Tristan: A Modern Bedtime Story

By Hope Janes

In Arthur's Land

By Rachel Kubinski

A Short Fictitious story about Myrddin,
Crimmal, and Arthur

By Andrew J. Laughlin

Such was the spell put under the children of Llyr, to live as swans for nine hundred years, with no company save themselves and their songs. After those years had passed, their feathery coats fell off, and they became three withered old men with aching bones and muscles. The three brothers fell into great sickness, and two of them died that same day. The third, Myrddin, continued to live, though not through any strength of his own. You might say he was chosen to live, but that would not be entirely accurate either. Nobody knew how or why he lived, and indeed the spell was so harsh that death was certainly intended by the speller. It seemed he was getting stronger as the years went by, but that might just be fancy. The gods are funny that way: what seem to us to be most pertinent matters, we ask these questions, but they seem to shut up and quickly silence their obligation to answer us. Some even claim to hear them laughing at us through that curtain of wisdom, but it may just be their own foolishness. Either way, Myrddin was indeed getting stronger each year. He began to gain his reason and strength, and the flush of youth tinged his brow. With his reason came his wisdom, and with his wisdom, his humor. He began to wonder why he was regaining all this after the death of his two brothers. Fate works wonders if you stop to think about it. Until this part of his life, he never had to think about it. It's awfully hard thinking human thoughts while living the life of a swan. It even seemed, sometimes, the rough, sleepless nights, that he longed to live the life of the swan again. But isn't that just like humans? Once we have to start something new in our lives, we cower in it's immensity, and dream of the olden days, even if those olden days were spent pining to be human again, and even then only to die within the hour. It's the fate of everyman to cling to the very thing that gives him his misery, and when the chance comes to rid himself of that misery, he fails, and goes on living miserably content lives.

The spell was put upon him by the Queen of the Isle. She held a grudge against Llyr, but when he died, she put the spell onto his children. Myrddin wasn't meant to survive, but it hardly matters now. "That was in another country, and besides, the wench is dead."

So Myrddin grew younger, and stronger, and wiser still. He was in a new land, and he became a wanderer. His relationship to the gods grew as well. They recognized his wisdom when they noticed his keen acceptance of their strange doings. Myrddin learned not to question them, and they rewarded him for this. They gave him powers above human comprehension, indeed above his own. His practice of these powers made him happy, and thus he wandered, through the fields of Britain, growing ever wiser and ever more sensed with humor. He was not amused at the strange doings of men, for even he was under that affliction. He laughed at the almost inappropriate doings of the gods, but it was not a laugh of scorn. It was the laugh of acceptance, the strange obedience of the wise to the wiser, the acceptance that those things above us are indeed above us, and the realization that questioning them is futile.

One of his closest companions was a young man named Crimmal. He liked Myrddin a great deal, because he knew he was wiser than most men, wise enough to listen intently to. He took Myrddin seriously, as long as he did not try to tell Crimmal what to do. Myrddin knew this, and accepted this as well, though he knew the day would come when he must try Crimmal.

That day came sooner than Myrddin had expected. Crimmal, you see, was a fierce but honorable warrior, and had it in his mind to one day join the army of Arthur and his men. This army was a band of men, bound to an oath of loyalty to each other and to all men, wandering (though they would call it hunting) through all the land in search of injustice, to the wrongs, and make happy the lives of men.

Myrddin and Crimmal had come upon this army rather unexpectedly. He had lots still to teach the young man, but unexpectancies occur, even to the best of us. Myrddin always considered this a great honor, bestowed upon us by the gods of humor. But this day was not a good day for the gods to be playing around, and Myrddin became frenzied and anxious. He tried to condense his future lessons into a few minutes of last conversation with Crimmal, because he know the young man would be leaving him shortly to join the army of Arthur and his men.

