“Remember, my daughter,” Lord Vittorio had cupped her cheeks in his hands, brushing the warmth of her flesh with his thumbs, “Do not lose your focus and contain your own abilities. In Camelot, magic is forbidden, as long as you remember to obey their law – harm will not come to you so easily.”
Sarah recalled this memory, now clearer than before, in this small space she was placed in. The stone walls brought no comfort; the frigid floor smelled of grime and oil. A sorrowful smile graced her dried lips, lips that found no moisture from a parched tongue. “If only those words were true..”
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The townspeople gathered about excitedly, for they heard tales of the kingdoms, near and far, even those from across the seas, were coming to the games. Children excitedly were weaving around the adults to catch a sight of the knights and mounts that were lined up at the gates to Camelot, entering with an entourage of ladies and lords that received their enthusiasm with smiles. The knights that represented them were at the front of each caravan.
Fanelia’s knights were garbed in alabaster surcoats, over their cuirass, that were embroidered with the crest of their kingdom – a blade surrounded by gold embellishments and whose pommel and grip were petals from an iris in bloom and at the top, a golden wing. Their mounts resembled the color of dusk, which contrasted the white of the shaffron that had tassels adorning them. Burgonets were tucked underneath their arms so that they could be easily seen.
One knight was an older fellow who had salt and pepper hair that fell over his shoulders. He brushed his goatee lightly and offered a warm smile as his brown eyes gleamed with delight at the crowd gathered. The second knight was fairly sinewy to handle a blade or wear such heavy armaments. They had green eyes that were speckled with blue that seem to survey the area as if looking for potential threats. Their full mouth did not offer a smile in greeting, but his feminine features could forgive that.
Behind them, another equine trotted lightly as its rider blushed at the amount of people that had come to see the games unfold. The tournament was something that was well known throughout the realms and different kingdoms – Camelot has been known to host the largest and most stimulating of contests.
Red curls defined who she was, for they heard that the Duchess had hair that rivaled that of a fire’s flame. Her tresses were a trademark of who she was, and when they saw her, they turned to her chosen knight. Many wondered why she would choose someone that didn’t seem fit to wield a weapon, others thought that the older gentlemen would have been the champion.
“So this is Camelot,” The woman spoke from upon her mount; the green-eyed knight slowed down and reared the stallion so that it walked alongside her own. “Yes, M’lady,” the voice was soft enough that it was almost lost in the cacophony of the jubilant audience present. The Duchess glanced past the knight and then chuckled lightly when taking notice of some young ladies that were staring at her knight, entranced by the epicurean appearance he had. Some men grumbled with doubt to one another, breaking away from making bets, to take a look at the chosen. Laughter bubbled from their throats before diverting their gazes to the next group coming through.
