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Three Hundred and Ninety

Imra’s unique ability to interrogate prisoners made her an invaluable asset at Portus Magnus – she even foiled three escape plots among the prisoners. But now as summer days slowly shortened into the warm rains of August, she was as relieved as any to be leaving the battleground coastal city.

Rokk had withheld word of Elyzabel’s imprisonment (especially from Pharoxx) until verification could be achieved. He dispatched a royal messenger to Paris, and sent James back to Londinium in his stead. Sir Brandius was a different matter, one he would see to personally. It had been too long since he had spent time with the man who had raised him, and any alleged witchery against him was a good excuse for a visit.

The royal party, complete with retinue, made decent time along the Glastonbury road, yet Rokk was of ill humour – his instructions to be informed of Laoraighll’s healing had come to naught. At Glastonbury, the ensemble would turn north, but Rokk resolved to make inquiries with the Priestesses since they were so close to his route. As he largely expected, Azura, the Lady of the Lake, awaited his arrival and anticipated his queries.

“My liege, the Lady Laoraighll is resting with all comfort and being treated will every available herb, spell and prayer. The Josephite brethren most deeply apologize that the Cauldron is not in their keeping to-day.”

“Where is it? Has Dindrane been summoned back to Lothian?” Indeed, the king had wanted her and the relic in Portus Magnus to attend to the wounded – once Laoraighll was healed. “And where is Genni?”

“The brothers believe that one of their own, Pelles, received a sacred vision and took the Cauldron with him. None have seen it since he left Avalon in a haste. We have told Genni the location of the Josephites’ gate into South Cymru, so she could to find Pelles ere he travels too far.”

Pelles. Imra’s heart felt the jab. The father she had no memory of had been in Avalon – her Avalon – the whole time she grew up – and she had never known. It was both a joy to know he had probably kept an eye on her all those years, but also a wrenching pain that he had never eased her fears and loneliness at the same time.

“My liege?” the Queen asked her husband. “As much as my heart yearns to see Sir Brandius again, perhaps I would be of better use tending to Laoraighll.”

Rokk nodded. With MacKell still gone, Laoraighll was his best fighter, yet through his loyalty to his friends and fellow warriors he wanted to see her restored to health even if she never fought again. He found no fault with hid bride for the decision, nor in truth with Genni. Anyone could run messages to and from Londinium, but if she could find Pelles, her efforts could yet save many. Indeed, she had anticipated the decision he would likely have made, and all too often he had been faulting his own knights for doing such.

Presently the royal entourage divided, largely by gender, with Imra’s ladies either accompanying her to Avalon, or else waiting for her under Luornu’s watch at the nearby Glastonbury convent. Brother Jan, Imra’s primary confidante, remained at Imra’s side, while at Azura’s urging, Rokk took her aide Thora along with him. If spellcraft was afoot Rokk would not be without an aide.

Imra reentered Avalon for the first time openly as both herself and the queen – no more deceptions to any. With Britain as united as any could imagine, not even the most pious Christian would dare rebuke her now, or so she chose to believe.

She and her ladies settled in among the priestesses and the maidens-in-training; it alarmed the Queen how many fewer students there now were compared to even a decade ago. She would make a point to address recruitment to Azura later on. Perhaps it was time to bring in Picts, Scots and Kentish Khunds.

Imra visited Laoraighll as soon as she could. The Ulsterwoman remained unawares, and Querl and the senior priestesses cared for her as best they could. Querl’s eyes asked the question she couldn’t answer – she knew not her father’s location at any time in her life, save for her grandfather King Pellam’s funeral. Ordering Querl and the others to allow her the privacy, she reached out to the ailing woman’s mind, and offered her own will toward the woman’s fight for her life.

That evening, Azura welcomed her with a sparse priestess meal – indeed, she would have been disappointed with anything else. She and Azura had known each other all their lives, yet now neither were mere girls who aspired to be priestesses – they were priestesses, and in their own way both were queens. Azura welcomed her suggestions on recruitment, but bristled more at the notion of Picts than even of Kentish Khunds.

“There have been prophesies, even within the Picts themselves,” Azura warned. “The Olde Ways as we know them might be more threatened by those who will rule the Picts than by all the Vidars in Christendom.”

Imra nodded, and seized upon the opening. “The sway that one such as Vidar held, and may yet again, needs to change. I… had it in mind for Brother Jan to establish a chapel in Avalon. On the Isle of Heath, as none have used it in many ages,” she told her hostess.