He told Crimmal of the future, and tried to impress upon him the fact that since he was such a good warrior, the future of the army largely depended on him. Myrddin spoke the truth, but even he didn't know to what extent. Crimmal, in the glory of the moment to join the army, and the sadness of leaving behind his mentor and friend found it difficult to understand what Myrddin was talking about. Myrddin, in the sadness of leaving behind his pupil, and in the glory that shone in Crimmal's face, found it hard to see how much of all this Crimmal was taking in.

Within minutes, Arthur the leader was approaching Crimmal, for he heard from around the country about this young man and his bravery and skill, and was anxious to have him join in his army of men. Crimmal, having heard of Arthur and his army from Myrddin, was anxious to join the army, and the two men were acting as though they had been lifelong friends within seconds of their conversation, so fluid was their joy to finally be in each other's company.

"Be careful of what I've been telling you, Crimmal," said Myrddin.

"I shall, my lord," replied the young man, and with the embrace of two friends parting for the first time in many summers, they rode off.

Somehow, Myrddin knew what would come of all this, and he didn't much like it. But he rode off as well, into his once again lonely habitation. Confusion swirled in his mind like never before, and thoughts were conjured up that he never dreamed possible. Somehow, he thought that a few extra weeks or even days might prevent Crimmal from proceeding to the inevitable. Myrddin knew what would happen soon enough, and he felt responsible. In a few years, the world would drastically change, and those last few moments with Crimmal and Arthur seemed the shadiest he ever lived through. He asked the gods for help, but in their own silent way, they never replied.

Crimmal and Arthur became the best of friends, just as Crimmal had always suspected. He taught Arthur and the rest of the men all he knew of fighting, and in turn those men taught him all they knew. It was soon obvious to them all that Crimmal was the new master of warriors among them, while Arthur remained their leader. That is, it was obvious to all but Crimmal, and this was perhaps his downfall. He never knew just how much clout he had in the decisions of the army, and he took for granted the fact that his way was always carried out by Arthur.

As the months went by, and Crimmal's skill increased, so his wisdom fell. He soon forgot most of what Myrddin had taught him of self-control and patience. He grew haughty and arrogant, doing things that later, chivalric times would consider unnecessary, and in most cases dishonorable. No one had the courage to tell Crimmal of this. Some even began to follow in his actions. Many men grew weary with confusion, including Arthur. He knew his sense of right and wrong was being distorted by his warriors actions, and he knew this had an effect on the overall army. He began to feel the foundations of his army start to crumble. It seemed they all forgot their original purpose in forming this band of men. It started as a chance to do good, and spread morals and peace throughout the land. Since the arrival of Crimmal, it was becoming more of a game: who was the best warrior among them? who could fight the longest? They used to go into these battles versus oppression with a sense of right, and if they died, they'd die in honor trying to create something good. Low, however, they entered each battle with a snarling grin on their faces; they knew they wouldn't die, because they were the best fighters in the land, and if they did die, they usually weren't alive long enough to realize their fault.

Many of them died miserably content men, with what they thought was a sense of accomplishment. They never knew they wasted their lives, until they laid on the ground with a dagger in their chests, breathing their last few puffs of air.

Arthur grew weary as he saw some of his best men die horrible, unmotivated deaths. Perhaps they had what was coming to them, but this made it no easier for Arthur. He seemed to have no consolation save his own solitude, and in this he began to weep the tears of disillusion.

The day that Crimmal died was especially hard on Arthur. His mixed feeling seemed to take control of himself, and for a long time he felt the pangs of insanity creeping upon him. After these faded, his mourning started. It was the grief of losing an old friend mixed with the relief that perhaps this band of misguided men was finally finished. With half his men gone, and the other half near hypocrisy, he decided to wander alone for a while. Starting northward, he traveled till dusk. He came upon a small village at the corner of two connecting rivers, and asked for food and shelter. The villagers recognized his name, and without hesitation, closed and barred their doors against him. He tried to explain their misunderstandings, but it was no use. The once valiant warrior who strove for good and honesty was now a confused wanderer, thought by all the people as the "man who turned against men." Everywhere he traveled, men turned away, and women shielded their children. He who was once revered, was now misunderstood for a villain, through no fault of his own. He considered Crimmal, and the other men: were his feelings towards good not strong enough to affect them all? his speeches not loud enough to convince them all to embrace peace and honesty? Maybe he was at fault after all. But no, he had gone through all this in his mind already. It was Crimmal and the greediness of the other men. But not Arthur! He tried to do god, but it ended wrong. Why did he even want to do good? Were they selfish reasons, just so that one day he could walk into any village and be granted food and shelter the first place he asked, just because they all knew his name, and associated that name with the good spread throughout the land? It was the reverse now, and his thoughts turned again to his army:

