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And thus we begin the story...

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01Knight - Chapter Three {Moon Dragon} 
"Once a Knight" Copyright Moon Dragon - Mar/2010 
(fM, oral, FM, anal, magic, viol, F-solo 
exhib, MMf, f-solo, voy, reluc, best, f-dog 
1st-ff, ffM, shav, mf, MF, rom, hist) 
 
 - X - X - X - 

When a Contessa from present times returns 
and cannot go back for the love she yearns 
from a magical adventure in the past 
though ever more her love will last 
her squires must turn their weekend play 
into courage and prowess to save the day 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
DRAMATIS PERSONAE 
Lady Angharad O'Shaughnessy of Kilkenny 
Lord Lincoln Mac Galbraith of Blakeshire Wood 
     (Squires to Syr Gabriella) 

     Syr Gabriella Valentina, Contessa del Giardino Bella
     (Head of House Valentina) 

Sir Edmund de la Claire 
Baroness Sokhatai Bolkhadar 
     (Lord and Lady of House de la Claire) 

Duchess Lucinda Melisande Von Landstadt 
     (The Ivory Duchess) 

Sir Tyrus, Lord Blakeshire 
     (Knight of the Kings Court) 

Helga and Hannah the Serving Girls 
     (Handmaidens at Blakeshire Keep, Sisters) 

Lord Nathaniel of Belascye 
     (Squire of Sir Tyrus) 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Striding into the great hall, Nathaniel called for
a servant. A moment later, Hannah entered the hall and
curtsied before him. 
 
"Yes, milord," she said. 
 
"Does aught of the evenings meal remain in the serving
rooms?" the squire asked. 
 
The risk of fire in a castle being great, most of them
kept the actual kitchens in wooden outbuildings in the
courtyard. That the lords food should not become cold
as it was carried in from outside to be served, it was
taken into the serving room where it could be rewarmed
upon the hearths ere it was brought forth. 
 
"I believe so," she said, "If it pleases milord, I can
bring cold meats with bread and cheese." 
 
"That would be fine, Hannah," he said, "With a pitcher
of wine, as well." 
 
Nathaniel sat at one of the low tables, and Hannah was
quick to return with his food, setting it down before
him and scurrying back out of the hall, but she didn't
scurry far. As the young squire ate what had just been
laid down for him, Hannah peered shyly from beyond the
doorway. 
 
When he finished his food, Nathaniel stood up and went
to fetch the rest of Sir Tyrus's armor. When the Ivory
Duchess and her horde tried to overrun the keep, as it
seemed they must, Sir Tyrus would need it, and as his
squire it was Nathaniel's job to ensure that the armor
was ready when the knight asked for it. 
 
He didn't notice Hannah quietly following him while he
left the hall. As he walked into the armory, the blond
servant girl slipped in after him, and quietly closed
the door behind her. He turned to see who had now come
to the room, as there were only a few in the keep with
the proper key to enter. 
 
"Was there anything further that milord required," the
servant asked with a smile. 
 
"No, Hannah," he said, plainly puzzled by her presence
in the room at all, "Nothing else, thank you." 
 
"Are you certain, milord," she repeated coyly, untying
the drawstring at the neck of her blouse, "We finished
early in the serving room, and the chamberlain should
not notice my absence for at least a while. Will there
be NOTHING else that you need?" 
 
Lord Nathaniel may not have been the sharpest sword in
the armory, but nor was he entirely stupid. Opening up
his arms, he pulled Hannah closer and she pressed her
lips urgently against his own. God save him should Sir
Tyrus come looking and find him dallying with the help
while there was a battle to prepare for, but the young
squire didn't care. Between cleaning armor and getting
laid, the armor came in second every time. 
 
Gently pulling the servant girl to him, the squire let
his hand slide up her tender fourteen year old body as
she cooed softly in his ear. 
 
"Oh Nathaniel," she breathed, "That feels nice." 
 
"You can call me Nathan," he answered, as she slid out
of his grasp and promptly started to divest herself of
her clothing. Once she had finished the removal of her
garments, she looked at him coyly. 
 
Retreating away from him, Hannah sensually let herself
sprawl backward over a covered chest, her hair fanning
across the tapestry as she did so, revealing the pale
aspect of her tits to his stalwart gaze. She had taken
to sunbathing naked in the forest the very moment that
she first began to touch herself, and now the tanlines
she had worn since childhood had nigh vanished. 
 
Nathan moved closer and grasped her ankle, raising her
foot to his lips. He planted a gentle kiss just above
her toes, continuing the trail up her calf, his tongue
tracing light circles at the back of her knee. She let
out a giggle, flinching away from that ticklish point
of contact, but that giggle turned to a soft moan when
Nathan's soft trail of kisses slowly began to work its
way up her thigh. 
 
Hannah gasped when Nathan's tongue flicked up over the
lips of her pussy, delving into her coral pink depths
to find her already wet and eager as lapped at her hot
little slit. He slid his tongue deep into her dripping
wetness and she let out a pleasured groan, encouraging
him to continue. 
 
"Mmmm, yeah," she sighed, "Just like that." 
 
Nathan had evidently been at practice since their last
time together. The young servant girl felt a twinge of
jealousy as she wondered which one of the other girls
in the village had let him lick her pussy, but if that
was what had taught him to pleasure her like this, she
really didn't care. 
 
Plunging his tongue in and out of her wet slit, Nathan
soon had her writhing on the chest. He lightly parted
the moist folds of her hot pussy, exposing the flushed
and throbbing hardness of her aching clit. Teasing her
for a moment, he lightly licked and kissed his way all
around her hard little button without touching it. 
 
Hannah moaned, caressing her tits with one hand as she
knotted the fingers of the other through Nathan's mane
of tangled curls. She lifted her soft breast up to her
own lips, suckling the rosy red nipple into her mouth
as Nathan continued torturing her until she could take
it no longer. 
 
"Don't tease me," she begged, "Please, baby just do it
now. Lick my clit for me." 
 
Giving her what she desperately wanted, Nathan wrapped
his lips around her aching button, making her crazy as
he gently sucked on it. 
 
"Oh my God!" she groaned, lifting her sweet little ass
off of the chest, "Oh baby yes, right there." 
 
Nathan skillfully followed her movements as she bucked
her hips wildly, both trying to escape and craving for
more all at the same time. Her body started trembling
as the creamy sweet scent of her arousal began to fill
the air. She couldn't take any more of this. 
 
"Oh Nathan, baby," she whimpered, "Yes... You're gonna
make me cum soon if... Ooooh... if you keep it up." 
 
Nathan had no intention of stopping. Cradling her soft
ass in his hands he slipped his tongue up and down the
full length of her wet pussy, lingering on her tender
little clit at the height of each stroke. Multicolored
lights began to dance brightly before her eyes and she
fell screaming off the edge of ecstasy. 
 
