Dinner had been a morbid affair. Bread with little substance and cracked, dry cheese with just as little flavor. They had all eaten in silence, the mood of the times a dark one. Sir Bedevere was quiet and introspective. Even Sir Acostant said little, which was rare for him during mealtimes. It was then that he had an audience for his tales that could not escape, lest they go hungry. The old byzantium soldier sat to one side, still not speaking. He ate with a slow, systematic motion that seemed to suggest his mind was in a completely different land. He hadn't even shown any recognition that Cynran existed. Ever since Gildas had delivered him to the Old Baille, he appeared... lost.

Aedan wrapped himself in a patched, threadbare blanket that was many winters older than he. Aedan's normally cheery, talkative exterior was frozen stiff along with the rest of him. Shivering almost constantly, it was clear that Aedan's blood was unaccustomed to the unforgiving northern winters. He sat close to the fire, although he had quickly come to the conclusion that it was only mocking them all with the illusion of heat. It was times like this that led Aedan to wonder what had possessed him to come here. After witnessing the filth of Londinium firsthand, somehow Eburacum seemed much more appealing from afar. At this point Aedan would have happily traded this blizzard for a mountain of warm filth.

"I had a dream, last night," said Bedevere, stirring from his reverie. "I saw Camelot, in flames. The heathens, the saxons, raiders from the sea... all of our enemies had come forth from all sides to burn and plunder the city, and kill it's people. Unchallenged and untroubled." He shifted slightly in his chair, the plate of meagre food in front of him untouched. "I dream often, but this... felt like no dream. More a vision." He sighed. "I so dislike visions." The bottom of Bedevere's eyes held large bags, betraying his lack of sleep.

Cynran said nothing, but brooded.

Aedan's eyes were the only part of him to turn to face Sir Bedevere as he spoke. Bedevere's agonized words distracted Aedan from his own inner misery, and any distraction at this point was welcome. Aedan stretches out his jaw to awaken the muscles of his face from their frozen rigor. Through chattering teeth Aedan's voice suggests an attempt at humor. "Good Sir Bedevere… I would trade all that I own - and indeed all of you - for such a conflagration right now. Surely, though, your unrest… is a melancholy from your horrid experience at Camlann. Come, tell us a story of your adventures on the continent with Arthur… preferably… of somewhere warm.

"Were I in such a mood, I would do so gladly," replied Bedevere. "But alas, I am not. To recount such tales would only bring me dismay. Besides which..." and at this, he gave a smile, "...I believe I have told you so many tales of Arthur already, that I would only be repeating myself should I attempt to do so again."

Aedan cracked his half-frozen, mischievous smile. "My good lord Bevedere, your oration is both cherished and adored by all. To wit, your tales usually grow better in the retelling," stifling a friendly chuckle.

"Surely, you have tales of your own Sir Aedan? Perhaps you could regale an old man with a fresh story of your own choosing? It need not be accurate or of your own experience... just entertaining. I have noticed your talent with words, and it speaks well of your upbringing."

Aedan watches with resigned disregard as a handful of snowflakes descend inexorably towards his shivering form. "Your compliment is well taken, although it is alas undeserved. My humble upbringing is quite in keeping with our present accommodations, I assure you."

"I fear that if I exhale much more I shall freeze completely, therefore I must needs observe brevity. I am sure you all are astounded at that statement, but anon."

"Our associate - the good Sir Cynran ap Mael - has a most honorable name. In fact it reminds me of the tale of Cynraine of Salisbury, a man of our grandfather's generation, a man present when the sword was drawn from the stone. He was a good and noble knight in the service of Earl Robert of Salisbury - a neighbor to my homeland of Somerset. Cynraine fought well against the Saxons in the years prior to our king's ascendancy until he was captured. Recognized for his valor, Cynraine was spared and after carried across the water to live in the old Saxon lands for a time. Would you care to hear the tale?"

Bedevere smiled again, more fondly this time. "Earl Robert... a just and fair man, one of Arthur's earliest and strongest allies, god rest his soul. His grudge against the steward of Levcomagus was one of those matters often spoke of at court. I would love to hear a tale of one of his knights, Sir Aedan, if you please."

