disliked my sister I could not betray her, she had told me where she had been going in complete confidentiality.

“Arthur tell me.” She commanded me harshly.

This was one of those moments that I hated. I had to lie, lying was the only way not to betray my sister’s trust. “I do not know where she is.”

“Arthur” She looked into my eyes and we had a moment of just challenging each other of who could hold the other’s stare longer. It was also my goal to hide my thoughts from her. I kept my glare hard and steely to do this, I would not betray my sister. She sighed. “I wish you would show a little more emotion.”

I kept my mouth shut. I thought I showed plenty of emotion. Just not enough for some people. In my opinion most people showed way too much emotion. It was drippy.

My mother sighed. “Goodbye my son.”

And then she left, having given up that I was ever going to tell her about the hidden destination of my sister.

It turned out that my mother did convince my father to cancel the tournament, or at least put it off until Morgain was found. In other words, I had no choice but to join the search for her, because I could not continue until she was found.

It was noon before I decided to leave my tent. Everyone that I was even sort of friends with had gone to look for Morgain. Well except for Gawain, he was sitting next to the well drinking Wassail, spiced apple cider, from a wineskin. But really, I doubt I would consider myself friends him.

I went back to my chambers in the tower where all my family’s quarters were. Mostly because I was done sitting in my tent staring at my grass.

I stared out the window for a while, looking at the palace square. It was made of a pale worn cobblestone, and was surrounded by buildings on all sides. An iron portcullis made a guarded entrance and exit. There was a wooden block that was moved to the right side for now that was used for executions, it was bloodstained and molding. In the area just before the grand palace steps there was a stone statue of a lion. The lion was from when Ambrosius was king, in Rome lions were considered quite mighty I suppose. When we had presented our projects in history class there the group that had been doing Ancient Rome and had said that oftentimes gladiators would fight lions to prove their strength.

Tiny white flakes began to fall from the sky like clouds or angel feathers. They fell on the lion’s head and back and began to form a soft white coat to cover his chiseled stone fur.

I wondered if Morgain really had gone to Avalon this time. What if she had gotten lost? As I said before she was not very intelligent in my opinion. She had never been anything pleasant to me, but Lancelot was right, she was still my sister, I would feel bad if she froze to death in the forest.

I continued to stare out at the palace square, just thinking, until the lion’s snow coat had thickened to a good inch and a half. That was when I got up from sitting on my window sill, pulled on a too big fur coat and headed out with the cold bronze of my tourney sword pressing through my thin undertunic to my side.

Avalon was north west of Camelot. It was a short distance away, only taking about forty five minutes to walk there. Probably around three miles. Lancelot and I found a trail last summer that lead from the arena field around the back wall of the palace that entered onto a worn path through the Darkling woods all the way to Avalon. My theory was that that was how Morgain had been getting there undetected by the guards.

I did my best to avoid all of the people that were in the arena field and glued myself tight to the stone castle wall so I would not be seen. Once I was out of sight I resumed a casual walking pace down the trail through the forest.

It took me about thirty five minutes to reach the treeline to the shore of the lake. I emerged onto thick smooth pure white pebbles that clicked together under my leather boots. A permanent layer of mist shrouded the lake and the island that I knew was beyond.

Avalon is a rather dreamlike place. It is as cold as the snow that fell onto my hair and yet you feel a blunt warmth that starts in your core and spreads to your arms but never quite reached your hands. It never quite feels real. Lancelot and I have been here dozens of times, and I still cannot completely remember what we have done. By the time we reach home after a day of searching for treasures and splashing each other with water I can barely remember what happened. It is like my mind became as foggy as the mist that covers the lake.

I stood just looking out to the mist, not knowing what to do. I did not know how to reach the island for I had no boat and I was a terrible swimmer. Also, even if I was half decent at swimming, it was currently snowing and the water would be as cold as ice. I figured that you had to use magic to reach the island where the lady of the lake lived.

I crouched down to the water’s edge. It gently lapped at the pure white pebbles. I put my finger tips in the water and felt something like liquid ice gently caress my calloused hand.

That was when the boat came.

It glided across the glassy, mist covered lake with swan like gracefulness and stopped just before it was to bump my hand that was in the water. I stood up and looked at the weathered wood boat for a few moments before presumptuously deciding to step into the small vessel and see where it would take me.

