The Untold Tale of Lancelot

We had to write a short story based on The Arthurian Legend.

Lancelot could not go back to the kingdom.  His son would not be safe with him there.  No one was safe around him while he could see and hear Elaine as if she were still alive.  “I know you are not real, Elaine.”  He whispered as Elaine ran to him from behind a tree.  He mounted his horse and rode off, knowing that Elaine couldn’t catch up.

            Elaine screamed and started to cry, so he turned around.  Maybe there was a chance he could comfort her and she would leave him alone.  He tied his horse to a tree and stepped over to her with the grace of a warrior.  Elaine started hitting him and he suddenly couldn’t breathe.  He drew his sword, closed his eyes, and swung involuntarily.  Lancelot opened his eyes and glanced at the ground.  A man clutched at his neck, blood running through his fingers.  Lancelot’s sword fell to the earth and he let out an angry, desperate shout.

            Suddenly, Elaine was standing in front of him again.  “Our son is causing this to happen.  You must kill him.”  Lancelot left the body and rode swiftly back to the kingdom without pause for food, water, or rest.

            Lancelot pushed through the heavy, wooden door effortlessly and stalked to his child.  Blue eyes, flooded with innocence, simply gazed up at him.  Lancelot drew his knife and raised it above his head.  As he prepared to thrust it into the poor child’s heart, Guinevere ran in and picked up the sweet child.  Arthur followed Guinevere closely and knocked the knife away.  Guinevere left the room, child in her arms.  Arthur stared at the floor for a moment, and then up at Lancelot.

            “Lancelot, you must not stay here.  Go and gather your thoughts.  Mourn for Elaine.”

            “No….” Lancelot refused in a weakened, broken voice.

            “Please, Lancelot.  Go.  It is not safe for your son with you here.  Elaine poisons your mind.  You may come back when you are well again.”

***

            Lancelot slowed down his horse, pausing to watch a young boy chase a butterfly through a field.  The boy looked exactly like his son.  He smiled, melancholy filling his chest and throat.  He looked away, trying to gather his emotions.  When he glanced back, Elaine was standing behind the boy and they both watched him intently.

            “Kill him, Lancelot, and you shall be saved.”  Elaine’s voice echoed in his troubled mind.

            Lancelot drew his sword and rode to the boy, not allowing himself to look as his sword cut through young innocence.  A man in the distance yelled and ran to the boy’s side as Lancelot galloped away in defeat.

            He left some of the little food he had to the house that night as an apology, but he knew he could never be forgiven for such a terrible deed.  Several days passed without sight or sound of Elaine and Lancelot returned to the castle, plagued by the guilt of the boy.  He could not spare a single glance at his son.  His son, the only reason he returned, could bring him nothing but pain.  Elaine had gone forever, but left him with a greater struggle.  He could never speak of this to Arthur. He could never speak of this to anyone, and his soul felt as if it was burning and drowning for the remainder of his life.  Not only did his son look like the boy he murdered, but he grew to resemble Elaine more and more each day.  Lancelot had lost one battle, and fought another losing battle for the rest of his life.