"As would I," agreed Cynran.

Normally Aedan would revel in having an audience and drag out a story for quite some time. Tonight was a bit colder than most, though, making it uncomfortable and difficult to do so. Regardless, Aedan had a duty to his companions and he would uphold it.

"Sir Cynraine became enamored with Lady Aeriwen of Uffington since they had met immediately following Cynraine knightly orders. The young lady as fair as to have almost no comparison in all of Salisbury. Needless to say Cynraine took it upon himself to carry forth great feats of arms to prove his worth and love to Aeriwen."

As Aedan began to talk, Kyrillos sat on his bench, empty. The food went slowly into his mouth but he did not taste it. He heard the words of the other knights, but he did not comprehend their meanings. Then he heard her words, next to him.

"You have given up on your quest," she said. Kyrillos turned slowly to his right, to see the girl with golden hair aglow and deep blue eyes. She was watching the men, seated at the table. "You don't understand why things are happening they way they are. You had a plan: your plan came undone. And now, you are alone. Confused."

Kyrillos indeed looked bewilderedly at the girl. It was as though he had become lost in a deep sleep, abandoned through time and space. He tried to speak, but only found silence. The young girl spoke:

"You must ask Bedevere."

Kyrillos nodded his head, but she knew that he was not about to speak. The spirit had left him somehow.

"Then I must speak for you."

The Roman understood this, and felt relieved. The girl reached into his heart...

***

Kyrillos was a boy again. He was back in Durostorum, fishing with his father. The eagle had long died in the west, but Byzantine rule still endured here in the east. The young roman turned around, and found his father Eusebios.

"Papas!"

He reached out to his father who scooped little Kyrillos up in his arms. He muzzled him playfully, and began tickling the little boy.

"Know that I will always love you little one."

And then it all faded to darkness. Kyrillos was left in Eusebios arms, while the world around them was chaos.

"Kyrillos, listen to me very quickly. We do not have much time."

The blonde haired girl came in, and behind her a woman who looked as though she had been pregnant, but was now empty. Eusebios walked to the woman, embraced her, and kissed her. He called Kyrillos forward.

"Little one, this is your mother."

Kyrillos was no longer a little boy, but was now the scarred old man that he had grown accustomed to. His mother looked at him, and spoke:

"You have grown so much, my child."

Kyrillos collapsed and cried. His mother held him, while his father held his mother. The little girl gently grasped old Kyrillos, and carried him away from them while they waved their goodbyes in the darkness. She parted a hand over his face, and the tears and sorrow left him. She smiled down at him.

"You will be reunited with them, little one, but not for a long time. You still have much time to live. You are not permitted to rest until your service to the host is complete, and I am afraid that you have a long journey ahead of you."

She covered his face with her hand, and swept it down over Kyrillos' eyes. All went black...

***

The girl removed her hand from Kyrillos' heart, shrived herself, and knelt over him.

"Soon," she spoke, "You will come to peace. Your strength comes from your companions. I will create an opportunity for you at the end of this dialogue, and then, you must continue with your duty."

Kyrillos nodded and waited.

The golden haired lass got up from her seat, and ignoring Kyrillos she went and stood behind Aedan. He continued to speak, unaware of her presence.

"Cynraine had many adventures following this, not the least of which took him to a historic meeting with Liftolen, a great Saxon war leader of the day," continued Aedan. "A group of Robert's knights fought passing well against a group of raiders, and by chance forced themselves upon the court of Liftolen. Liftolen was so impressed by this breed of young knights now serving under Robert that he agreed to a truce between their two peoples in 499. Cynraine and the others returned home showered with praise for their feats of arms as well as their diplomacy."

"His adventures continued for many years, even fighting alongside the Grey Knight of Hampshire - another tale for another time my friends - until the Saxons in the southlands grew restless once again. By this time Aeriwen had promised herself to Cynraine, and there was great love between them. or so thought Cynraine."