"All things end in tragedy," said the young looking man named Myrddin to the now aging Arthur. They had met along the way, between two western villages. Myrddin now looked a quarter the age of Arthur, with twice as much wisdom. "All things end in tragedy," he said again, trying to console himself as well as Arthur. Myrddin knew this fact well enough. The life of his father, the spells of the old queen, his two brothers, and his former pupil, Crimmal. Arthur knew this well enough too: the band of men, once glorious and victorious, and the fall of these men by the greatest warrior of them all. They both sat on that hill, looking over their land, now taken over by ruin. Hope was born in the minds of some other men, but these feelings have left Myrddin and Arthur a long time ago. They knew where these "noble" thoughts led, and mourned for the loss of their men, their ideas and hopes, and with the invasions of foreign armies, their solitude.

Myrddin laughed again, "With age comes wisdom, and with wisdom comes despair." He was reminded of the legend of the wisest man in the world, an Israelite named Solomon, who asked the gods for wisdom and they granted it to him. He gained the knowledge of the world, and with that knowledge came his despair. "All is Vanity," Myrddin remembered reading.

"Because in much wisdom there is much grief, and increasing knowledge results in increasing pain." Arthur took all this in, resting alongside Myrddin on that lonely day in mid-August.

It seems there is nothing else to do in these times than sit away from all the world. Myrddin did this many times before, and he sang a song he learned in a different land, long ago:

"This is truth," cried Arthur. All of their deeds, all of their doings, indeed their while lives ended this way. There were a few years of happiness, but "all that is intense is brief."
They had no intentions to start anything new. They could do nothing by themselves, and men were too fickle to trust anymore. The wise few could never rule the land. All men are ruled over by many fools, and it only takes a few fools to ruin a once great land.

The Knight and the Dwarf

By Melissa Meyer

The next day dawned warm and golden as freshly buttered bread, and the occupants of the castle decided to celebrate Erik's return with a picnic in the fields nearby. The ladies picked flowers while the young men drank spiced wine and tired to out-boast each other. The children engaged in a rough and lawless game of barrel-ball, and there was singing and laughing and plenty of food. Aliena sat a bit apart from the others, glad for the respite from the castle walls. Darin, ever perceptive of her feelings, had been right when he said she had been restless lately. She no longer felt as though she belonged to the castle or its routine, and that thought had put her in a melancholy mood.

As if her musings had summoned him, Darin crossed the field and sat at her elbow. "Why do ye not make a garland for yer hair, as the other ladies be doing?"

Aliena brushed the yellow petals with her fingertips. "It seems cruel. To destroy them for mere ornamentation, I mean."

"Ah, but if they be ornaments in yer hair, me thinks the wee blossoms would consider it a compliment."

"Why Darin!" laughed Aliena, "you have the soul of a poet."

"Ye bring out the best in me." The dwarf replied. For a space of time there was silence between them, and then Darin cleared his throat. "Me lady. There's something I be wanting to tell ye," he began uncertainly.

Aliena turned to her old friend. Something in his voice was very serious, and she gave him her full attention. Then Erik strode up, and his voice broke the moment. "Ali, come over here. We're having a toast in my honor."

Aliena reluctantly stood. "Erik, I..."

"Come on, they're waiting."

"Don't you even care what she has to say." The low-voiced interruption came from Darin, who had risen by Aliena's side.