I never much cared for boats, or anything to do with water for that matter. It made me nervous, as if one wrong shift would send me sinking into the icy depths below. Drowning seemed like a terrible way to die. The world gradually disappearing above you as you sank into the abyss that was ripping the air from your lungs and taking the life from your heart.

If I had to die I think I would like to be burned to death.

I have seen it before, as with the cliche of witch burnings. The flesh of the victim turning brown and then charcoal black as their skin withered and blistered as they looked out at the crowd that was full of eyes avidly watching for pain. Because that was what the audience cared about. Pain. It was sad really, what the people of Camelot desire for entertainment. Then I could see the world one last time as I felt my lungs no longer able to process from the smoke and I could feel one last burst of feeling as my heart exploded in my chest with a final hot beat of anguish

I suppose that having a sharp sword shoved through your chest or neck would not be so bad either. It would be fast, if anything. The pain would not last long, just a single sharp jab to destroy every feeling that you had ever had in your mind, so that nobody else could read its contents.

Humans are such fragile things. One poke with a sharp enough metal stick could snuff out the light of a person forever. A mere abundance of heat could cause the body to quit function. A lack of oxygen stops the production of energy. The tiniest sip from a poisoned cup. And dare I think it, one’s own mind could destroy him. The relentless hounding of insanity.

I sat on the moist floor of the boat while it slowly took me through the mist. It was moving by some force that I could not figure out for it had no oars, motor, or sail. The moving of the boat was completely flawless, no sounds or bumps or tilts. Not even the feeling of rushing water plagued the moss laden hull of the boat.

It was only about ten yards before we hit the white pebbled shore that I saw the island and the tall gray tower rising out of the mist on the top of the tall green hill and meager forest. That was how thick the mist was.

The boat hit the shore with the smallest possible thud and I exited the boat quickly, as I said before, I am not a fan of water. I walked about ten feet up the shore before I looked back to see that my vehicle from the mainland had completely disappeared, almost as if I had imagined it.

I had no choice but to begin walking up the dull green grassy hill to the single tower that I hoped someone who could help me or at least remind me what I had come to Avalon for was. Something about my sister I think, my mind had started to become fuzzy.

I looked at the ground under my feet. It looked as if it was moving swiftly under my boots as I walked. It was strange looking, as if the ground was the thing moving and really I was the one standing still.

“Who are you?” A melodic voice interrupted my train of thought and I looked up from my discovery about the moving ground.

“Uh…” I was a bit shocked that someone had come to talk to me, even though I knew that people lived here.

“Speak clearly” The voice belonged to a girl who was just as tall as me in a long white flowing dress. She had dark black hair that was flowing all around her as if it had a mind of it’s own. Pale blue tattoos covered her naked arms that looked as thin as bone. I wondered if she was cold as I shivered in my heavy fur coat.

“My name is Arthur” I said, trying to sound as confident as I could be.

“Why have you come?” She asked, despite her melodic voice and serene appearance, she looked extremely irritated with me for some reason unknown to me. “And how did you get here?”

“Well…” I trailed off for a moment, searching my mind, desperately trying to remember. “I am not very sure why I have come...but I am decently sure that some sort of boat brought me here.”

“How could a boat have brought you here?” The girl asked me. “You are not one of us. You are dirty, and you have violence in your blood.”

I should have argued with her, or at least asked her what she meant, because that was the last thing I remember her saying to me. That girl, with the serene beautiful features, and the soft white flowing dress, telling me that I was dirty and that I had violence in my blood. Then I was waking up there.

Colorado Springs, 2008

In America people do not celebrate Winter Solstice. They celebrate Christmas.

Christmas is a very fun time of the year in America. In fact, it is the most joyful thing I have experienced in America so far. Some traditions of Christmas are very strange, like putting strands of LED lights on roofs of houses or sending cards advertising one’s family out to several people in order to sort of brag about things that they have accomplished in that year. Most of the traditions of Christmas are based on Winter Solstice traditions though so it is not so strange, poinsettia flowers, decorating trees, or having a large feast with many people of distant family members.

The one traditions I could not seem to quite understand however, was Santa Claus.

It made no sense that a fat man dressed in red with a big white beard went from house to house on the night of December twenty fifth delivering presents to children. And he went down through a chimney. And he traveled via flying reindeer. And the scariest part of all? Apparently he was constantly watching children to see if they were good enough to receive presents or not.

Frankly the whole idea freaked me out.