"Robert had called for his host to assemble in a subsequent year to teach the Saxons what it meant to cross the Cymri. On the eve of the gathering Cynraine rode hard to Uffington, wishing to see her one more time before the battle was to be met. To his great dismay he discovered her engrossed in suspicious flirtations with another. the son of a wealthy banneret of my dear homeland of Somerset; a man named Alidon. Cynrain was so distressed that he fled from the place at full gallop without even speaking a word to her. Aeriwen chased him as far as the edge of town before collapsing to the ground in a fit of remorse and regret. Aeriwen would never be the same after that day."

"Cynraine returned to Robert straight away. Robert's host later engaged Cerdic and his Saxon horde in 502 at the Battle of Winchester; Cerdic being the slayer of Liftolen and the usurper of his rule over the Saxons of the southlands. The battle was long and terrible, lasting nearly a week. After many great feats of arms Cynraine led a charge against impossible odds. Those that knew him said that he fought as a man possessed - or a man wishing for death. Cynraine was thrown from his horse and lay dying on the ground among many good and noble countrymen."

"But he did not perish. although his heart ailed him greatly it continued to beat. He was discovered by a Saxon chieftain who was impressed by the young man's strength of will. The chieftain took Cynraine captive in hopes of one day achieving a ransom for him. Cynraine was brought to Wessex to recover. While still unable to speak Cynraine was sold as property to Alefric, another war leader whose people still resided across the water. Cynraine was taken back with him to the Saxon homeland as a trophy, and as a means of training his warriers the manner in which we Cymri fight. Cynraine had been sold as if a gladiator of old - to fight and inadvertently train a clan of Saxons about to depart for our own dear land."

"Quite a tragic tale, is it not?"

"Tragic, but splendidly told sir knight," agreed Bedevere.

Sir Cynran had leant forward, his forearms resting on the table as the tale had progressed. He was captivated. "What happened after this? Did he spend his whole life as a slave?"

Aedan relished in an attentive audience, though he tried his best to not let it show.

"Cynraine went across the water where he was forced to live with this Saxon chieftain and his clan. Cynraine spent most of his time as a penned animal when he was not forced to fight. He spent a great deal of time dwelling on his predicament - about how this fighting could indeed assist his most bitter enemies subdue his own people. However, his faith in the teachings of our Lord prevented him from taking his own life. Having no other options, when asked Cynraine fought as a man possessed – attempting to kill his challengers, secretly hoping to sacrifice himself in the process. Instead of this bringing about his demise, however, his sincere efforts actually earned the respect and admiration of his warlike master.

"After several seasons passed Cynraine proved his worth in mock combat many times over. As the years passed a bond formed between Cynraine and the clan, which came as a surprise to all involved. Eventually the chief offered to reward Cynraine’s servitude with freedom when the clan made their way to Britain. Seeing this as a means to return and continue his service to his family and lord, Cynraine’s attitude towards the Saxons softened. Over time his position in the clan changed from a vicious pet to a member of the family.

"Eventually the clan did indeed move to the shores of Britain. As promised, Cynraine was released and made his way to London, where the great lords of the realm were assembled for the fateful tournament of 510. There, now resembling more of a Saxon than a Cymri, he located his companions of years past and surprised them. There was much rejoicing between the companions who had long assumed Cynraine was dead. Sadly, the revelry ended on a tragic note when Cynraine asked about Lady Aeriwen. Cynraine collapsed to the ground when he learned that she had taken her own life out of guilt – walking into a lake near her home – when she was told Cynraine had died in battle. It was then Cynraine learned that she had been asked by her father to entertain the good Sir Alidon for political reasons, although neither she nor her father had any interest in the man as a potential suitor.

"From that day onwards Cynraine was a changed man – a scarred and melancholy shell of the knight he once was. Still he served Robert faithfully until his passing, however, his thoughts never straying from the fond memories of the fair Aeriwen."

As Aedan's story came to a close, Kyrillos saw the golden-haired lass slowly walk around the table towards the end opposite to Bedevere. She laid her hand on it's surface.

There was an almighty ~crack~, as if lightning had struck. The table was suddenly split into two, and Aedan found half of it in his lap. Sir Cynran gave a startled yell and fell backwards over his chair, while Sir Acostant glanced wildly around the room, having apparently been asleep at the time. Metal plates and knives thudded to the dirt floor.

