The Fireside: The Accounts of Four Legends

By Blue Eyes At Night

They had to stop; it was obvious to anyone that they had to stop. Food, water, rest…….they were exhausted beyond words and would collapse if they did not replenish their supplies and sleep.

Tristran was leading them to a small town, not far out of there way but at that point it didn't matter how far away it was. When they got there the townspeople were very nice, very welcoming. Most had never seen a Roman soldier, much less one of the legendary Sarmatian knights.

They passed an old gnarled willow tree on that banks of a stream, and within a few minutes emerged into a small but bustling town. Within the ten years they'd been traveling, it had quickly become obvious to the riders that the less they said about Rome, the better, for in Briton it could get you killed as easily as fed to say you were a Roman soldier, even an enslaved one.

The group was bedraggled from rain, snow, insomnia and countless other afflictions. Even Arthur, so patient, calm and flexible, all but demanded a room and respite from the travel. When the knights were finally settled they slept, they ate, they drank…and they were studied by the natives they had intruded upon.

One night, the men were coming back from the river, as well as long overdue baths, when an old crone approached them. She looked harmless enough; simply an elderly woman crouched over a walking stick with a tattered cloak and no shoes. With one all encompassing look at the knights, her face broke into a toothless grin.

"So…you're the boys all the town is making such a fuss about?" And with that she sat on a stump on the side of the road, looking at them expectantly.

"We are soldiers, good grandmother." Galahad spoke kindly.

"From the Wall, I think?"

Arthur cocked an eyebrow at the old woman, they had told nobody they were from the wall, "Yes, we are from the wall. This is the Sarmatian cavalry of much renown."

Nodding her head she pointed a gnarled finger at Arthur, "You are no Sarmatian. You are a Roman."

"I am Arthur Castus. I lead these men."

"And I am a witch, I lead the demons and the fairies both." With a fair amount of difficulty she stood up from her stump and began walking away. The knights were puzzled as to her purpose until she turned, addressing them, "Come, lonely souls. I have a present for you."

"We need no gifts, my lady." Arthur said diplomatically, not sure accepting anything from the crone would be wise.

The woman used her walking stick to draw back the leaves hanging from the willow that the men had passed under not three days ago, revealing a fairly sized fire crackling happily into the evening air.

"Tis merely a fire, my lords."

Lancelot took a step forward, peering at the flames, sharing Arthur's thoughts on anything the old crone offered, "Many thanks, but we can make our own. Warm your own bones with those flames."

She reached out a hand and touched Lancelot's arm, tracing the pattern of his shirt until she had reached his palm. Almost lovingly she traced the lines that time and hardship had carved into it, whispering, "There is something special about these flames. Something no fire you can build can offer you."

The woman let his hand drop and turned to the rest, meeting the eyes of Galahad, "There are treasures in the fire, treasures from the past."

She moved on through the group, by-passing Gawain and Bors until she came to Tristran, "Treasures you may have thought lost forever. But they are not… such joys as those never wilt nor fade, they certainly cannot die."

Something in Tristran's eyes glazed over, and the woman turned back to Galahad, reaching a wrinkled hand to touch his cheek, "Some memories are not as far as others… until we push them away."

Finally she returned to Lancelot, "The fire will show you that which you thought lost, a passion forgotten, dead and buried. It will show you these things…if you give it the merest taste of your flesh, it shall seep into your mind and bring forth that of which legends are made."

She gave a fond pat to Lancelot's cheek and bowed low, ushering the men into the glade. Having no desire to send the seemingly mad woman into a frenzy Arthur shepherded his men around the fire. He turned to see if the woman had gone, and it seemed as though the crone had vanished, like a shooting star into the sky.

Gawain was quick to kid with Galahad about being petted by the witch, and Bors made short work of Lancelot, petting his cheek and cooing to him, "Such a pretty boy, such a very…..pretty……lonely boy."

"Get off, Bors!" Lancelot pushed the man away irritably, his eyes trained on the flame, "What could the crone have meant? 'Let it taste your flesh'?"

"She wants you to jump into the fire, Lance, I say give it a shot." Gawain laughed, "Then I can comfort the girls back home."

Lancelot kneeled next to the fire, and reached out his hands, warming them, "Well, it seems normal enough. It's bright, it's giving off heat…."

Gawain, still tremendously entertained by the whole notion of Lancelot being consumed by the flames, gave a gentle kick to Lancelot's behind, causing the man to lose his balance and nearly topple head first into the fire. As it was, only his hand was burned as it was licked by the orange tongue of the flames.

Giving a yelp of pain Lancelot pulled back and made as if to smack Gawain across his face when Galahad gave a yell, "Dear Gods!"

The men turned to him, finding him pale and pointing at the fire, "L-look! Just look there will you! There was a face in the fire!"

"Galahad will you stop making up no—" But Bors never finished his remark for as he turned to see the fire he saw what all the men saw: a face.

Not just any face, but one they all knew, one they remembered.

Lancelot collapsed onto a fallen log as he stared open mouthed at the image and stuttered, "E….Elaine?"

And so the knights sat around the fire, staring at it as though it was the most masterful magician in all the world, for instead of a rabbit it had pulled from the depths a woman….a ghost.

A/N- Ok…first off Hello! To everyone, this is my first King Arthur post though I'm not a newbie by any means.

This fic is gonna be odd….each following chapter is dedicated to my interpretations of Arthurian legends. Lancelot/Elaine….Tristran/Isolde (I'm spelling it Isotta…I think it looks prettier not to offend anyone). I'm also doing a Galahad/OC and maybe a Gawain/Ragnelle if I feel up to it.

All the fics can be read as one shots, my personal favorite it Tristran/Isotta cause I worked on their's the longest and feel it's the most well-written.

Hope everyone likes it! READ/REVIEW!