The rest of Christmas seemed nice though. It snowed a couple feet almost every day the week before the winter break from school so we had been off of school for a week now. I went sledding with Ty almost every day on the big hill just outside our neighborhood. Sledding was very fun other than the chill you get when a clump of snow makes its way down your jacket or snow pants when you fall off. We do not do anything like sledding there. Snow is more of a nuisance than anything to rejoice over, I suppose I could find something to sit on and sled down on a hill there, but that sounded a bit dangerous, also there was no hot shower to revive me after a freezing day of snow.

Today was December 20, four days until the great fabled Christmas Eve, where we were supposed to hang stockings from the fireplace and then Christmas morning they would be filled with presents. That was another especially strange tradition of American Christmas. Stockings hanging on the fireplace mantel.

I stepped out of the shower and wrapped a fluffy navy blue towel around my waist. Miss Marion had a different dominant color for each bathroom and the one that was “mine” happened to be navy blue.

In America, people have all sorts of things that they use to enhance their bodies, and they keep these things in their bathrooms. Some things, like shampoo, conditioner, or body soap go inside the curtained warm rain box of a shower, while other things, like hair gel, shaving cream, hand soap, cologne baby powder go on top of counters and in cupboards of the bathroom. Some of these things make me nauseas with their overly sweet, chemical smells, like cologne, while other things, like shampoo, get rid of the grease in my hair so I can appreciate them.

I pushed my sopping shoulder length hair out of my face with my hand and wiped some of the condensation off of the mirror. My gray eyes peered back at me through the blurry mirror along with my pale complexion. I am very pale, I have golden blonde hair, sheet white skin, and light silver eyes. I do not like this sometimes because I look like my father instead of my mother. My father is very tall, probably over six and a half feet, with bleach blonde hair and pale blue eyes. My mother is about the same height as me at around five feet seven and has dark red hair and tannish skin. We have the same eyes, but other than that I think we look very different.

I hope that when I am older I will grow more. I hope that I have broad shoulders and I rise above six feet. I think that it is important for men to be big. If they are not then they were either little boys, or females. I know that it is more complicated than that, but oftentimes I can see simplistic terms through more complicated things.

I secured the towel around my waist and made my way across the hall to my room.

I had put up a few of my drawings on the walls. They were in black frames, and it matched the gray pencil marks that made up the intricate buildings and scaled plans. Some of the drawings were also pictures of circles. Circles that I had drawn with compasses and then divided into smaller sectors and then drawn designs over. Every sector of all the circles were all the same, not one greater than the others.

My laptop that Mr. Ector had bought me that one day back in October was sitting half opened on my desk, charging, and an electronic blue light emanated from the screen. Water dripped from my feet and my legs to the floor and I shivered, the heat must have been turned down low. My smallish bed stood a warm and welcoming beacon of comfort in the corner.

I wiped the remaining droplets of water from my chest and my legs and forcefully shook my hair out like a dog. I felt it sticking up in all sorts of unruly places and I smiled because that was the most comfortable way for it to sit. Then I climbed under the fluffy down comforter and closed my eyes.

When I woke it was dark outside.

I climbed out of bed and pulled on a pair of discarded gray sweatpants that were crumpled on the floor. I flipped on the light that illuminated the place just outside the window to reveal that it was in fact, still snowing. I found a black T shirt on the chair to my desk and put that on before walking down stairs to the now very decorated living room.

The tree in the corner of the room was bright with yellow/white strands of light and red and gold ornaments hung delicately from fragile branches. On top there was a golden star that shined from all the lights further down the tree.

Beneath the tree, amongst brightly colored papered boxes, there was a creepy little ceramic doll.

The doll had a shiny white face and unblinking circular blue eyes. A single lock of yellow hair stuck straight up off the top of the doll’s head. It was dressed like Santa Claus in a red and white fur coat.

Now, I am not afraid of many things, especially here, but that elf doll, sitting there under the tree, staring up at me as if it was watching my every move freaked me out. I do not like people to watch me and I definitely do not like things to watch me. So people like things was definitely something I wished to avoid.

I glared at the elf and sat down on the couch, just looking around at all of the different festive decorations. I was thinking about my experience there, going to Avalon, seeing that girl, then forgetting that I was there to search for me sister. All I could hear in my mind was her final words to me,

“You are not one of us. You are dirty, and you have violence in your blood”

I did not know what that could mean. Well I suppose I did a little. My father was violent, especially to those people on Avalon, and I had his blood in my veins. I knew I was not one of them, I was born noble, in my father’s palace. The one thing that completely baffled me, however, was her calling me dirty. Oftentimes Christians called witches and people of the Old Ways dirty. It was never the other way around.