Sir Bedevere just blinked. "Tis not something one has happen every day," he remarked slowly, frowning.

"By GOD!" Aedan had cried out, staggering backwards. Between the bitter cold and his utter surprise Aedan turns completely white. "If this be the unhappy ghost of Sir Cynraine… please depart us peacefully, kind spirit. I beseech you to take pity on this company – we only speak highly of your good name!"

"What is this?" said Sir Cynran, looking to the floor between the table.

A large seedling stood proudly before them in the dirt floor. The height of a man's forearm, it looked like it had always been there. It's four broad leaves were glossy and green, and it wavered gently with the movement of cold air through the hall.

"Well now..." said Sir Acostant, his imperious voice speaking up for the first time that evening. "Where did you come from?"

"Did that thing grow up... from below us?" Looking around, "that wasn't there before! Something unnatural is happening my friends..." A hand falls on Aedan's hilt.

"What should we do with it?" asked Cynran.

"Tear the weed out I'd suggest," said Acostant, sniffing at it like a diseased peasant.

“I think we should not leave it be for now… something that large could not have grown naturally without giving us warning.”

Warily, Cynran shuffled closer. "Do you think that is wise? Maybe something strange might happen again if we touch it." He looked back at Aedan, uncertain about what to do.

Aedan paused to soak everything in. As it seems no other remarkable events follow the sapling's appearance, a smile crosses Aedan's lips. "This peculiar perennial apparently has arrived by itself." He laughs to relieve the shock and surprise of the supernatural experience. "Many strange things I have heard, though this is unique to be certain. A sapling jumps into existence from below our feet. Most strange… and yet most interesting nonetheless."

"Sir Cynran: have you any interest in strange adventures? I would be more inclined to handle our strange visitor with your accompaniment." A wry smile crosses Aedan's lips.

"Certainly," he replied. "What do you intend to do?"

Aedan surveys the shocked silence around him and senses a chance to prove himself. In a protective tone he speaks out, "Everyone! Stand back from this apparition most strange! My homeland is plagued with strange and terrible magics that I admit I do not understand, but rightfully respect. If any of us should brave the loathful consequences of removing our uninvited guest, it should be me – the most recent arrival and junior member of this company."

He crouches as he steps closer to the sapling, hands extended as if he is about to pounce. Almost in a whisper he says over his shoulder, "Sir Cynran, if anything strange should happen to me, I humbly request your assistance. I have heard tales whereby simply by touching an artifact of the old gods a knight may be taken away to a foreign land to undergo strange adventures. If such a strange and terrible thing should befall me, I ask you to follow only if your conscience is in agreement."

Then, hearing nothing in return from the other knights, he dived on the sapling as if it were a sleeping hare.

Aedan stood there, firmly grasping the sapling with both hands for a long moment. Eventually he released his grip, stood to his feet and cleared his throat. He straightens his clothing as he attempts to regain a measure of composure. In a comical and self-deprecating tone he says, "My dear lord Belvedere, it appears our young visitor is indeed a tree… most ordinary. May I present to you… Sir Maple of Quickwood."

"So it is," replied Bedevere, glancing over at them. He had been talking to the Byzantium, but his attention now returned to the knights. He looked down at the seedling, and there was a moment's silence. "Let's leave it," he said, making a decision. "If it dies, well enough, but perhaps this is a sign of good fortune."

"Or a portent of bad luck," scoffed Sir Acostant.

"Perhaps," answered Bedevere. "Let us discover which one." As if remembering something, he looked away from the sapling at the two halves of the table. "I believe it is time to rest. I'll have a carpenter come and fix this in the morning. Good evening, my companions." Bedevere turned and moved away into the dark to arrange his bedding. Sir Acostant did likewise, muttering under his breath.

Cynran paused next to Aedan, looking down at the green leaves. "I wonder what sort of tree it is?" he thought aloud, before moving away to retire.

Aedan stares at the sapling for a while after the others have left trying to determine exactly what kind of tree it is. "Indeed," he says to no one in particular. "This is more than a sign of early spring... this is truly a portent to be wary of." Aedan retired to his own bedding.