[color=8dc73f][u][i]Below the walls of the Great Keep, Camelot[/i][/u][/color]

Granite spires, topped with banners stitched in the bright livery of the house of Pendragon, fluttered in the summer wind. Situated atop a large hill in the middle of the city, the Great Keep of Camelot rose towards the azure sky like a beacon of stone, calling a trumpet of hope and prosperity outward to the rolling hills that surrounded it. Its imposing size and large ramparts likewise sent a clear message of martial strength, which gave the subjects of Camelot an equal sense of protection and pride. 

Set slightly below the keep, and across a large cobblestoned courtyard, known as King’s Mall, stood St. Stephen’s cathedral. The great structure covered almost as much earth as the keep itself, with the four ends of its cross-like outlay rising upward to near the height of the ramparts that bordered it. Its stone face was polished and inlaid with marble and limestone, and segmented at regular intervals by tall panes of thick, colored glass. 

It was in the midst of these two giants of magnificent human achievement that Sir Delwin stood. Looking outward from his vantage point near the center of King’s Mall, the web of cobblestoned and dirt streets spread through rows of thatched rooves, wooden shake, and the open spaces of town squares. Beyond the ribbon of gray the denoted the outer walls of the capital, the shimmering blue of the River Usk wound its way along the southern third of the city, while to the north the land was covered with forests and marshes, all the way to the Lake of Avalon and beyond. 

The sounds of merchants and craftsman lifted upon the breeze, to give the city a living, breathing quality that quickened Delwin’s pulse. It was a sound that spurned a sudden rush of fresh awe for the humble knight. Though Delwin had traveled to Camelot on numerous occasions before, it was still far and away anything grander than he had ever laid his eyes upon. The confluence of high-born and commoner alike, all intertwined beneath the true king of Britannia, gave Delwin chills, and seemed a fitting embodiment of every tangible hope that Arthur had bestowed upon the Britons. 

An echoed clang rang out from high in the bell tower of St. Stephen’s, tolling the noon hour, and causing Delwin to spin in his boots to gaze upon the spectacle. The appointed time for Sir Lancelot’s address of the marshalled knights was at hand. Delwin’s childlike adoration of Camelot melted quickly away, and was supplanted with an anxious tremor in the pit of his stomach. It was now that the subjects of Arthur would learn the fate of their king.

Though Lancelot had kept a tight lip upon the matter, the arrival of so many knights in Camelot could not be ignored by the commoners. Rumors ran rampant, spreading like disease from hovel to trade-stand in a litany of flavors, ranging from the great king’s death, to the announcement that Queen Guinevere was with child from some traitorous knight. The speculation was salacious, and outlandish. Delwin, along with most of his compatriots, rejected such notions out of hand. But it could not be denied that some event of gravity had come to a head within the realm, and even the brave warriors of Arthur were not immune to that fear.

Adjusting the sword at his hip, Delwin set his resolve, and joined the other knights that had come to gather in the open air of King’s Mall in making their way inside the Great Keep. In the milling mass of stout men and women, every color and combination of heraldic device danced upon tunic and cape. Great houses and noble names came together with families of new and slight reputation—a testament to the tumultuous times of the Saxon invasion, and the magnanimous gratitude of Arthur Pendragon. For his part, Delwin’s deep purple tunic was fitted with a silver device of a leaping fish upon the field of a shield, flanked on one side by a column of three crowns—a tribute to Arthur—and a rampant stag upon the other. His long hair was drawn up into a tight bun at the back of his skull, and his beard had been freshly trimmed. Vanity was not in Delwin’s character, but honor certainly was, and he was not about to be addressed by the regent looking like a country fool.

As the group of knights came to congregate at the massive wood and iron gate that led into the Great Keep, Delwin scanned the crowd, hoping to catch the eye of a veteran of the Saxon campaign he might commiserate with on this most auspicious of occasions…