Camelot

No idea why I wrote this. I was in highschool I think. I was obsessed with the old history of England. Every good legend has a basis in reality and the stories of Camelot and the lady of the lake were some of my favorites. Enjoy.

Autumn was here bringing with it a cold wet wind that wound its way thru the trees and around what few brown leaves still clung desperately to their branches. The wind seemed to howl like hungry wolves as the sun sank below the earth and a great haze encircled moon began to appear on the horizon over the mores. At the top of a distant hill a winding road began seemingly from nowhere but it was at one time well traveled for it lead all who journeyed on it to a city, a city that long ago was one of the greatest in all of England. Time had passed now and all that remained were a few walls and memories of glory and defeat. Weeds and vines sprang up around the road almost all though the earth were trying to hide it from the rest of the world. But tonight only one journeyed on this road. He wore a black cape of thick wool around his shoulders, head and draped across his chest. The pilgrim walked slowly with a torch in one hand and his horse’s reigns in the other casting a hunched and old shadow on the new brown earth. The wind became a little colder forcing him to draw closer to his horse and pull his cape tightly around his neck. His withered face was sad but if one looked close a bit of anticipation rimed his eyes as he drew closer to the ruins. The moon was almost directly above him shedding a small amount of light on his path. Just around the bend in the road lie his destination. He quickened his pace a bit but just as he saw the ruins the life in his hazy eyes seemed to die a little. He knew there would be no fanfare in his honor, no sweet smell of fresh bread in the court yard, not even a single light to bid him welcome, but did they really have to destroy every memory from this beautiful place. The traveler approached the ruins like a penitent soul nears an alter. Just 20 years before these fallen building created a live bustling community of people led by the greatest king in the known world, king Arthur. Arthur had died alone on the battlefield of Camline and now the castle walls lay in

shambles overrun by nature and time. Arthur’s enemies had driven the few remaining Knights of the Round Table into hiding and had laid waste to many of his precious possetions. It was even thought that Gweneveire had been burdened and placed in an un-marked tomb just outside the walls of Camelot, forever banished from it’s safety within. Now, it seemed all of England was in a great turmoil being made to succumb to Mørdrids every twisted whim. But time seemed to stand still for the haggard traveler for he stared in érnest at every over turned stone and splinter of wood remembering their purpose in his lost city. He guided his horse thru a maze of vines, fallen timbers and stones to a large cobblestone path that led to the center of the city. The gentle clattering of the horse’s hooves echoed thru the shambled buildings. A few more steps and both man and beast stood in the large oval market place that once lay in the shadow of Arthur’s towering Keep. Now small trees sprang up from the cobblestones pushing them skyward and shading the ground from England’s penetrating sun. It was well into the night and getting colder by the hour. The pilgrim shivered as he and his horse squeezed thru a narrow archway between two buildings where he found a tiny grassy spot for his horse to feed and him to sleep on. He gathered some branches and leaves that had fallen nearby and started a fire with his diminishing torch. He took a small sack from the side of his horse and filling it with dry leaves laid it on the grass for his pillow. he lay there for a moment staring into the tiny flickering flames that eat at the leaves then pulled his cloak over his face and was soon fast asleep. The sun slowly crept over the horizon casting tiny rays of light in all directions like an archers arrows. Sunlight danced on all the trees, ruins, and grass covered with the morning dew. Everything glistened. The travelers fire had long since disappeared leaving a large pile of black and gray ash that now lay cold

and slightly damp in the morning light. Tiny droplets of water covered the mans black wool cape, the only thing that protected him from England’s bitter and far to often dreary nights. A small glint of sunlight stabbed at his ruff hewn face through a tiny hole in his cape. his eyes twitched and he screwed his face up in an agitated expression of annoyance. Morning had come bringing with it the harsh realization of where he was. Still rather weary he lifted his dampened cape from his face and began to study with more fervor his surroundings. The grassy spot he managed to blindly find in the middle of the night was no bigger than a small room. It was lush and very green but ended abruptly into a large mixture of dirt and cobblestones. Many were uprooted, lying on their side and no longer smooth from years of people walking on them. Neighboring villagers seemed to think these sacred stones could be used for their home, bridges and fences, thus leaving the once beautiful face of Camelot marred with missing stones and scared pathways. The buildings were half falling down and many of the beams, which used to hold the splendid clay roofs in place were now black, charred by fire and lying everywhere but where they need to be in order to create such beautiful building as once graced the countryside. The stonewalls once painted and smooth as glass now, are smoke stained and any remainder of paint washed away with time. Nature had taken over many buildings. Trees grew in the middle of homes as Ivey ran with vicious fervor trying with the years to erase all memory of such an enchanting place as Camelot. The tired traveler sat up against the stone archway he found haven under last night only to look up and find the middle of the arch was missing, possibly stolen away by vandals. He leaned back against the wall and breathed a heavy sigh of sadness