Erik looked as astonished an if a dog had spoken to him. "What do you mean, Dwarf?" he asked.

"Ai, you really are all brawn and no brains, aren't ye?" The dwarf took Aliena's hands urgently. "Come with me Aliena. I know yer not happy in this castle, but ye and me, we can be happy. I understand ye."

Erik looked completely bewildered. "Is this a joke? If so it's in bad taste, Dwarf. If you persist in this I'll have you turned out of the castle."

"An I were a knight i'd be for smashin that pretty face of yourn." Aliena struggled to come to grips with the fact that the two men were close to blows over her. The usually level headed dwarf seemed completely incensed at Erik's comments, and Erik himself had turned bright red with fury.

"I will fight you, Dwarf. Arm yourself and meet me an hour hence at the cross, and we two will settle this."

"Done!" cried Darin. The two assailants marched off in opposite directions leaving a dumbfounded Aliena still standing in the meadow.

The hour passed quickly, and at the appointed time Aliena found herself stumbling toward the crossroads. Her mind and emotions were a tumult. She was outraged that she should be fought over like a prize at a carnival, yet she was also reluctantly flattered. She was worried about the two people who were to fight, and she was confused about the revelation that Darin had made. They had always been friends, but this was something more. The court, of course, found the whole situation vastly amusing. They were fully expecting Sir Erik to return and regale them with the tale of his fight with a dwarf. Aliena did not believe that the battle would be so one sided. Darin would not have agreed to it if he did not think he stood some chance. Unless he was more infatuated with her than she thought...

The distinctive clash of swords reached Aliena's ears and she ran the last few steps to the clearing by the crossroads. The fight had already been joined. Both combatants had dismounted, leaving their horses standing patiently at the end of the clearing. Sir Erik had entered the battle as confident as anyone in the castle that he would win, but the two seemed to be fairly evenly matched. Sir Erik had the advantage of being a knight, and highly trained, but he was not accustomed to fighting someone Darin's height, while Darin had always trained against men who were taller than he. Aliena watched the two exchange blows, feeling strangely entranced by the rhythmic movement. Then something slipped, a step in the strange deadly dance was mis-taken, and Erik's sword whistled toward Darin. Darin somehow threw himself from the blade's path, and the moment of danger was past.

Freed at last from her paralysis, Aliena ran forward. "Stop it! Stop, you two, or I'll never speak to either of you again."

It took a while for her threats to penetrate to the two fighters, but Darin finally put up his sword. "Well," panted Erik, "what shall we do now?"

The air was filled with silent tension as the two rivals glared at each other. Darin finally shifted his gaze to Aliena, who was watching the proceedings with a sick stomach. "Let's ask yonder knight. I'll abide by his decision, if ye will." he proposed.

Aliena, turning toward the crossroads, noticed the other knight for the first time. He was calmly sitting his horse with a young lady mounted up behind him. "What, am I to be passed around at the whim of a stranger!" she exclaimed indignantly.

Darin voice was rough with fatigue and emotion. "Lass, it's the only way to solve this thing without a fight. An I think yonder knight bears the shield of a certain of King Arthur's knights known as Sir Gawain. His reputation be a good one."

Erik was somewhat reluctant to leave off fighting, but he finally agreed when he knew the identity of the strange knight. The three walked over to the place where Sir Gawain still sat his horse and explained the situation as well as they could. "You will all abide by my decision?" Sir Gawain asked when they had finished. When all had indicated that they would, he continued. "Damsel, I leave you to stand betwixt these two and make the decision yourself. You are best qualified to choose."

The whole mess was right back in Aliena's hands. She stood between Sir Erik and Darin, knowing the course of her entire life would be determined by the next few moments. First she looked to Erik. He she had been intended for since her earliest childhood. Handsome, self-assured, generally courteous, he was in every way a perfect knight.