"Ooooh fuck," she wailed, her hips thrashing violently
while she knotted her hands in the sheets, "Ungh, yeah
baby, I'm... Mmmm... I'm cumming." 
 
Hannah could only ride out the fire as orgasmic spasms
washed over her. Trembling uncontrollably, she held on
as shivering hot jolts of delight shot from her pussy
through the rest of her pleasantly tender body. Just a
few moments later, after the frenzy of delirium passed
her by, she drew Nathan up beside her, then rolled him
onto his back. 
 
"Your turn, squire," she breathed into his ear. 
 
Untying laces as she moved along, Hannah kissed a path
down Nathan's body, spreading his tunic to reveal his
broad and heavily muscled chest. Following the pathway
still lower, she soon arrived at the waistband of his
leather breeches. Unlacing them as well, she reached a
hand inside and sighed in appreciation as she drew his
rigid shaft from the darkness. 
 
"My, my," she said softly, "What have we here?" 
 
Licking her lips in sheer anticipation, Hannah slipped
Nathan's hard cock into her mouth, swirling her tongue
all round the tip of his throbbing member. Cupping his
balls in her hand, the attractive little nymph let her
blond haired head fall forward, and Nathan gasped upon
feeling his hard cock slip all the way into the depth
of her throat. Her soft lips wrapped tightly about his
shaft, Hannah gave a low murmur of satisfaction as the
squire gently knotted his fingers through her sweeping
blonde hair. 
 
Showing no mercy, she bobbed her head up and down over
his lap, letting his cock head slide in and out of her
throat with every stroke. With his moans resounding in
her ears, she could tell he was close. She considered
sucking him all the way off, and making him cum in her
mouth as she had seen Helga doing. Just the thought of
him blowing his hot sticky load right down her throat
had her quivering, and she hung at the edge of another
orgasm at the very idea of it. 
 
Nonetheless, she decided to save that delight for some
other time and occasion, letting his cock slip out of
her mouth with a sexy wet slurp while she crept up the
length of his body. Nathan raised his lean hips off of
the strongbox as the serving girl tugged his breeches
down around his slender thighs, still planting playful
kisses up and down his rigid shaft as she did so. Soon
she had pulled them away entirely and tossed them down
on the floor. 
 
Straddling Nathan's hips, she reached down between the
sweaty heat of their bodies to take hold of his rigid
hardness, her free hand propped upon his chest to keep
herself balanced. Positioning his hard throbbing shaft
at the entry of her hot wet pussy, Hannah lingered on
him only briefly before she lowered her body, impaling
herself on his length. 
 
"Oh fuck," she breathed. 
 
Grasping his wrists, Hannah pinned Nathan's hands over
his shoulders, slowly rocking her rounded hips up and
down over his as she fucked herself on his cock. Feral
moans and soft growls filled the room as Nathan began
to buck his hips, timing each of his movements so that
he was thrusting upward just as her dripping slit came
sliding down to meet him. 
 
With an abrupt flip, the curly haired squire had their
positions suddenly reversed, supporting his own weight
upon his strong hands as he hung over her. Hannah soon
began panting, her breath coming in ragged gasps while
he hammered his rigid cock roughly into her hot eager
pussy. Giving little screams of ecstasy as each impact
jolted her on the chest, she lifted her legs, wrapping
them around Nathan's waist so that he could get deeper
into her with every thrust. 
 
"Oh yeah, harder," she begged, " That's it, baby. Give
it to me, give it to me!" 
 
The servant rocked and shuddered as they drove through
new delights, as Nathan and Hannah, both their bodies
slick with perspiration, sought to drive each other to
new heights of animalistic ecstasy. Struggling upon an
age old battleground, each of them vied for dominance
as they battled over who would be the victor. The girl
was determined, though, that this was a fight that the
hard bodied squire would never win. Gritting her teeth
with a sexually savage grin, she desperately held fast
to her own restraint as he drove himself closer to the
edge of control with every thrust. 
 
She was doing good, and was quite pleased with herself
for her self restraint under his deliciously merciless
assault, right up until he started cheating. 
 
Slipping one hand in between their bodies, Nathan slid
his thumb over her exposed clit, sending wild jolts of
electric delight up her spine and into her brain. 
 
"Ungh... Cut it out," she moaned, "That, ungh... isn't
playing fair." 
 
"Who said anything about fair?" Nathan murmured. 
 
Feeling fiery shocks of delirium vibrating through her
body every time the squire touched her stiff throbbing
clit, and rocking her hips up and down on the bed, she
caressed the creamy golden softness of her breasts as
Nathan roughly pounded his hard cock relentlessly into
her pussy. The alternating sensation of his hot rigid
shaft slamming in and out of her dripping slit and the
fingers expertly strumming at her exposed clit was far
more than Hannah could withstand. 
 
"God damn! Give it to me," she whimpered, "Make me cum
for you. It's almost there. Make me... Ungh, ungh! I'm
cumming, Aaaaah!" 
 
Her hot body began to spasm out of control as waves of
orgasm washed over her. The contracting muscles within
were milking the squires shaft, pushing him closer and
closer to his own release. Riding out one climax after
another, she drove herself still harder onto Nathan's
cock with every spasm until he could no longer control
himself. He grasped her hips and rammed his hard shaft
to the hilt in her rippling slit with an animal growl
of ecstasy, making her shriek in pleasure as his thick
sticky cum filled her pussy to overflowing. 
 
With her legs firmly locked around Nathan's waist, she
waited for a few more moments, holding him tightly to
her body until her trembling had fully subsided. There
wasn't any pressing reason for her to leave the armory
so she was quite contented to just lie there for a bit
while she recovered. 
 
"That, milord," she giggled, "Was truly incredible." 
 
"I always try my best," Nathan smiled... 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... The attack barely underway and already things were
not going well. 
 
To start with, three riders whom Tyrus had sent out to
summon aid from castles in neighboring estates had all
returned within mere moments of one another. As these
riders galloped across the causeway, Lincoln could see
that something wasn't right; the men sat their horses
in an oddly stiff way, and as the horses rode past the
barbican and up the winding road, he knew why. Each of
the three men gazed sightlessly forward, with his head
perched upon his saddle horn. 
 
Tyrus had cursed venomously. The loss of these men had
left no hope that aid would come from the neighboring
estates, as no message had gotten to them. The keep of
House Blakeshire would be on its own. 
 
Then the Ivory Duchess had come over the causeway just
ere dawn and breached the outer barbican. She had lost
several men to his archers as they had charged across
the causeway, but though Sir Tyrus ordered his own men
at arms to fall back, having his herald give a signal
to retreat on his brass horn, the rogues under her had
been upon their heels as they rounded the island road
and withdrew over the high bridge. The men at arms had
made it to the gatehouse barely in time to raise their
second drawbridge and lower the iron portcullis to bar
the way through the wall. 
 