Azura was taken aback. Yes, she knew Jan had become a close and trusted advisor of the queen but still---

“You do not think it to be wise? Please, my friend. Speak your mind freely,” the Queen invited.

“I am surprised,” the priestess said slowly as she gathered her thoughts. “You know well that it is not my word alone that is needed. The others will ask, I am sure… are there not Christians here enough, with the Josephites?”

“The Josephites are a sect of Christians unto themselves. Over time they have les and less in common with the Christians of the outside world. There are two strains of Christendom I see in Britain, and neither resembles the Josephites in anything but name. There are Christians who act as soldiers of Rome and of Clovis, who would use their Iesous as a banner for war and conquest, and there are Christians like Brother Jan for whom service and kindness are the tools of their Christ-god. If we do not welcome the latter into the very heart of Britain, I fear we will see more and more of the former.”

Azura nodded. “I have seen the duality you speak of. You know… as queen, as a priestess and as royalty of the old line, your word will carry much weight throughout Avalon. I pray that you are certain of what you ask before the others hear of it.”

I have decided to start catching up on other people's fanfics, and chose this one as the first.

I just finished reading up to the scene where Rokk removes Excalibur from the stone.

Great stuff, Kent.

I'm curious (and forgive me if you already talked about this in a post I haven't read yet) -- what are your favorite Arthurian movies?

in all honesty, I've been fairly disappointed by most Arthurian movies I've seen. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is probably the sole exception - and not for its faithfulness to the mythos, of course.

I've just started watching the TV adaption of Mists of Avalon and so far it's not too bad (aside from the standard historical deviations and anachronisms).

glad you're liking it!

I'm ascared of this thread, but as a fan of Arthurian related things, I'm going to dive on in...tomorrow night.

Dev, it's well worth it. I'll be catching up some more with it this morning.

Kent, I might watch Mists of Avalon, too, although I don't like the lead actress. Monty Python and the Holy Grail is, of course, a delight, and I think Graham Chapman actually gives Arthur some honest-to-goodness gravitas (all the more remarkable when one considers that Chapman had hit rock bottom with his alcoholism at the time of filming.) As for other Arthurian movies, I agree most of them don't cut the mustard, but I think John Boorman's Excalibur, despite many goofy moments, does at least capture some of the magic of the legends.

I found Excalibur to be an unwatchable piece of crapola, but I do realize it has many fans, for reasons that escape me. It makes Clive Owen's recent King Arthur look good in comparison (I could actually sit through that, and admire the attempt to put it in late-Roman times).

Ha ha ha ha ha

To each their own.

I'll admit that when it comes to the cinema, I have a weakness for style over substance, and I think Excalibur has great cinematography.

Haven't watched the Clive Owen one. I'll have to check that out.

It has it's share of groan-moments, but it tries to recast the essence of the mythos into a period-appropriate setting, with no magic (except for typical Hollywood shortcuts of story trumping physics) and only a handful of anachronisms.

Clive's version isn't bad for what it tried to do. I honestly think I like the music of Excalibur better than the actual movie.

Monty Python is just beyond good, and deserves to be loved by every living soul.

Three Hundred and Ninety-one

The witch-woman had convinced many of Brandius’ tenants that she was a priestess and of royalty of the old lineage, but unlike her efforts on Brandius, she never tried to convince them that she was the king’s sister. Her sudden disappearance, the very morning before Rokk’s arrival, angered the king. If some old woman wanted to claim false kinship among the gentry, he wanted to make an example of her, and he told this to the man who raised him.

“You care more of someone using her name than you do of her very absence?” Brandius probed.

“I… I know I do not recall her as fondly as I should. I but rarely can recall our moments together,” he confided a truth he rarely let on to himself.

“She left court right after having words with your bride. Do you think yon Imra’s gifts may be influencing your heart?”

“Mayhap. I sometimes know not who I am any a more.”

Brandius nodded. Young men change as they become young men. Even if they are not kings.”

“Tis as if something has crawled inside my gut and drives me to be something other than as I am,” Rokk confessed.

“You’re not the first to say such,” Brandius commented. Seeing Rokk was looking for more, he continued. “Mordru. When he was Constanz, he was a kind and trusting king. Poisoned by a Pict, he was closer to death than even Sir Garth or Sir Andrew were, ere their returns. When he came back to us… he was still as he was, but he had changed. The joys he once held now showed themselves when he pained others.”