Then she looked at Darin. He was short, and he had a flat nose and a broad mouth. But he had always been a friend. She and Darin understood each other as she and Erik never could. Darin reached up and wiped a small trickle of blood from his brow, and Aliena remembered the moment of shear terror she had felt when she thought Erik's sword might strike home, and she knew her decision. One step, then another, and she was at Darin's side. "Goodbye Erik," she whispered and knew she would never regret her decision.

Sir Gawain remained at the crossroads for some time after the three had departed, Erik mourning, but Darin singing for joy, until the lady who rode behind him urged him to move on. "That old knight was right," he mused, "The adventures in this valley are indeed 'marvelous.' "

The Cottage of Lost Play

Chapter 13

How a strange knight came to the court and what his name was, and how Arthur waxed wroth and of his quest

By Craig Van Ens

Camelot

By Katie VanderMolen

Two weeks later by some Heavenly Help, Arthur had ten more adventurers on his payroll. He also hired two women to lead adventures; after all, Camelot was an equal opportunity employer. But even with the new arrivals and the promise of even more coming, Arthur still felt uneasy. The adventure business attracted all kinds of people--some not always honest. He wanted to be the best there was out there, but to do that, he had to figure out ways of making it all happen faster and easier.

Merlin knocked once, then came in without waiting for an answer. He threw several manila folders down on Arthur's desk.

"Those are the profiles on the best men the world has to offer. I am still not sure why you won't stay American."

"Merlin, who knows the African Savannah better than Africans? What about the rain forest? Brazilians. Besides, I don't want to limit this company to just Americans. I want the whole world to call Camelot Adventures when they get hungry for excitement."

"That does cost money, Arthur."

Arthur looked up at Merlin. "Money that three of our employees are out earning for us right now." Balin Northumberland, Tor Aries, and Gawain LeFay were all out leading adventures in the western part of the United States. The groups included only about six people each, but they did pay the fee, so no one complained for very long.

Merlin tapped his pencil against the side of his leg. "When do you want to stop hiring?"

"When do we get to move into that new building in Excaliber Plaza?"

Merlin referred to another file in his hand. "six months--supposedly. But you know how accurate that can be. I mean with all the problems the contractors are having, the delay with the foundation..."

Arthur put up his hand to silence Merlin's lament. "Lets see if we can hire fifteen more by then. Twenty-seven hearty adventurers for all parts of the world should be a good start. Did you get that connection at the travel agency?"

Merlin grinned. "I had to pull a few strings, but yeah, I got it. Discounts for every person, and when we get the money, we can buy the place out, use it exclusively for Camelot Adventures clients."

"Good," Arthur looked at his watch. "I have to go, I promised to take Guinevere out for dinner tonight. She says I have been working too much lately." He stood up and started putting on his jacket. "See if you can get those two brothers from Kenya...What's their names?"

"Lancelot and Galahad du Lake. I'm working on that right now. I have a proposal all ready to fax over. Have fun, Wart."

Arthur smiled at his old friend use of Arthur's childhood nickname. "Thanks, I will."

The restaurant was packed tonight, but Arthur and Guinevere walked right through the crowd to the Maitre'D.

"Ah, Mr. Pendragon, right this way."

Arthur smiled. The owner of this place just got back from a mountain biking adventure and loved it. He had special preference for Arthur now and most importantly, he recommended Camelot Adventures to anyone who set foot in his restaurant. As soon as they sat down, Guinevere started up.

"So, have you hired any more women for Camelot?" she asked. Guinevere Camelerd Pendragon was a big fan of the women's movements and used every opportunity to push it with Arthur.

"Yes, Love, I did. Three more in fact. Very qualified women. I was very pleased with their work."

"Good. Oh, Arthur, stop looking like I was going to drag you to court if you didn't hire them. I know you are a very fair man. It's just when you get going on something you know how hard it is for you to be flexible about changes." She reached over and squeezed his hand.

"I know, Jenny, but this thing is just proving a little harder to put together than I thought. I never knew that adventurers had such big egos. I thought they communed with nature enough to be mellow. I don't know. The whole thing just makes me testy that's all."

