On the table a candle was set, flickering and dancing. The flame gave forth enough light to see the faces around the table. I sat next to a man who was young and had appearance like myself, Will, by name. Across from him was another man, John, who was tall, bearded, with merry eyes. He held his hand to his forehead with his elbow resting on the table. And directly in front of me was a man with scarlet hair, Martin. His lips were pinched in frustration, as he leant back in his chair with his cloak tightly wrapped about him. Such was Martin’s disposition.      

A single road plowed through the village. This road carried news, letters, gossip, friends, family, and—at least that day—two wanderers. One was older than the other, and they kept to the side of the road as they passed through, neither going further in nor wholly leaving it.
The older man was a middling person: middling height and build, plain, middling sort of features, and probably middle-aged. He attracted no attention, but the younger stood out.

**Based on the story of the marriage of King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, as told by Howard Pyle in The Story of King Arthur and His Knights.**

*~*~*
 

'Twas a balmy, golden autumn day

Before the stroke of noon

Camelot its winding streets bedecked

And merry players piping tunes

Beneath the walls of Camelot

Behind the cold dark stone

King Arthur paced with worried steps

About His royal throne

Beside Him stood His royal knights

Chivalrous their mien

The sun flashed
Off the blade
Of the sword
In crimson fire
Like foretold blood

The moon glinted
Off the blade
Of the sword
In crystal stars
Like healing rain

The wind whispered
Past the blade
Of the sword
Sighing the tales
Of ancient tears

The main's hands gripped
The strong hilt
Of the sword
Part of the tales
He went to fight

In a wide, golden field that stretched out until touching the border of a grim forest, lay a large town, in the midst of which rose triumphantly a castle with four, majestic towers. A cold fog lay on and around the metropolis, enveloping it in a thick cloud which caused even the castle's high turrets to lie hidden from sight. Although no sound came from behind the walls and the air was still, yet it was a dreadful quiet, one of horrible expectation, not tranquility.

Note from Edith: Chapter II will be coming soon ... Unless I go blank o_O Hopefully that won't happen.

CHAPTER I
Perhaps War

Alicia Townsend lay in her bed and stared at the rough wooden ceiling above her. Snippets of the night’s conversation floated through her mind. As usual on Friday nights, her dad and his friends had gathered in the main room of their small house to discuss the local politics. Naturally, their conversation had focused primarily on the recent rebellion that had split the country in two.

“We’ve tolerated the corruption in the government long enough,” her dad had declared. “If the king wants our money so he can build a bigger castle for himself, then let him come and get it.”

The room was dark. It hurt her eyes to have it lighted more than dimly. Her head ached regardless. She was queen, and she was dying. Dying. And had no heir.
She sighed heavily. She was faintly aware of having done so several times within the last five minutes. And her weary mind kept on its futile trek around and around in a circle of indecision. Every time she came back to the thought of her young cousin, in France, she would linger and sigh.
He said her cousin couldn’t be queen.