The Flower of King and Knights

The Soul's Reprieve

As the choir sung a hymn, Gwynevere began to write in a large tome about the stories of Arthur and his knights. She did so every day since she joined the convent. She recalled every tale of every knight that had come to their court. She began writing about Sir Gawain’s return to Camelot after slaying the wife of a knight he was about to slay. The scandal it caused, and the grief she had given him for such a crime.

Yet she now felt a ping her hear, and a choking in her throat as she compared Gawain’s actions to hers. She put the thought out of her head. Had to focus on the manuscript. No one would read it, it was for the eyes of men and women to read and gawk and chatter about. This was personal. This was her way of remembering what the world was. How it could have been. How she helped to destroy it all.

“Sister?” called a young and fragile voice.

Gwynevere turned to the young woman. “Yes child, is there something you need?”

“There’s a man here to see you?”

“Shouldn’t you get the mother superior then?”

“Well he called you by name, and by your father. I think he wants to speak to you directly.”

“Let him…”

“He said he’d be more than willing to wait in the chapel, he said he’d enjoy the music of choir.”

“I shan’t ask what he meant by that.”

The young sister turned to main chapel and then back to Gwynevere. “I think he’s truly enjoying the music.”

Gwynevere shook her head and walked to find Ector resting in a pew, full armor, eyes closed and lost in the music of the choir. She sat down gently as to not disturb him. Turning she saw him silently enjoying peaceful signing, marking the features of his father upon his face. He looks so much like Arthur, she thought to herself.

“You seem to be enjoying the music,” she whispered softly.

“I haven’t heard music this beautiful in years.”

“Do they not have music like this where you were raised?”

“No, the music there lost its soul and heritage to make a nation’s profit.”

“I heard you fought a battle recently?”

“Aye, about week ago,” Ector opened his eyes, smiling as he looked upon her face, “We just now finished cleaning up the bodies and debris. It was a terrible site, one that will stay with me.” As he spoke his demeanor turned dark.

“Most kings would be proud to have won a grand victory.”

“War is not grand, it is the price that is paid for order and stability when a party dares to induce chaos. Sadly the innocent and those who do not begin the fight tend to suffer the worse.”

“Such is the way of things, it is God’s will.”

Ector was silent briefly. “I’ll let that subject go.”

“Why have you come here, Ector? Certainly not to debate God in here.”

“May I speak with you outside? I’d rather not have prying ears hear this conversation.”

The two left the main hall and came outside underneath a canvas of stars. Ector looked up in silent amazement as Gwynevere spoke.

“Ector, I know why you came here. And I can’t come back there.”

“I knew you’d say that. I’m not surprised to be perfectly honest. But…”

“Ector, please. You know how most of the knights think of me. Even when Launcelot visited me after Camlann they, they looked at me as if I had leprosy. I cannot imagine having to endure that everyday. I’m sorry.”