Me, Arthur! (And Some Other Unimportant People)

Lancelot's Grand (and Harrowing) Escapade

Lancelot clenched the handle of the large hammer and hefted it up so he could see it better.  The squirrel, which seemed to have made a home on his shoulder, gave him a scathing look.

"What?" he exclaimed, looking at the squirrel.  "It's dark in here and I just want to find a sturdy weapon," he scoffed.

I'm talking to a squirrel, he realized with despair.  Gosh, Arthur's insanity must be rubbing off on me.  Lancelot brushed some of the dust off his clothes.  Do they ever clean this place?

At that exact moment, he saw something horrible.  A thing that only appeared in people's worst nightmares.

"Spider," he cursed (yes, he counted spider as a curse) and shoved open the door to the weapon storehouse.  He then proceeded to complete a dive roll out the door that would make any combat teacher proud.

Just because Lancelot wouldn't hurt a fly didn't mean he enjoyed their presence.

He stood up and took a deep breath.  Just as his father used to say, "The only thing we have to fear is fear itself and Great Aunt Paulina's oatmeal raisin cookies."  Forget stomach aches, those cookies were practically poisonous.

He took out his pocket watch and checked the time.  I've spent thirty minutes out here.  I better hurry back.  It was only a twenty-minute walk, but he jogged the whole way and was pleased to realize he didn't even break a sweat, in fact, he felt rather energized.

Spying a group of elaborately dressed ladies taking a walk in the gardens, he planned his route carefully.   He took the squirrel, which he realized he might actually consider his best friend (surviving spider attacks will do that to you) and placed him in the grass, bidding him a sorrowful farewell.  It was time for the most dangerous escapade of his life.

He quickly ducked behind a hedge as the ladies passed, edging along the ground as silently as he could.  He quieted his breathing and made a quick dash for one of the doors into the castle.  He yanked the door open, relieved when the noise didn't give him away, and softly stepped inside.

Naturally, it was then that the hammer he had been carrying slipped out of his sweaty grip and fell to the floor with a resounding clang.  He froze.  Did anyone hear that?

After a second, he thought he was safe.  He only later realized his foolishness as an imposing man stepped out of a room just down the hall.  He had smears of something that looked like paint all over his finely knit tunic, and Lancelot assumed from the quality of the fabric that he was someone of fairly high status.  His dark coloring and hair were unusual and he appeared to likely be a visiting noble from another land. 

He gave Lancelot a pitying look and then went about giving the most mind-numbing spiel Lancelot had ever heard.

"I understand completely, my boy."  Lancelot was fairly sure the man wasn't over the age of twenty-two, let alone old enough to call him 'my boy.'  "You want to give up the hammer, to give up combat and violence.  But know that you have far more choices than you may think.  The arts call to you!"  Lancelot was trying his very hardest to not stare at him incredulously.  "Now, I doubt you will ever find a muse quite as incredible as my dear Iseult, but the spark of artistic fervor in your eyes is undeniable."

Was he mocking him?  Where could his mysterious fanaticism possibly come from?  Lancelot calmy nodded along to the rest of the man's rambling, his hammer still awkwardly lying on the floor.  Several people even passed them by, not hiding their concerned looks.  Lancelot made sure to half-heartedly smile at them; however, he wasn't sure if it actually did more harm than good.  Finally, it seemed as though the man was done, but he took a step towards his room and then looked back at Lancelot.

"Oh, how rude of me.  My name is Palamedes," he informed.  It was the most lucid thing Lancelot had heard him say.  A few seconds ticked by with Lancelot staring at him until he realized his mistake.

"I-I am, uh, Lancelot."  He could've slapped himself; he sounded like an idiot.  He saw an expression of surprise cross the Palamedes' face before it was quickly hidden.  Palamedes bid him adieu, going back to working on some painting inspired by the mysterious Iseult.   

He was glad to finally be rid of the man, but he suddenly realized that this was nowhere near as bad as what was still to come.  He was giving a hammer to Arthur, which was like giving a combustion spell to a bored four-year-old.

What omnipotent being did I annoy enough to have to go through all of this?