Now that they had taken the smaller isle, though, they
still had to storm the bridge, and somehow also breach
the gatehouse. Beginning with another drawbridge, the
passage through this structure could be blocked by two
stone barricades, three massive timber gates and three
wrought iron portcullises. Rising slightly higher than
the surrounding curtain wall, the three levels of the
gatehouse were open and crenelated to the inside so an
attacker within the corridor below would be exposed to
attack from above while he was trapped between all the
barriers. Men at arms would be standing ready to pelt
them with everything from stones and arrows to boiling
water. All of that trouble just to make it through the
outer curtain wall with the keep itself still standing
untouched before them. 
 
Seeing all of this, the Duchess had drawn back her own
forces and had divided them into several heavily armed
camps that surrounded the lake. The camps had all been
fortified in their own right, with ditches around the
perimeter of each, and the men within them stood ready
to blockade the keep from the outside for just as long
as proved necessary. Great siege engines had now been
rolled in from the eastern wood; immense catapults and
trebuchets to hurl massive stones in attempts to knock
down the walls; arbalests, giant crossbows that fired
an arrow as big as a javelin that would pierce any man
through, armor and all; and finally a huge iron headed
ram to batter down the gates. 
 
The last, at least, had proven useless, as the gate of
the barbican was set at a right angle to the causeway
which was not wide enough to turn a ram sideways. With
no room to maneuver the heavy ram, it could neither be
brought to bear against the barbican gate nor steered
up around the winding road leading up to the gatehouse
proper. The attackers had gotten it wedged in tight as
they endeavored to turn it in through the main gate of
the barbican, and had eventually toppled it off of the
causeway and into the waters below during their effort
to wrestle it loose. 
 
The laughter of defenders on the outer wall had howled
down at the attackers, but it hadn't lasted long. For
while the ram was now out of action, the catapults and
trebuchets were not, and nor were the arbalests. There
had already been a few casualties as men an arms were
impaled by the barbed javelins, and a number of smokey
fires had needed extinguishing as siege engines hurled
pots of flaming oil into the courtyard. 
 
The walls were holding, thus far, but it was simply an
exercise in attrition at this point. Which would give
out first, the curtain walls or the supply of boulders
to hurl upon them? It seemed likely that eventually an
errant stone would breech some piece of the wall, and
then the attackers would boil in through it, for while
the parapet wall was too high to be reached by scaling
ladders from the lake below, the summit of the island
was not. If the wall was breached, an assault upon the
courtyard would be inevitable, as the attackers needed
only scale the sides of the island before storming the
breech from ground level. 
 
Lincoln stood on the ramparts next to Angharad and the
knight and they all stared out over the host assembled
against them. 
 
"I had hoped that we might outlast them should it come
to a siege," Sir Tyrus stated, "But then I had thought
also to see aid come from the neighboring estates ere
my people had to endure any siege longer than they are
prepared for. With our riders intercepted by the Ivory
Duchess and her rogues, we cannot hope for rescue from
without after all." 
 
"Mayhap I can be of help," spoke an old voice, cracked
with age, from the stairs behind them. 
 
They all turned around, but it was Tyrus that answered
first. 
 
"Ah, mother," Tyrus smiled warmly, "Lord Lincoln, Lady
Angharad, may I now make known to you the Lady Eleanor
of Blakeshire. But tell me, mother, what brings you to
the wall at this hour." 
 
"Mother?" echoed both Angharad and Lincoln in a single
voice, with expressions of shock upon their faces. For
the woman before them, though old, looked younger than
they remembered, there could still be no doubt... they
had both seen her before. 
 
"Know you what this is?" she asked, holding some shiny
thing out toward Lincoln and Angharad. 
 
Both nodded with recognition. 
 
"I have only the one prepared," she went on, "Will you
choose which of you is to wear it?" 
 
"I should," Lincoln answered, "Angharad, you've always
been the better fighter between us. Should it come to
that, you will be more useful here than I would. I can
go for help." 
 
"No chance," Angharad said, "I may be a better fighter
than you, but unless they breach the wall, my sword is
useless here. You are better with a bow than I am, and
you can be of use right from the moment they come into
range. I'll go." 
 
"Go? Have you both taken leave of your senses?" yelled
the knight, "Can you not see that we are besieged. How
can you go anywhere?" 
 
"Peace, my son, peace," the old woman smiled, "The two
before you know their duty. Trust them." 
 
In the end it was decided that the Lady Angharad would
likely be a better choice, and so the confused knights
lady mother handed the object to her. 
 
"Seek me upon your return," she said, "All things will
be held ready when you arrive. Godspeed, milady." 
 
"What was that?" Tyrus said, as Angharad scurried down
from the walls and ran into the keep, "Mother, what do
you know about this?" 
 
"Easy now, Tyrus," she said softly, "There is a design
at work in what is done here, but no ill shall come of
it. Be without fear, for you fight only for love." 
 
Tyrus fished the delicate piece of golden filigree out
of his surcoat. He had known of love once, but it had
been taken from him before it ever had time to blossom
on its own. He had vowed that one day he would be free
to seek his love again, but his duties to his king had
taken precedence in the struggles to prevent the Ivory
Duchess from usurping the throne. 
 
"I know, my precious one," the old woman said, nodding
sadly as she saw the sunlight glinting off the gold in
his hand, "I am truly sorry, but all that was done was
done with purpose. Trust in this I beg you." 
 
"Trust in what?" Tyrus started, but he was interrupted
ere he could continue. 
 
With a shanking of the stones beneath their feet, they
heard a tremendous crash, and calls of alarm echoed up
from the courtyard. 
 
"To arms! To arms!" exclaimed the men below, "The wall
is breached!" 
 
Looking down, Lincoln saw that the endless pounding of
the catapults and trebuchets had done its work. There
was a broad section of the outer wall in the northeast
corner, about ten yards across, that had tumbled down
into the courtyard. He could see an out flung arm over
here, a pair of legs there, where men had been crushed
beneath the massive stones as they fell, but more men
were rushing to defend the breach even before the dust
had settled. 
 
The siege engines concentrated their fire now, seeking
to widen the gap in the weakened area of the wall even
as Lincoln saw men poling log rafts into position. The
rafts were made from trees felled from the forest and
dragged to the waters edge under cover of darkness, to
be tied together and covered in rocks and dirt to hide
them until the wall had been opened. Now, however, the
attackers were lashing them together to build floating
bridges from the shoreline out to the island. 
 
As he strung his recurve bow and nocked an arrow, Lord
Lincoln prayed that help would come soon, but for now
they had attackers to repel. He drew the bow and began
firing shaft after shaft into the forces of the Ivory
Duchess as they attempted to cross the floating bridge
and assault the breach. Other archers tried to set the
rafts ablaze by shooting flaming arrows into them, but
the log rafts were green wood and were water soaked as
well, and most of them would not catch. Those that did
quickly began to burn. 
 