Rokk absorbed this. “Am I doomed to walk my uncle’s path? Poisoned by fact or by heart? Mysa feared that t’would be Imra and Garth who would poison this land, and myself.”

The elder nodded. “Perhaps. But none can carry your burdens but you. You walk your own path. Let not Mordru, Mysa, Imra or me steer you to a place you know is wrong.”

“Reep often said as much. I miss him.”

Brandius nodded. ‘I pray you find him soon. Mayhap he is to be ransomed by some blackguard.”

“Mayhap.” Rokk recalled his own time imprisoned in the faerie realm Annwyn Annowre. If Reep was lost in some magick realm, it might be impossible to find him.

Late that evening, Rokk wandered out into the gardens where he and Reep so oft played. The forest insects of August serenaded all who would listen, and Rokk let the sounds lead him out into the fields.

“She’s scared, you know.” It was Tenzil.

“Who is?” He couldn’t picture arrogant Thora to be scared of much.

“The old woman calling herself Mysa.”

“You spoke with her? When? Where?”

“She called to me, not long after we supped. An aged old crone she is, in truth, so withered she could be an aged visage of most any woman. Yet she knew me by name and by sight. Many of us. Those Mysa would have known, she knew. Those who have joined your company since Mysa has been gone, she seemed not to know.”

“Sayest thou you think itwas her?” Rokk felt he had been quite tolerant of his beefeater’s quirks, but now his irritation was returning.

“I say only that she seems to truly believe so, and she knew things few but Mysa would.”

“Witchery.”

Tenzil nodded. “Verily the best of wagers, some form of it. She… she asked me to relay something to you, and if I did so, she vowed to bother Brandius no more.”

“Speak, then.”

“ ‘My dearest brother-’”

“Surely you might sever those words of merit from those without,” Rokk snipped.

“My liege,” Tenzil apologized. “She said that she was ambushed leaving Avalon by Thora, that Thora and Mordru conspire against you, and that plenty still loyal to the Olde Ways yearn for your leadership. She fears that the Pictish bear-king has bespelled you-”

“ENOUGH!” Rokk was almost angry enough to pummel Tenzil. “Where did you two meet?” Rokk demanded.

“By yon pond,” Tenzil jestured. No pond was visible in the night, yet Rokk’s feet knew well the way even without illumination, and stopped two feet short of the water.

“Witch!” he called out. “Witch, I know not who you are or what plot you follow. But know this. Bother me, bother any member of my court with your presence or your lies, and I will gut you myself, if I have every priest, Druid or soldier on this isle hunt you down! BEGONE, whilst you still can!”

Rokk would never be certain whether or not he heard or imagined a muffled sobbing between the notes of the crickets’songs.

Three Hundred and Ninety-two

Sir Lu was pleased to be chosen by Sir Garth to patrol the southwestern coasts. The knowledge and experience she had gained during the Khundish war made her something of an expert on the region’s coasts, and Garth hoped to identify Frankish landing sites as quickly as possible.

In truth, both of them wanted to take the war to Frankish soil, a move King Rokk seemed willing to pursue. Rokk and Jonah would begin raising armies throughout Britain in the months to come. They found warm receptions everywhere they went, even among those who seemed ready to follow the would-be usurper not so long ago; the legacy of Geraint finally seemed to be ebbing. Yet Lu was scarcely more enthused by the support they found had since been garnered for the man who helped broker the peace, a name who she considered no more trustworthy than the Cornish usurper slain by Sir Thom. The mystery queen one heard occasional word of helped not Lu to trust the duke in question.

“You don’t trust this Aivillagh.” Garth restated.

“Nay. I still think he was in league with the Khunds.”

“Yet we have no real sign of this?”

“Nay. My small company snuck away to avoid the betrayal I expected. The proof would have been our slain bodies, we avoided.”

“Yet we cannot accuse the man on that alone, I fear.”

“No, I glean not.”

“I suggest we pay a visit and smooth some waters, perhaps foster the idea of winning some conscripts.”

“And sleep with one eye open,” Lu added, earning a laugh from the Breton prince.

Riding toward Exeter, they saw a rider coming the opposite way along the old Roman road. Both knights marveled at the gleam of the man’s armour – until he drew close and they saw it was not the armour that so gleamed but the man himself.

“Greetings, my friends!” the voice was unmistakable, even if it seemed to carry a quality of richness that defied one’s ability not to be awed. Beyond the voice, beyond the glow, was Sir Dyrk, a sun king more than Regulus ever hinted at.

“My friends! I have a most important message for Queen Imra. I would that you join me on my quest to Londinium!”

