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Camelot: A Narrative Fiction

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“But before I dress, I wanted to ask you about something you said yesterday. About Morgane.” Perceval expected this. He could not make a throwaway comment about being captured by the sorceress and not expect to have to explain the situation to his wife. It had been unfair of him to blurt out that statement about being captured yesterday and refuse to say anything more. “It happened the year before last,” he said, staring out the window. “Morgane had just announced she planned to claim the throne of Camelot for herself. Her Saxon supporters lay in wait everywhere: the Wild Wood, by the Lake, caves, anywhere they might get their hands on Camelot’s citizens. But the true prize for them was capturing knight and torturing them.” “Oh, Perceval, …show more content…

“It didn’t get that far. Close, but not quite. “Gawain and I patrolled the northern edge of the Wild Wood, almost at the border of the Calendar Wood. Our forces were spread thin at the time, so it was just the two of us skirting the edge of the forest while the rest of our team rode south. “A group of five Saxons ambushed us. They knocked us from our horses and had us tied with rope in moments. They dumped us in a clearing and returned with Morgane.” It was obvious Joan was trying to not show her alarm, but she wrung her hands and chewed at her bottom lip as Perceval told the story. He covered her hands with his. “As you can see, I’m still here, so nothing that awful happened,” said Perceval with a slight smile. “Of course, but it must have been …show more content…

“And the guard?” “We took care of him.” It was Perceval’s policy to never share the details of the more brutal aspects of his job with Joan. She could handle the stories, but why should she have to? Sometimes, a man had to bear the weight of his actions on his own, or turn to his comrades, if need be. And she never pushed for more information. He cleared his throat. “That’s everything. The worst was the feeling of helplessness. That’s why I don’t like to talk about it; nor does Gawain.” Joan leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you for telling me. I forget how dangerous your job can be because you make it look so easy.” “Most days, it’s dull, but I’ve grown to appreciate the boredom.” “Better dull than dangerous,” said Joan with a smile, rising from bed and stretching her arms above her head. “After I tend to Carina’s nerves this morning, I have training with Pawl this afternoon, so I’ll see you later on.” Joan crossed to the vanity and brushed out her long hair. To Perceval, it seemed like a typical morning, one filled with sex, banter, a little serious discussion, and the usual routines of preparing for the day. His and Joan’s marriage would thrive, as long as Perceval didn’t wallow in

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