S
Sir Basil
Guest
Original poster
As the serf was hunting, Igris was hunting also, he found bits of mossy fabric, possibly from a dress worn by one of the fine ladies of Camelot. He found part of what had been a book, though the pages inside had rotted away in the heavy rain. A fragment of a sword hilt here, a clasp that he knew had belonged to royal armor. He sighed, and dusted some of the muck and grime off of his green tunic - though it probably would have blended in with the colour. He looked up, remembering the grand arched ceiling that had covered these halls, and sheltered the knights from sleet and hail. He remembered, as a child, when the court wizard turned the ceiling blue and filled it with stars, telling their fortunes by the planets and the nebula. He remembered what the old wizened wizard had said about him. You shall restore what has been taken, Igris the Lionhearted. He knew what that meant now. He would recover Camelot, and the world would go back to being what it was.
Igris heard the serf's question and turned to him, looking at the sheet of paper he was holding. It had survived the rain with no decay or mold. Magic, Igris thought with wonder, Just magic. He took the sheet away from the serf and read it, carefully. He knew the hand that it had been written with. It was the hand of his uncle, Sir Gareth, a man that he had always known to be pure of heart and completely unlike his other uncles.
He read it, cautiously, out loud, "My dear Igris - Merlyn told me that this letter would be read by you many days after I died. He's gone now, to be with his tree spirit, Nimue, he's been gone for some time, but he told me what must happen. I must write you this letter and say that Mordred took the sword Excalbiur far to the north, past the ruins of that old emperor's wall . I'm not certain why Arthur would give the sword to that dreadful child, but I'm sure that the meaning of that phrase will be clear to you, by the time you read this letter. Merlyn assured me that you grew up a tall strong boy, and will restore honour to our name. I hope, I hope, I hope. Your father is talking of war with Mordred... I hope nothing comes of it. Love from myself, and Lynette..." Igris trailed off. The thought of Gareth writing this letter knowing the entire situation but not knowing how it would play out was unbearably sad to him.
He looked at his serf, Howel, with water in his eyes not from the rain. He swallowed hard, "He's dead too. Tomorrow, we ride to Hadrian's wall all the way up in the land of the Scots. But we will rest here, at least, for a bit."
Igris heard the serf's question and turned to him, looking at the sheet of paper he was holding. It had survived the rain with no decay or mold. Magic, Igris thought with wonder, Just magic. He took the sheet away from the serf and read it, carefully. He knew the hand that it had been written with. It was the hand of his uncle, Sir Gareth, a man that he had always known to be pure of heart and completely unlike his other uncles.
He read it, cautiously, out loud, "My dear Igris - Merlyn told me that this letter would be read by you many days after I died. He's gone now, to be with his tree spirit, Nimue, he's been gone for some time, but he told me what must happen. I must write you this letter and say that Mordred took the sword Excalbiur far to the north, past the ruins of that old emperor's wall . I'm not certain why Arthur would give the sword to that dreadful child, but I'm sure that the meaning of that phrase will be clear to you, by the time you read this letter. Merlyn assured me that you grew up a tall strong boy, and will restore honour to our name. I hope, I hope, I hope. Your father is talking of war with Mordred... I hope nothing comes of it. Love from myself, and Lynette..." Igris trailed off. The thought of Gareth writing this letter knowing the entire situation but not knowing how it would play out was unbearably sad to him.
He looked at his serf, Howel, with water in his eyes not from the rain. He swallowed hard, "He's dead too. Tomorrow, we ride to Hadrian's wall all the way up in the land of the Scots. But we will rest here, at least, for a bit."