Then, in the calm stillness of the early morning, they
saw an unnatural movement in the waters of the lake as
waves began to churn in the areas around the floating
bridge where there was no wind to drive them. In other
parts of the lake, the waters remained undisturbed and
still. Within a moment, the deviant waves had splashed
up against the rafts and extinguished those fledgling
sparks, so painstakingly set by the archers, putting a
swift end to idea of burning their floating bridge ere
the attackers could use it. 
 
Lord Lincoln and the other archers loosed a barrage of
arrows at the men poling the rafts into position, but
these men seemed to be difficult for their archers and
crossbow men to target. The men were standing in plain
sight on the rafts, with no cover, but each time their
arrows approached them it was as if they veered aside
just at the last moment. The occasional arrow did slip
through, though, but for each man felled by the arrows
and bolts that found their mark, there were two others
to take his place. 
 
Just beyond the lake shore, a flash of movement caught
his attention, and Lincoln looked up to see a woman in
long white robes standing on a boulder. Her hands were
outstretched, and her pale blonde hair whipped around
her shoulders as though a strong wind was blowing, but
none was. He had seen her before only briefly, but he
knew right away that before him rose Lucinda Melisande
Von Landstadt, the Ivory Duchess. He had but a single
arrow remaining and in the last moment ere the captain
of the archers gave them the command to loose the next
volley, Lincoln adjusted his aim, and loosed his final
arrow alone. 
 
The arrow flew straight and true, but his target stood
just out of range. Rather than striking the Duchess as
he had intended, the clothyard shaft whistled down and
thudded into the earth before her very feet. Even the
near miss, however, still proved to be enough to break
her concentration for that moment. Her hair settled as
the phantom winds that stirred it ceased, and the lake
stilled as the odd waves calmed and vanished. 
 
Turning her attentions toward him, the Duchess reached
down to pick up a stick from the dirt at her feet, and
tied it in a knot. Even though the space between them
was too far for him to hear the words, Lincoln saw her
mumbling over this stick until it begun to generate an
eerie glow, then she hurled it in his direction. 
 
The stick vanished in midair with a flash of sparks as
if it had never been, but Lincoln soon knew its intent
was nothing good. The bow that he had wielded to such
great effect, the very same bow that he had used in an
attempt upon Lucinda's life, began to twist and writhe
in his hands. Before his horrified eyes, the recurved
bow had transformed into an ugly green and red serpent
that curled around and lunged for his throat. 
 
Before it could strike, the brawny Scotsman hurled the
serpent away, but in his panic he overbalanced himself
and tumbled over the edge of the rampart wall, towards
the cobblestone courtyard below. 
 
Directing the defense of the manor from a few paces up
along the rampart, Sir Tyrus saw the Scot flailing his
arms as he tumbled from the wall, but there was naught
that he could do to save him. Clutching his war sword
with one hand, and his shield with the other, he stood
fast upon the parapet and called orders to his men. As
he turned this was and that, trying to face every part
of the keep at once, the morning sun sparkled from the
piece of golden filigree dangling from a fragile chain
that he wore about his wrist. 
 
Coming to his senses, Lincoln found himself lying flat
upon his back, cold and wet, staring up at the rampart
where he had stood but moments before. The neighing of
an upset horse told him where he had ended up. Sighing
in relief, he discerned that he had just crashed down
through the thatched roof of the manor stable, landing
in the horses watering trough, thereby understandably
upsetting the horse. He stood to his feet, thankful to
his armorer for building a suit which had absorbed the
brunt of the fall. 
 
Walking toward the doorway, the Scotsman stumbled over
something on the floor beneath the straw. Brushing the
straw away, he found a discarded shield that bore the
quartered red and black livery colors of Tyrus's house
and scooped it up as he ran outside. Now all he needed
was a weapon. Coming out of the stables, he found that
he had now emerged within an arms length of the breach
in the wall. Amongst the debris underfoot, he noticed
the gleam of steel. Kicking some rubble aside, he laid
eyes upon the pummel of a sword jutting out from under
the crumbled bits of stone. 
 
He was about to pick it up, when something else caught
his attention. With a twinkling of glee in his eye, he
saw the remains of a polearm, its haft snapped off in
the collapse of the wall. To anyone else it would only
have been a broken weapon of little use, but to him it
was something more. Taking up this discovery, he could
see that it had been a Jedburg axe, a type of polearm
similar to a halberd, but with its haft now severed to
a more manageable length of around two feet, it would
also make an excellent battleaxe as well. Now this was
a weapon he was more familiar with. 
 
Swinging it experimentally to test its weight, Lincoln
charged into the breach, hewing left and right with a
vengeance, cutting down anyone in the Duchess's livery
of white and green. One rams head fell upon another as
he ducked beneath the swing of a mace blow, taking the
second upon his shield ere cleaving open the skull of
the man wielding it. With a savage roar, Lincoln waded
ever deeper into the melee... then gave a sudden shout
of joy. 
 
"Milord," he bellowed, "Look you to the east." 
 
Just at that moment, Tyrus heard a thunderous rumbling
and saw a dark cloud of dust that momentarily eclipsed
the rising sun. Out of this cloud came an army, easily
a thousand strong, with a front row of mounted riders
in full armor with lances. Ranks upon ranks of footmen
came behind, wielding everything from swords and maces
to halberds and other polearms. Riding at the front of
the force was a knight in blackened plate armor, in a
surcoat of purple and red. A banner flew proudly above
the knights head bearing a golden knot on a field that
matched the surcoat. 
 
A golden knot? On a field of purple... Amethyst? Tyrus
stared at that banner wide-eyed and looked down at the
delicate piece of golden filigree that yet dangled off
of his wrist. It couldn't be! 
 
The duchess found herself outflanked, and the horsemen
swept across the field, driving her rabble before them
as they came. Beside the knight in the blackened plate
rode a familiar figure. Lady Angharad, wearing only a
maille hauberk over her gown and a steel helm upon her
head, howled with triumph as they scoured the Duchess
from the field. Her sword flashed from the blazing sun
as she struck out left and right, felling attackers at
every swing. Lincoln grinned proudly as he watched her
best all who stood before her, she might make queen by
right of arms herself sometime if they ever managed to
got back home. 
 
With them rode another knight beneath a banner of gold
and white, and Lord Lincoln swiftly recognized him as
well. Sir Edmund de la Claire, and behind him, a horde
of mounted archers, all yelling Mongolian battle cries
as they herded the besieging army further and further
back until, almost as one, the Kings Guard turned away
and fled the field in full rout. 
 
The mounted horsemen pursued them, and the footmen and
archers circled to mop up the rest as the leader broke
away from their formation to ride across the causeway
and in through the barbican. Abandoning his place upon
the rampart, Tyrus charged down the stairway, a prayer
upon his lips as he hoped against hope. 
 