Guinevere smiled softly. "Things will get easier, Love." She took a sip of her wine and went on. "Did you look into hiring Lancelot Du Lake and his brother yet? They would be really valuable for you."

Arthur bit into his bread, famished by the long day's work. "Yep. Merlin is faxing over an offer to them right now. So he was that good, huh?"

Guinevere looked up startled, then relaxed slightly. "Oh yes," she answered quickly, "he really knew his way around the savannah. I never had so much fun on a safari!"

Arthur shook his head. "I still can't believe that you even agreed to get your hands dirty, let alone spend ten days camping in Africa, but I really appreciate it."

Guinevere looked at her husband. "I told you I would help you in whatever way I could, and this was a way. Now, I would like to make a toast." She raised her glass.

Arthur raised his and waited, the hint of a smile on his lips.

"To Camelot, " she said softly, " May it make all your dreams come true."

"To Camelot."

They clinked glasses and looked deep into each others eyes, enjoying this quiet time together, dreaming of the future.

Five years later, Arthur looked around with pride at his thirty-five adventurers. He had done it. Some of the world's bravest men and women sat before him and they all worked for him. Camelot Adventures survived the financial setbacks, and the broken contracts. He was even impressed with the decorating of the room. Guinevere had come up with the idea of having a round table as their main meeting table. She said no adventurer should feel more or less important than any other on the slim chance that they might start to argue about seating being arranged by how much money they make. Arthur smiled to himself, as he listened to Hervis de Revel give the financial report. Business was booming, just as he and Merlin had hoped. People all over were taking advantage of the opportunity and calling 1-800 CAMELOT for their wildest adventure. They didn't have to know which one they wanted to go on either. All they had to do was answer a few questions, and the operators could place them with the appropriate one.

Merlin walked into the board room and handed Arthur a slip of paper before sitting down with a grin on his face. Arthur glanced down at it, then cleared his throat as Hervis finished. "Thank you, Hervis. Any other business?" When no one stood up, he continued. "With the coming of the new year, Merlin will no longer be with us. It seems, our wise man is to be married and retire to a nice little cottage by the lake." The room exploded in applause and smiles all around for Merlin. At 65, he had almost given up on love, until he met Nimue, that is. Now he was ready to dedicate his life to something other than Arthur and his lofty dreams.

Arthur put his hand up for silence. "Also, ladies and gentlemen, I was just informed that we have just been officially recognized by National Geographic as the premiere adventure company in the world. Congratulations!!"

The round table whooped it up. Hugs and handshakes were given all around. This is what they had been working toward all along. Guinevere glanced over at Lancelot and blushed excitedly as she found him looking at her. She quickly looked at Arthur, who was smiling down at her. "Meeting is adjourned. The celebration is at our house this evening at 7," he finished. "See you all there."

As the room cleared, Arthur pulled Lancelot aside. "Lance, when Merlin is gone, I won't have anyone to help me run Camelot. You have been my friend ever since you got here and you are a great business man and adventurer. Merlin and I discussed it and, well, I am offering you the partnership."

Lancelot grinned. "Arthur! Thank you! I accept gladly! You know Camelot means as much to me as it does to you."

Arthur stuck out his hand. "I know my friend, I know. That's why we offered it to you. Truthfully, I am not sure what I would have done if you hadn't accepted. But you did and for that I am glad and grateful. We can take care of the details next week in a meeting with the three of us."

Lance nodded in agreement as he shook Arthur's hand. Then bowing to Guinevere and Arthur, he walked out of the room. "See you at the party."

Arthur kissed the top of his wife's head. "So what do you think of all this?"

Guinevere glanced at the door after Lancelot once more, then looked up at Arthur. "I think that you couldn't be happier. You did it, Arthur! You created the perfect adventure company and all your dreams came true. Good old Camelot."

"Good old Camelot," Arthur repeated quietly. "This is where I belong, with my family of adventurers." Arthur looked out the window at the setting sun. "Yes, we all belong here at Camelot."