“Arthur!” Miss Marion snapped her fingers in front of my face.

I snapped back into the present and looked at her.

“We are having company over remember?!” She said, highly irritated that I had totally forgotten about her big Christmas party that she was throwing for the neighborhood, I guess I had forgotten that that was today, what with me being out all day sledding with Ty and my mind still processing the events from there.

Miss Marion was wearing an elaborately knit red sweater with white snowflake patterns gracing the neckline, beneath that she just had on jeans and a pair of socks with poinsettias on them.

“Oh and your hair!” She said, running her hand through my messy mane. “It’s atrocious!”

“Sorry” I muttered quietly. I hated the way combed hair felt, this felt much more natural.

“Now go up and get dressed!” She said frantically. “And brush your hair! Everyone’s going to be here in ten minutes!”

I sprinted up the stairs to my room where I stripped off my clothes and searched my closet for something that Miss Marion would deem appropriate for her Christmas party. I found a blue and gray patterned sweater in my closet and a pair of jeans that I had only worn twice last week that did not smell too bad. I sprayed them with a bit of cologne to make sure.

I looked in the mirror at my mess of golden hair. I had a black metal brush with a cushioned grip that Miss Marion had bought me after we went to the beauty salon to get my hair trimmed. After that day I decided never to go into a salon again, it smelled bad and all of the people in the place looked extremely weird, with all sorts of piercings and brightly colored, half shaved heads of thick hair. She had also brought me a comb and some sort of male shampoo and conditioner that smelled like chemically sweet apples.

I forcefully dragged the brush through my hair and cringed as it pulled on a knot of tangles. It felt like with every brush my hair was being pulled out of my scalp, eventually I got it...done. It really looked fine, it was smooth and the part was straightish so that was probably good enough for Miss Marion.

When I got down the stairs a middle aged couple was already inside the house and engaged in a flurry of greetings with Miss Marion. The woman was sort of fat, and had curly brown hair, I noticed that she had perfectly manicured long nails. That made me nervous, they looked like cat claws, like she could draw blood from me with a poke. The man was also a bit round and he had short gray hair and a patchy short gray beard. Neither of them were very aesthetically pleasing.

“Arthur.” Miss Marion said my name sort of singsongy, I came down next to her and stared at the couple monotonously.

“Oh he looks so sweet!” The woman’s voice was a couple tones too high, it added to the discomfort I was feeling in my stomach.

Then the woman wrapped me in a bear hug.

I hate people to touch me. I hate strangers touching me even more. So this woman that I felt very uncomfortable with already hugging me tight into her squishy body fat and lavender blouse. I wanted to run away.

I retreated to Miss Marion’s side as fast as I could.

“This is Jennifer” Miss Marion told me, Jennifer smiled at me to reveal way too white of teeth. “She works with me at the animal shelter.”

“Nice to meet you.” I mumbled. I wished that I had stayed in the bathroom to fight with my hair some more. Even that would be better than Jennifer.

“A little shy aren’t you?” Jennifer asked almost sarcastically.

I am not shy, I just do not like you lady. I stayed silent.

Miss Marion’s eyes kept switching between me and Jennifer. I noticed Jennifer’s husband was keeping to himself.

“Well I better go greet more of our guests!” Miss Marion said, forcing cheerfulness into her voice. “Anthony’s in the kitchen, feel free to help yourself to anything.”

I stood still next to Miss Marion. Jennifer leaned over and whispered something in her ear. I knew that she did not want me to hear it, but I did anyway.

“You better teach that boy some respect Mari, I don’t think he understands what you and Anthony are doing for him.”

Miss Marion squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. “As a matter of fact Arthur is the most respectful boy I have ever seen Jen, maybe it’s just you.”

I did not smile but I wanted to. I could not believe that I meant so much to Miss Marion. Jennifer walked away to the kitchen in a huff, as if she could not believe that her friend had just defended me.

“I didn’t like the way she was acting to you.” Miss Marion said quickly. “Why don’t you stay and greet people with me?”

“Sure” I agreed. I smiled to myself. Maybe Miss Marion cared about me more than I thought.