The knight in the blackened plate reigned to a halt in
the courtyard and dismounted in front of him. His lips
in a tight line against possible disappointment, Tyrus
could barely speak. 
 
"Jacklyn," he whispered, "Can it be you?" 
 
The knight reached up to take hold of a full face helm
with brass trim, pulling it away, and wild cascades of
auburn hair tumbled free. Syr Gabriella Valentina, the
Contessa del Giardino Bella, also known as Jacklyn of
Kansas, looked at Sir Tyrus with tears in her eyes and
a tremble in her voice. 
 
"Sorry I'm late," she whispered with a smile. 
 
Without saying a single word, Tyrus rushed over to her
and swept her off her feet and into his arms. She had
already been lost to him for two endless years, and he
intended never to lose her again. 
 
"Your hair is longer," he smiled, lightly tangling his
fingers in her auburn locks, "I like it." 
 
Then he looked at her in wonder. 
 
"Splendid though it may be to have you here in my arms
again," he wondered with a puzzled frown, "How is this
even possible? You were stolen away from me all of two
years gone, and now, thank the Almighty, you return to
my side once more, but how can it be?" 
 
"We had a little help," Gabriella smiled, looking over
his shoulder to where his mother had walked out of the
great hall. The elderly woman looked a little younger
than she had when the Contessa had last met her in her
own time just a few moments before, but there could be
no doubt, the Lady Eleanor could be none other but the
gypsy woman who had sold the golden torcs to Angharad
and Lincoln, as well as her own filigree charm so very
long ago. 
 
Just at that moment, Angharad rode in through the gate
and dismounted, casting an eye in all directions until
she spotted Lord Lincoln, covered with dirt and blood
but unharmed. She threw herself into his arms, and let
Gabriella tell her tale. She had gotten back to Kansas
amidst an awful crash of thunder, and though her head
pounded while she waited until the world had come into
focus, she yelled for Gabriella at once... 
 
... Given that her squire had just arrived out of thin
air, the Contessa had known at once where she had been
and how she had gotten there. Angharad had reported in
an impatient rush, telling her all about Tyrus and how
he was under attack by the very men who had assaulted
her during her own stay on his lands. Even as the tale
had fallen from her lips, Syr Gabriella had pulled her
into her pavilion, and was stripping off her bejeweled
clothing and replacing it with armor and weapons. 
 
"Find the gypsy," she had ordered, "I will go speak to
Sir Edmund and the others." 
 
Within the hour, Edmund and all the squires and men at
arms of his household had assembled, but the word had
spread. Each warrior who heard the tale of this castle
under siege had wanted to help, and had told the story
to others as well. It was usually enough to play with
plastic swords and pretend to be a warrior or a knight
during the weekends, but here was a story of an actual
castle, with actual damsels in distress, and a wicked
witch who had presumed to usurp the very throne of the
rightful king. Every man in the group felt the beat of
his heart quicken, as his soul sang at the prospect of
triumph, glory and honor. Even those of the group that
did not usually participate for combat games had stood
ready to take up arms for this worthy cause. 
 
By great fortune, many of them were armed; in addition
to the mock weapons of rubber, plastic or leather that
they wielded against their foemen in sport, most also
had real weapons, maces and blades of live steel, that
they wore during formal dress occasions. This would be
no time for formal dress, but the weapons should serve
if it came to battle. 
 
By the time their fighters had gathered, Lady Angharad
had arrived with the gypsy woman, and she had embraced
Gabriella as she would a long lost daughter. 
 
"Protect him," she had whispered, "And love him." 
 
"This I shall," the Contessa had replied softly, "With
my very life if need be." 
 
The old woman had nodded, and opened up a wooden chest
at her feet. Inside had been hundreds of small leather
bags, each tied carefully with silk ribbons. 
 
"I have worked so many years to craft these," said the
gypsy, passing one bag to every man or woman who stood
before her, "For I knew that a day would come when my
son would have great need, and that only she who loved
him dear could fly on the winds of time, with strength
enough to bring others to his side." 
 
Inside of each bag was a tiny gold pendant, set with a
single sliver of amethyst, each one a tiny copy of the
very amulet that the old woman had given to Gabriella
so long ago. Inside the final bag, pressed gently into
her waiting hands, was that very amulet. 
 
"Each of these others was linked to this one," the old
woman had told her, "And through it, to you. The other
stones are too weak to hold the magic that bears a man
through time. I had not power enough to create so many
of those, but wear you this as you go to him, and the
others have the power to follow. With magic or no, the
only force with that much strength is love." 
 
When the others had fastened their pendants, Gabriella
had taken up the golden chain with her trembling hands
and slipped it over her head, whispering a soft prayer
that the magic would work as it had before. 
 
Then the air that surrounded them had turned foggy and
grey, and without warning, a brilliant flash outshone
the midday sun, lighting up the practice field for the
briefest of moments. A rumbling of thunder that belied
the clear blue skies was overtaken by a horrific crash
and the world faded to black... 
 
... Tyrus seemed a little taken aback, especially with
the realization that his own sweet mother had been the
person who had brought all of this about. 
 
"We found these horses waiting for us," Gabriella said
with a smile, "Saddled and ready, almost as if someone
knew we were coming." 
 
The knight glared over his shoulder at his mother, who
just stood there smiling wisely. Suddenly a clamor was
heard as the horde of Mongolian archers rode into the
courtyard, Sir Edmund de la Claire at the lead. Thrown
over the whithers of his war horse, her hands and feet
bound with leather thongs, was none other than Lucinda
Melisande Von Landstadt, the Ivory Duchess herself. 
 
"Greetings milord," he grinned, nudging the Duchess so
that she slid off of the horse to land in a heap upon
the cobblestones, "We caught this one as she attempted
to creep into the forest. We thought you might wish to
have a word with her before she took her leave." 
 
"I so wish, indeed," Tyrus said with a growl, "And how
are you called, good sir, that I may know who to thank
for the delivery of this harlot to my door." 
 
"Oh sorry," Gabriella smiled, "Tyrus, may I make known
to you Sir Edmund de la Claire and his House. It is he
who rallied the men to aid us this day." 
 
"So good Sir, welcome to you and to your house," Tyrus
smiled in reply, "Servants come! Let food and drink be
made ready, for this night we celebrate a victory and
the end of the Ivory Duchess, no more may she vex this
kingdom." 
 
Gabriella glanced down at where the duchess lay on the
flagstones. At first she had thought the evil woman to
be unconscious, but as she looked now, she saw a hint
of life about her after all. With an abrupt lurch, the
pale haired Duchess sprang to her feet. She had worked
her hands free of her bonds, and she held in each hand
a small stone. Shouting a single word in some heathen
tongue, the Ivory Duchess smashed both stones together
and hurled the resulting geyser of shadowy black flame
at Tyrus's unprotected back. 
 