Three Hundred and Ninety-three

Luornu would have almost rather have gone to Avalon than again face the clerics of Glastonbury, but rather than wait for the inevitable, she opted to seek out the chief matron of the nunnery herself.

“My dear Lady Luornu!” the abbess cooed. “How are the Queen’s ladies settled in?”

“Quite well, milady,” she replied. After going through some pleasantries and sharing news, she read the unasked questions on her hostess’ face. “The Queen had business on Avalon, including seeing a new Christian church built there.”

“In a heathen netherworld?” the matron scoffed.

“Are we all not heathens ere we learn to love the Lord?” Luornu rebutted. “If the Disciples did not bring the word out into pagandom-”

The abbess waived her commentary aside. “What news of the Grail?”

“A Josephite monk has taken it on a quest.”

“Mmmm, Josephites” she said disapprovingly. “There is enough paganism among those who call themselves Christian as it is.”

She stepped closer, speaking commandingly and unflinchingly. “And you, Luornu? How have you handled the vow you made to God, in this very hall?”

“If you refer to my pledge regarding the Grail, I pledged to you, not God. And I have relayed the message – all I ever vowed to do.”

The matron was almost brewing over in anger. “You. DARE. In this place-”

“I have seen good men and women do God’s will and fight the evils of this world! If your hospitality here is such that it reduces me to your puppet, then I shall gladly renounce your hospitality!”

“Mind you place, maiden! Speak not of God-”

“Methinks those who try to speak for God have lost track of to whose heart they are listening – and for who they are trying to speak.” Luornu turn and walked out, ignoring the abbess’ bellicose appeals.

Word spread quickly, and soon no nun was meeting Luornu’s eyes. Even Virginia and Siobhan looked at her with a mixture of awe, fear and shock. She declined the nuns’ foodstuffs and minded the maidens under her charge.

The next morning, she was summoned before the priest.

Three Hundred and Ninety-four

The pony meandered almost aimlessly down the byway, its mistress barely heeding its course.

She had made her way back towards Exeter avoiding towns, and lost in her own hurt. It was not with intent that she found herself along the southern ridge of the Mendip hills, looking wistfully at the cluster of hills to the south.

Glastonbury.

The shape of the hills could not help but evoke their otherworldly, parallel twins in Avalon. How close they could seem, this instant.

Coming off of the hills, the path blended into a wider cart path used by countess farmers to get to the marketplace at Bath. No merchant took this route – there were too many fens, streams and morasses, and too many dead-ends and twists. This was not a through road for anyone but the intrepid or foolhardy, and brigands found it too unprofitable to bother with. But even an old woman had to keep an eye for armed men. Luckily, the one ahead was a familiar one.

“Fret not, my love!” he said. It was Accolon, with a most winsome grin and such a sparkle in his eyes it was almost contagious.

“Oh mighty seducer of crones! What old wise-woman’s heart has been stolen in our time apart?” It was easier to respond in jest than to cry on his shoulder, as much as she wanted to give her despair voice.

“None but any emptiness you feel without me, I pray.” He dismounted and approached her, kissing her hand. “No fortune with Sir Brandius, I presume?”

“No. I… wish not to speak of it further. I… failed.”

“Yet you won the beefeater Tenzil’s ear.’

How did he know? Hast he been spying on me?

“Even he has his doubts.”

“For now. We’ll start convincing him, now that we are together.”

“And how shall we accomplish that?” She was not about to return to the villa – or to court.

‘He will meet us in Corinium. Next week, if the gods are gracious,” he grinned mischievously.

“You followed me? And convinced him to come along?”

“Not so. Returning from Perilous Forest, I met a woman and her son who told me of how Brandius had so dismissed you. Riding further, I learnt that Tenzil had been accidentally shot during an archery contest, and had to remain behind. After Rokk left, I visited the man and learnt his mind on your meeting. As he was not as harmed as first it seemed, I invited him to Corinium, where I have an ally.”

“And he just agreed to this?”

“Well… I pulled rank on him.” With that, the features on Accolon’s face began to morph. “I suppose I should have spoken of this earlier.”

Three Hundred and Ninety-five

Garth was even more suspicious by the time he and Lu arrival with their guest at court.

Londinium was all abuzz at the seeming return of Sir Dyrk – or Apollo, as he now called himself. There was also much gossip of Luornu’s near-excommunication, but few ears would listen to Garth’s fears.

