The Boy King
That faithful spring the Boy-King, as he was now called, had to draw the sword from the stone more times than I care to remember and each time more lord came flocking to his side until it seemed like all of Britain had laid their arms unto him. But as always, or at least so it seems to my weary senses, the lord had more conundrums in store for us. For it was a Pentecost that the arch-druid Merlin the Magician can unto me and my good friends whilst we were occupied with guarding parts of the White Tower. In his usually mysterious ways he asked to speak to us all in private and, a far as I can understand, begat strange council to us all. Most of his words are unknown to me, and are probably bound to be lost in the ages, but of the great things that came from that council, deeds that will resist the march of time, the greatest at that moment was the arch-druids decision to let my good friend Sir Cadry of Tisbury knight the young king. Sir Cadry prepared as best as one can for the knighting of a king and a great feast was held in London. Yet trouble was brewing in the north even before the crown had touched blessed Arthurs head.
With his hosts of loyal knight Arthur set forth eastwards towards Carlion where the Supreme Collegium had gathered. What word that were uttered between those high men neither I or my friends were privy to but after mere half-a-day of contemplation the good Lords made their decision: Arthur was to be named High King of Britton. I’m sure you readers who have followed my chronicles so far can imagine the celebration and rejoice among all good men in Britton at such good news. For almost sixteen years the throne had been empty and anarchy had ruled the fine lands of Britton. Now, finally, a rightful king had ascended throne; proclaiming peace and good will towards men. Those days of feasting are so blurred by joy that no matter how I try I can’t remember them; just that feeling of hope and contentment.
It is therefore not strange that when High King Arthur heard that King Lot with many other great kings of the north had arrived outside of Carlion he celebrated their arrival and sent for gifts. But as we approached the camp of King Lot I and my good friends grew weary. The northerners came clad in armor and with sharpened blades and as we rode up into the kings encampment King Lot had nothing but crude jokes and bitter triads to greet us with. At this moment my young nephew, Sir Cyn, rightfully spoke up and questioned the Kings harsh words and in better times I would not have had to hush him. But these are still dark times in Logres and honest word can be awfully costly. As young Sir Cyn and young Sir Brynach rode to warn the High King and prepare for war me and Sir Cadry escorted the gifts King Lot had so rudely refused back to Carlion, our minds already set for the battle to come. My son always asked me why I let the two young men ride ahead of us and to him I always said that I feared for their life. I said that king lot would not hesitate an instance in riding down Sir Brynach and the Sir Cyn, whom also had just embarrassed him, but that he would stay his sword if me and Sir Cadry where guarding the treasure. I’m afraid I was not entirely truthful. It was clear to me from the moment the young king received his crown that a new age was dawning and I felt in my aching back and legs that perhaps I was not ready for this new age. This age belongs to the young and the hopeful; therefore I let them ride forth, so that they themselves can mold their destiny.