At least three of the Mongolian archers had all nocked
arrows at the first surge of motion, and now the three
feathered shafts sprouted out of the Duchess's body as
though they had all suddenly grown there. She fell to
the ground again, this time for good, but the Contessa
knew it would not be enough. 
 
Yelling a warning, Gabriella lunged towards her living
love and pushed him out of harms way, just in time to
suffer the brunt of the scorching black flames full in
the chest. A heart searing agony ripped through her as
she crumbled to the ground, Tyrus roughly shouldering
through those who had gathered to help her with a roar
of fury and sorrow. The knight bent an ear down to her
burnt and bleeding lips as she fought to speak. 
 
"With my very life," she whispered, as her eyes glazed
over and the world went away... 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Carefully opening one eye, Gabriella looked around
to see whether she was alive or dead. She had felt the
last breath leaving her body, but she didn't feel very
dead. At first she was a little confused, but after a
while she recognized the chamber that she was in. This
was Tyrus's own bedchamber, in the solar at the top of
the keep. She sighed and smiled, snuggling deeper into
the furs that still carried his scent. She turned her
head at the gasp of surprise beside her and glanced up
to see Tyrus himself. 
 
"You live," he whispered roughly, as tears of gladness
ran unchecked down his face, "May the Almighty ever be
praised, but you live!" 
 
"Of course I live," she replied, "Wouldn't anyone else
have done the very same. The wicked witch hit me right
in the face with her magic fireball, but that's just a
trivial thing." 
 
"Just a trivial..." Tyrus stammered, but he stopped as
she broke into giggles. 
 
"In truth, my love," she said seriously, "I feel quite
fine, as though I had slept a whole night through, and
I am now ready to face the morning." 
 
"A whole night?" Tyrus smiled, "Nigh a whole week. Six
days you have been lying here as one dead, and I admit
that I knew not what to do for you. It appears that my
mother again has thanks for your being here." 
 
"My son is too modest," Lady Eleanor said gently in an
almost inaudible whisper as she shuffled her way into
the chamber, "It is he as much as I who has saved your
life, though he is too humble to say so." 
 
"Say you so?" Gabriella said, "How is this?" 
 
"Further witchcraft," Tyrus replied, grinning when his
mother swatted him in passing. 
 
"The Duchess used witchcraft," Lady Eleanor chided him
gently, "Compare me not to her if you please." 
 
Shuffling to the side of the bed, the old woman pulled
away the covers, and Gabriella shivered, blushing when
she realized that she was completely naked beneath the
warm bedspread bearing the knights heraldic arms. Lady
Eleanor examined the slightly puckered pink scar that
had been a blistered burn only a few days earlier, and
pronounced that she was healing well. 
 
"Do you recall when I said that your love was the only
force strong enough to carry so many across time?" she
asked, continuing when the Contessa nodded, "Love can
be a force to accomplish a great deal else as well. An
attack of magic such as Lucinda's Soul-Fyre could have
killed you, and I might say it would have, had not my
son agreed to share his life with you whilst your body
healed itself." 
 
"She used her spell to mingle my soul with yours," the
knight said huskily, as Lady Eleanor walked slowly out
of the room "For awhile, we two were as one." 
 
"Tyrus, my beloved," Gabriella said, reaching her hand
to his face, "We two shall always be as one." 
 
Then the Contessa gave him a saucy wink, as she tugged
the fur covers back once again, until they just barely
hid her nipples. 
 
"Now, come here," she whispered, "So that I might find
a way to thank you properly." 
 
As he leaned over her, Sir Tyrus caressed her face and
kissed her passionately. She didn't know this, but the
magic had taken it's toll on him as well, but he would
have gone into hell for her if need be. She felt safe
with Tyrus, as before, he was her protector. They were
truly as one. 
 
Lying beside her, Tyrus cupped Gabriella's soft breast
in his palm. He resolved that the cover was in his way
and he kicked it to the floor, revealing that she was
still as beautiful as a hot summer night, and she knew
that his desire for her had not faded. His tongue made
a trail from her neck down to her chest, and Gabriella
moaned with delight, as he flicked her nipple with his
tongue. She wanted him badly. Tangling her fingers in
his hair, the Contessa pressed his lips harder against
her throbbing nipple, but this knight in shining armor
still knew what he was doing. 
 
Without warning, Tyrus slipped a hand slowly down over
her tantalizing body. Reaching the most sacred part of
her, he directed his finger into her slit. The knight
may not have shared his mother's mystical gifts but he
definitely had magic hands, and he even seemed to know
exactly where she wanted him to go. He was gentle with
her, understanding her hurts, but as he laid a finger
directly upon Gabriella's throbbing clit, all of those
hurts were forgotten. She wanted more. 
 
"Lick my pussy, baby," groaned Gabriella as she pushed
his head between her legs. 
 
"Your wish is my command," he whispered, as his tongue
parted the lips of her pussy. He plunged his face into
her dripping slit, sliding erotically over her aching
clit with his tongue, and he felt her body quiver. His
mouth opened as he surrounded her button with his lips
and suckled at her gently. It had been too long since
they had been together, and as he sucked and licked at
her wet slit, she knew she could endure no longer. Her
body writhed violently as wave after pulsating wave of
orgasm overtook her. 
 
"Oh baby... Mmm... I'm cumming," she whimpered, "Fuck
yeah, just like that... Ungh, ungh, ungh!" 
 
As her body began to relax, she savored aftershocks of
her orgasm, bucking her hips lightly in reaction as he
teased her oversensitive clit with his tongue. 
 
"Ooooh, fuck yeah, that was amazing," she sighed, "But
now its my turn to play." 
 
"Say you so?" Tyrus said wickedly, "Very well, you may
do with me as you will." 
 
"Oh I intend to," the Contessa replied, gently pulling
the knight upward until she could reach him, "This has
to go." 
 
Unfastening his belt buckle, she tugged his surcoat up
over his head and tossed it upon the floor. His tunic
followed, and even as she was lightly pushing him back
until he was stretched upon his bed, her fingers were
busily untying the black laces of his leather breeches
and tugging them downward until they had bunched about
his knees. 
 
"Mmmm, yummy," she cooed as his hot rigid shaft sprang
out of its captivity, "Momma like." 
 
Opening her mouth, Gabriella let his hard cock slip in
past her lips, licking her hot tongue up and down his
shaft. Tyrus gasped with shock; this was not something
that any respectable lady should be doing, but he was
not about to argue. As the auburn haired Contessa slid
his shaft skillfully in and out of her mouth, he chose
to overlook her elegant indecency, favoring instead to
simply enjoy the nimble tongue that danced up and down
his throbbing member. 
 