Apollo was Dyrk, but not Dyrk. He was what Mysa would without doubt call a “sun king,” a living incarnation of what a more religious man than Garth might call a sun god. Gath surprised himself by thinking of Mysa with anything but scorn. She was still his favourite person to blame for his shackles.

It was not that Apollo was merely so radiant, so charming, especially with the ladies (indeed, whereas so many, even Dyrk himself, had failed to seduce the chaste Sir Lu, it was not a difficult one for Apollo); his entire set of loyalties was now suspect. It was not only that he spoke of Rokk as an equal (at best), and as if all others held worth only in relation to him – it was that one believed it, the longer one spent with the transformed knight. If this version of Dyrk was the destiny Regulus had so long hinted at, Garth wished it had never come – or that he had stayed dead to never see it. Something else else was wrong; something unlike a Khund or Nuhorran menace that could not be driven off with armies.

Apollo had charmed the Queen and indeed all the ladies of the court, and it was only because of Garth’s insistence to triple the guard – and Apollo’s bemused acquiescence – that he was not an overnight guest in the quarters of the Queen and her ladies. Perhaps it was his own feelings for the Queen that finally let him break Apollo’s charm.

But the Queen insisted on holding a feast for the return of the presumed-dead knight, and not a company of soldiers could have pried either of the twin sisters from Dyrk’s side.

When Sir James returned from leave, Garth was delighted to have a kindred ear to speak to.

“…so such is my quandary,” he explained. From James’ expression, it was hard to tell if he’d heard a word. “What thinks thou?”

“If he’s not Dyrk, reveal him for what he is. Like Dyrk, when he found out Ayla’s enchantment, when we thought she was you.”

“How do we do that?” Garth was glad James had taken an interest after all.

“Follow him back to his lair. Seek Regulus’ aid. I don’t know!” James was suddenly irritable. “For once, use your wit for something other than wooing the ladies!”

As James stormed away, Garth was left puzzled. If James was irked by his – and Dyrk/Apollo’s – successes with womenfolk, it never seemed apparent that James was not holding his own. Garth smiled; he’d have to arrange a more fulfilling leave for his brother-in-law soon, it seemed. Surely there were plenty of pretty faces in Brittany to distract his friend from whatever smile had bespelled him.

Turning his attention back to Apollo, he noticed Carolus scowling at the new arrival. Garth long suspected the jester had more to him than appeared. Maybe it was time to find out how much more.

Ohhhh, I've only gotten as far as chapter 6!

I've wanted to read this story for a while now but it's so long I was a little discouraged!
But, now that I've started, I'll keep going as much as I can.
(Wednesday I'm teaching at my church, but after that I have almost a month kinda free.)

This is great, Kent.
Do you mind if someone posts some pictures here?
If I find some that apply, anyway.
?

Read the first ten chapters...the first page of this thread Great stuff.

I cannot wait to see where it goes. I have a lot of ground to cover.

Thanks guys!

Candy, feel free to add pics.

Hurrah!
And thank-you.
I'm on chapter 15 now, by the way.

Here's how I see your Lu, especially in the early years, where I am currently in the story.
This one is so beautiful that I've had it saved for awhile, just for me.


posted by irenkesabo
It's a very little picture, but the animation is complicated.
If it takes too long to upload, I'll go back to the source and try to find the picture again and post a link.

How beautiful! This rather cheered me up!

I only got to 106 or something, before my eyes gave out, but I'll get back to this soon!

I'm impressed beyond the telling of it at all the historical / mythic detail, and the uses of gaelic, latin, etc. and real world locations.

And I love all the little shout outs.

"My castle will be made of gold!"
"And have ruby turrets!"

Heh. Awesome.

So many characters, too! Wow, I fall apart if I use too many, but I'm not even a third of the way into it, and I'm already seeing a quartet of Subs, at least one member of the Fatal Five, etc. Cool.

This is, bar none, the most impressive Legion fic I've seen.

I'm through 20 now. Really great things being done with the interweavings of the lore and the Legion. Great figuring out who veryone actually is in this reality.

Most impressive.

thanks, all!

great pic, Candy!!!! thanx!

The young and beautiful Imra(Gwen), when she was soon to be King Rokk's betrothed and the love of Garth's life:


posted by Irenkesabo

I've read through chapter 30 and comments.
sigh

I'm really enjoying Luornu, with her challenging the matron. Such spirit!

The Dirk/Apollo transformation is quite fascinating, with his uber-attractiveness to everybody. Danger ahead, no doubt!