Inspired by Matthew Vaughn's screen interpretation of the seven princes of Stormhold and their ghostly antics in Neil Gaiman's Stardust. Mostly humour oriented.

Piercing pain tore through his body and Lancelot was sure his next breath would end in a scream, or at the very least a gasp of pain.

Unfortunately, that breath never came.

James found himself back in the meeting room at 11 Savile Row.

"New arrival! Welcome, Lancelot."

"Not a particularly respectable run for a Kingsman, seventeen years. Could have been longer if he'd been a bit less cocky."

"Oh shush. The boy wasn't expecting that. Least it was a quick way to go."

Around the table were Kingsman knights – he could tell at least that much from the suits and glasses. Strangely enough he didn't seem to recognize any of them.

"Terribly sorry, gentlemen, it seems I've yet to make your–"

Something was horrendously wrong.

How did he get back here from the middle of the Andes?

And more importantly, why on earth did the gentleman sitting in Gawain's chair have his throat slit from ear to ear? The blood staining his collar was still fresh!

He hazarded a look around the table – Bedivere looked like he'd been horribly burnt, garments utterly decimated and clearly scorched. Galahad's hair was plastered to his head, suit visibly waterlogged and absolutely sopping wet. Yvain, meanwhile, had a conspicuously large machete embedded in the back of his head.

His inquisitive sweep only sent a healthy chortle about the table.

"Well, old chap. There's one caveat about Arthur's court I'm afraid they weren't able to disclose when you earned a place at the table."

It was painfully obvious to James that he was dead.

"So–"

"–you're stuck like that until your successor dies, yes."

The young fellow sitting opposite Arthur – whom he could safely assume by now was Pellinor, had a grin spread across his face that he seemed to have some trouble controlling, before managing to sputter out, "You could consider yourself halfway to the end."

Not a second later, the man had burst into peals of laughter.

It would have irritated James more if he wasn't so distracted by the fact that Pellinor was missing the skin from a rather large portion of his face. When the rest of the table joined in the snickering though, he'd had enough.

"I take it being halfway between dead and alive is a funny business then?"

His question didn't seem to have the desired effect of producing an answer, sending the rest of the men into full-blown guffaws instead.

"Please, gentleman," James intoned, unable to hide his infuriation, "do let me in on the punchline."

His eyes followed the shaky finger raised by the still-in-stitches-Galahad pointed at the wall behind him. The sight of his incorporeal self in the mirror, indistinct edges and all, wasn't surprising.

The deep-set line that divided him neatly into two halves though, was.

"Bollocks."

Thank you for reading! More chapters forthcoming as and when the inspiration shows up. Feel free to comment or drop an ask at rafaelafranzen on tumblr if you've got any ideas of any sort of nonsense the ghost!Kingsman knights might get up to. If I like your idea and can come up with the writing to do it justice, it might be expanded upon in another drabble in the future.