Gabriella could tell that Tyrus was enjoying this long
slow blowjob as it was, but she wanted him to enjoy it
to the utmost. Going for broke, she tried a trick that
Angharad had taught her, demonstrating upon the lucky
banana that they had just bought off of the vendors in
the square. Tilting back her head, she let the knights
diamond hard shaft slip ever deeper until she felt it
slide all the way into her throat. Tyrus groaned as he
saw Gabriella's sexy wet lips pursed about the root of
his cock, and with no more warning than that, his hips
bucked off of the bed as he lost what little restraint
remained to him. 
 
Whimpering happily, the sleek auburn haired beauty let
spurt after spurt of the knights salty hot cum trickle
down her throat, feeling her own yearning slit getting
wet at the thought of what she had done. As Tyrus let
his hips settle back to the bed, she slipped his rigid
shaft out of her mouth, stirring her fingertips in her
own dripping little pussy. 
 
"I want you so much," she begged, falling backwards on
the soft bed, "Take me now." 
 
Lifting her legs into the air, he aimed his still hard
cock into her pussy. Teasing her, he eased the tip of
his shaft into her slit and then pulled back, slipping
it all round the outside of her wetness. Glaring up at
the knight with displeasure, Gabriella swatted at him
playfully as he gave her a wicked grin, she wanted him
deep inside of her like nothing else. Laying his hands
upon her hips, he plunged his hard shaft into her, and
she sighed in response as his rigid length pushed into
her body. Feeling her excitement, he fucked her pussy
harder and faster, pounding her into the straw stuffed
mattress with every stroke. 
 
Gabriella moaned; from the first moment that his stiff
cock had slipped into her slick wet pussy, she had let
herself tremble on the brink, hovering on the edge of
the most mind bending of orgasms. She needed to cum in
the worst way, and when Tyrus jerked his muscular hips
between her slender thighs, releasing his seed inside
of her wet slit, she felt herself falling into ecstasy
once again. 
 
"Oh yes," she groaned, "Ooooh... I'm gonna cum for you
baby... Right there... Ungh, ungh... Aaaaah!" 
 
A moment later they both collapsed on the bed in total
exhaustion. Gazing up at him, Gabriella gave a girlish
little giggle. 
 
"See," she said, "I told you I was feeling fine." 
 
Lying in one anothers arms, Tyrus felt alive again. He
realized that they had not had much time together when
first she had come to him, but never had he known such
love as he carried for her since that day. Whether she
was named Gabriella or Jacklyn, the Contessa owned his
heart, and always would, and he knew now that he owned
hers as well... 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
... Pipers skirling and drummers drumming in a gallery
over their heads, the revelry was in full swing there
in the keeps great hall. None had been willing to have
the celebration that the knight had ordered whilst the
Contessa lay stricken, but now that word had come that
she would be well, the House of Blakeshire was proving
that they could party with a vengeance. 
 
Lincoln and Angharad both sat at high table with Tyrus
and Gabriella, along with Sir Edmund and the multitude
of other knights who had all rallied to the Contessa's
banner. The Lady Angharad had a chair of her own, but
as soon as the meal was ended and the festivities were
under way, she had grumbled that it was uncomfortable
and had been sitting since on Lincoln's lap, gleefully
ignoring the scandalized looks of Jeffrey Steward, the
Blakeshire chamberlain. 
 
"So her star tattoo was something important?" the sexy
redhead said to Tyrus, "Would that had I mentioned the
mark earlier." 
 
She was referring of course to the tattoo that she had
seen while the Ivory Duchess was bathing. The mottled
red star inside a blue green circle had seemed like an
unusually patterned pentagram, but when Sir Edmund had
bid his Mongolian archers to examine the woman so that
they might know if she was playing possum again, there
had been revealed something more. 
 
The red star had actually been a daemon headed serpent
biting its own tail, interwoven and knotted to seem as
a star in shape. 
 
"It would have altered nothing, milady," answered Lord
Blakeshire reassuringly, "Indeed, though, as it turns
out, the mark belongs to the Sisterhood of the Crimson
Serpent. Lucinda was a member of that order, which has
long been known as a coven of villainous witches, each
of them working with the others to form a plot against
the throne." 
 
"There may have been others, then?" Lincoln asked. 
 
"Mayhap so," the knight replied, "But we have struck a
mighty blow against them. We need have no more fear of
that lot for now, I dare say. But let us waste no more
breath on such as they, as this is a celebration!" 
 
There had been far more warriors present at the battle
than the hall could be made to accommodate, so another
feast was laid out in the courtyard, where those that
wished could share equally in the merriment, for there
were none who were unwelcome in Tyrus's castle on this
of all other nights. 
 
Lady Eleanor too sat at high table, her crackled voice
ringing out with laughter after Baroness Sokhatai told
a bawdy joke. The old woman sat at Tyrus's left, with
Gabriella at his right, and everybody else arranged by
order of rank up and down the table to each side. They
joyously ate and drank until they could eat and drink
no more, then they danced until the glow of dawn could
be seen through the unshuttered windows. 
 
Finally, as the rising sun lit up the room, there came
a warm moment of tranquil silence, and a wooden chest
was borne into the great hall by the servants and laid
upon the table before the Lady Eleanor. She opened the
chest and began to hand out the tiny leather bags with
their silk ribbons to everyone within the hall, those
inside filing out to make way for those who had camped
in the courtyard, and on the lakeshore. 
 
Lincoln and Angharad stood alongside Edmund, Tyrus and
Gabriella waiting until the last of their warriors all
wore their pendants of amethyst and gold. The Contessa
stood enfolded in Tyrus's arms, leaning her head back
against his shoulder, tears trickling softly down over
her face. Lincoln felt his heart about to break, there
was no justice here. Gabriella had fought so hard and
for so long to get back to the knights side, only then
to say good-bye to him all over again. 
 
After all of the others were ready, Gabriella unfolded
herself from the knights arms, then came over to where
her squires stood. 
 
"My heart may nigh break from sorrow," she said. 
 
"He is a good man," Lincoln said, "He will miss you as
well, milady." 
 
Gabriella only smiled, and Angharad rolled her eyes. 
 
"Milord," Angharad sighed, "You can be really thick at
times, you know that?" 
 
Lincoln's eyes widened when he realized what was going
on. He had gotten things all wrong. The Contessa would
be saying good-bye alright, but not to Tyrus. 
 
"You're not coming back, are you?" he said. 
 
"I lost him once," Gabriella replied, shaking her head
sadly, "I'll not lose him again." 
 
Laying a hand on her shoulder, Sir Edmund spoke softly
into her ear. 
 
"If this is your choice, your ladyship," he said, "All
of us shall honor it. You shall be truly missed at the
combats next year in Kansas, our side shall regret the
absence of another knights sword." 
 
"Mayhap we two can remedy that," Gabriella said with a
conspiratorial wink, "What say you, Edmund?" 
 
