“No!” Truonq, Sir Lanceor’s halfling squire, approached from the highway and cried out as he ran to kneel by Lady Colombe’s side. “My Lady!”

When he had come to a stop, he began to kiss her face and lips profusely, wailing as he did. After a very long time, he glared at Sir Balin. The knight recoiled at the sight of the halfling’s visible rage.

“Do you know who you’ve just killed,” Truonq asked as he got to his feet, stomping towards Sir Balin. “Any idea at all?!”

Sir Balin kicked up some dirt near his boot, deliberately avoiding eye-contact.

“Not exactly…” he replied with a shrug.

“You just killed the most beautiful, most wonderful lady and the most valiant knight in all of Britannia!” Truonq screeched as tears streamed down his red face.

The squire jabbed his pointer finger at the knight.

“And for this knight's brother will seek revenge on you!” Truonq continued, visibly enraged and distraught.

Sir Balin sighed.

‘Yet another who will try to claim my life,’ he thought. ‘How… tiresome.’

Truonq huffed violently at the silent knight before it looked as if a sudden agonizing pain overwhelmed him. The squire turned his attention back to the body of Lady Colombe and lamented loudly. His short legs gave way and he found himself weeping with his face in his hands.

At that moment, the King of Cornwall approached with his itinerant court from up the highway. The royal procession of nobles, archers, and heavily armoured knights trotted forth upon their powerful steeds before stopping near the sobbing squire.

“Note the ridge over there,” the king said to a nearby scribe. “Make sure you capture that tree line accurately. And make sure Hywar sees this when we return.”

The procession rode up to Sir Balin, Truong, and the bodies of Lady Colombe and Sir Lanceor.

“Clear the road!” a guard called out as the king himself rode to the front of the procession.

Sir Balin was about to move the bodies but only came up against the squire, who drew his shortsword and growled with furor.

“Try me, punk!” the squire hissed.

“I said,” the guard called out again as he drew his sword. “Clear... the road!”

“Having a bit of a problem here,” Sir Balin said.

“I don’t care!” the guard growled. “Both of you move it or we shall cut you down and trample over your corpses.”

“What’s going on up there?” the king asked as he rode up to the front where his guards were losing patience.

“Who are you?”

“B—Sir Balin ,” Balin said. “Of Logres.”

“I, King Mark of these lands of Cornwall, am on my way down this merry road to see King Arthur to tell him of my forthcoming wedding and cannot be delayed,” the king said.

“Did King Arthur allow you, another king, to travel upon his lands?”

“What?”

“As in,” Sir Balin continued. “Did he officially and expressly granted you and your patrol of knights access to enter this realm?”

King Mark began to stammer. He looked at a scribe, who simply shrugged in response. The king looked about for anything to change the subject, then gasped with genuine horror at the bodies behind Sir Balin. “What manner of foul sorcery is this?! Can that truly be the bodies of Sir Lanceor the Valourful, and Lady Colombe the Beautiful?! Are they, in fact, lying there on the ground slain?!”

Suddenly, off in the distance, another figure appeared on horseback behind the procession. It was Merlin, riding forth in his deep green cloak, robes, and pointed wizard hat. He nodded to himself as he arrived at the scene.

“Ah, good,” the enchanter said. “I’ve finally managed to catch up with you, boy.”

Merlin halted his horse and hopped off.

“Finally,” Merlin said. “Oh—and before I forget.”

Merlin looked about before finding a great flat rock upon which he engraved the words ‘Lancelot v. Tristram’ in gold lettering with a magical wave of his hand. The letters emerged upon the large slate, gleaming brilliantly in the bright sun.

“Pretty important event,” Merlin said. “I can’t miss it. It’s always important to pencil it in right away so you don’t forget.”

The king marveled in awe at the engraving, dazzled by the sight of the magical inscription.

“You truly are a marvelous person,” King Mark of Cornwall said. “May I use that wondrous stone to seal the tomb of these great fallen.”

“Get a load of this guy,” Merlin said to Sir Balin. “Hey, keep it in your robes, sire. And yeah, go for it. My rock’s all yours.”

“Thank you!” King Mark exclaimed. “We will use it to close a tomb worthy for these two great fallen, after we avenge their deaths, of course.”

“Of course,” Merlin said, then looked about. “So who did this? Was it you, halfling?”

Truonq shook his head rapidly, then jabbed a spiteful finger at the Sir Balin.

“It was him!” he cried out shrilly. “It was this… savage rapscallion!!”

Merlin looked at Sir Balin with narrowed eyes.

‘Sir Balin did this?’ Merlin asked in surprise. ‘Why did I not see this coming? Could it be that the close proximity of the Excalibur and the Tyrfing are causing... blind spots?’