"It wasn't my place to suggest it, milady," Sir Edmund
replied with a smile, "But I hoped that you would. Let
the Lady Angharad and the Lord Lincoln stand forth and
present themselves on bended knee." 
 
Lincoln and Angharad were both fully gobsmacked. There
was only a single ceremony that would start with those
words. The Scotsman knelt before Edmund, and his Irish
lady before Gabriella, neither of them daring to speak
a word until they were called to do so. Edmund reached
down to unbuckle the wide belt of white leather about
his waist, as Gabriella wordlessly did the same, there
could now be no doubt. 
 
"A warrior must be strong," Gabriella recited, "And he
must be skilled in the use of arms. Do you attest that
the two before you are thus qualified?" 
 
"I do," Edmund replied, "To be more than a warrior, he
must be forged upon the anvil of virtue, and thus must
always show valor and noble heart. Can you attest that
the two before you are thus qualified?" 
 
"I can," Gabriella answered, then to both Lord Lincoln
and Lady Angharad, "Mindful of your skill on the field
of battle, and also to acknowledge your rightful place
among your peers, we are moved to make you knight. You
know that to wear the belt and chain of a knight is to
hold a sacred trust; that the obligation of knighthood
will demand your efforts every moment of your life." 
 
"Knights of the Realm must be respectful of all," said
Edmund,"He must hold in regard they who be defenseless
or weak, whether because of age, infirmity, poverty or
vow, and be steadfast in defending them." 
 
"Knights must love the Kingdom and its people," stated
Syr Gabriella, "And fulfill most faithfully his feudal
duties to the Realm and his Rightful King." 
 
"His word shall be dependable," Edmund stated, "Beyond
all doubt or question. He shall never flee in the face
of his foes. He must be generous to all." 
 
"And, always and everywhere," Gabriella said, "He must
be the champion of the right and the good." 
 
"The laws and customs of the realm will require that a
knight show prowess, as you have demonstrated upon the
field; that the knight be courteous, as you have shown
yourself to be and as these noble gentleman and ladies
gathered here can attest; and that knights be loyal to
Kingdom and Rightful King. Do you desire to accept the
burden of knighthood and swear fealty to the Crown?" 
 
"I do," Lincoln and Angharad said together. 
 
"Then swear your fealty and pay homage as you will." 
 
"I do hereby swear fealty and do homage to my rightful
king," Angharad pledged, "To be ever as a knight good
and true; reverent, generous, and a shield of the weak
and helpless. So swear I, Angharad O'Shaughnessy, once
met of Kilkenny." 
 
"I do hereby swear fealty and do homage to my rightful
king," Lincoln vowed, "To be obedient to my liege lord
and to hold foremost in battle, to be courteous at all
times, champion of right and good. So swear I, Lincoln
Mac Galbraith, once met of Blakeshire Wood." 
 
"The knights white belt symbolizes purity," Sir Edmund
said as he buckled his own around Lincoln's waist, "He
must reign his body steadfastly, avoiding the scandals
of gluttony, sloth and excess." 
 
"It symbolizes a Purity of purpose and a new beginning
ones life," stated Gabriella, adorning Angharad with a
belt in turn, "To begin again the steps on the Path of
Chivalry for all his days." 
 
"Both candidates have been invested with the trappings
of their position as knights," Edmond remarked, "Do we
have chains with which to bind them in their oaths?" 
 
Gabriella was about to remove her own chain from about
her neck, when Tyrus suddenly stepped forward. He held
one chain in his hand, and was also removing his own. 
 
"The chain is of gold, purest of the metals to signify
the purity of the fealty that binds the knight and his
sovereign to one another," he said, slipping one chain
over the head of Lincoln and Angharad alike, "It must
be heavy to symbolize and remind a knight of the heavy
responsibility he bears. The chain is strong, and thus
signifies unbreakable obedience to the commands of his
sovereign and his oaths. These particular chains come
to you with a lineage of their own, this one worn upon
the neck of Lord Lincoln, belonged to me. The other is
upon the neck of Lady Angharad, but the chain was last
worn by my father, the first Lord Blakeshire. May they
remind you well of your oaths." 
 
Lincoln and Angharad were stirred beyond words, as was
Gabriella, but she went on with the ceremony even when
tears of pride blurred her vision. 
 
"The chain symbolizes our Order," she decreed, "And as
such it is our badge just as the fleece, the garter or
the cross have been used to signify knightly orders by
our forefathers. Pray let your behavior and your deeds
charge these our symbols with as great a reverence and
respect as the badges of our forefathers." 
 
Edmund and Gabriella both drew their swords, then laid
the flat of their blades upon first the right shoulder
of the Contessa's two former squires, then on the left
and finally upon the head. Then both knights spoke the
final words together. 
 
"In remembrance of your prowess shown in battle, I dub
thee once." 
 
"In remembrance of your lineage and obligations, I dub
thee twice." 
 
"In remembrance of the oaths given and received, I dub
thee thrice." 
 
Sheathing the swords, Gabriella and Edmund each raised
one hand, letting it hover over the bowed heads of the
two newest recipients of the Accolade. 
 
"To defend both your honor and your oath," they stated
together, "Let these be the final blows that you shall
ever receive unanswered." 
 
Then, with strength of purpose, each delivered an open
handed slap to the head, leaving Lincoln and Angharad
both reeling. The final blow, known as the Buffet, was
the end of the ceremony, but also the beginning of the
road to much honor and renown. 
 
"As Knights of the Golden Hart," Gabriella said, voice
ringing with pride, "Stand and be recognized." 
 
Moments later the old woman cast the final spells, and
amidst savage flashes of light and a deafening rumble
of thunder, the gathered warriors all found themselves
back at the Kansas faire ground. Syr Gabriella had not
returned to be with them, but her two squires had just
been elevated to the rank of knighthood. 
 
The two new knights stood to the cheers of an assembly
of warriors, some of them now peers, every one of them
brothers in arms. Syr Angharad wrapped her arms tight
around Sir Lincoln's neck, lying her soft lips against
his own. As the shouts of the horde, and the wild back
slapping receded, Angharad thought back over the exact
words of the ceremony. 
 
"The oath mentioned purity, right?" she asked, "And it
said to forswear the sins of the body, something about
how we ought to 'avoid the scandals of gluttony, sloth
and excess.'" 
 
"That's right," Lincoln agreed, "I remember that." 
 
"Fair enough," Angharad smiled innocently, "But did it
say anything in there about chastity?" 
 
"I don't think so," Lincoln said with a grin, "Why?" 
 
"Oh, you know what they say," the redhead replied with
a mischievous smirk, as she led him toward his striped
white and sapphire pavilion, "Once a warrior, always a
warrior, but once a knight is never enough..." 
 
THE END? 
 
 - X - X - X - 
 
Story by: MOON DRAGON 
by my hand 
and beneath my seal 
 
 - X - X - X -