A Knights Raiment

by Lightbulb

Rating: teen
Tags: Human, Alternate Universe, Random, Adventure
Length: 2106

A Knight, Graham Nord, Finds himself in one of the places he would never have expected to go. Not Hell, Nor heaven, he hadn't died. He looks around the small alley he finds himself in, unknowing of what is really around him.

Sir Graham Nord, a Knight of pure valour and honour. He never fought dirty once in his life, never lost a fight either. Though born of a poorer family than most Knights' were usually taken from he fought for his name, and his glory, until one day, the Viking army marched on his home.

He took up a toy sword, a short wooden plaything, And he fought. Even though having no prior swordsmanship, or training he managed to acquire a real sword from a Viking after fighting him with such precision he would have been called a master of the art.

He used the metal sword to take down twelve Vikings before he was too tired to continue. But he strained on Fighting, the villagers gained courage from this sixteen year old, taking on full grown warriors, and winning.

They took up their tools and started to fight.

The conflict was bloody, but for years after he was celebrated, knighted and worked for his country. His armour was not consistent of normal plate iron. No, it was made of silver, plate silver, silver chain-mail. He was given a long silver sword and made an honorary Knights Templar.

He was given the cloth of the Templar symbol as his shoulder cape. His helm was a full one, covering his face and head. It had depicted on the front a crucifix slit. His gauntlets were iron-silver crossed, He was made an honorary witch hunter after assisting in several trials where the accused would have been killed even though they were most definitely innocent.

But This isn't the story of his rise to glory, far from it. This is the story of how a knight of the king found himself in a land filled with colourful horses, with horns and wings. Where a female was ruler, and that everything was a 'Democracy'.

Published 1970-01-01 00:00:00 UTC
Last updated 2015-09-08 13:05:47 UTC

Ser Graham Nord

Graham sat eating an apple on a rock at the top of the large hill he had taken rest on. The cool spring breeze greeting his morning snack. He reached down to the cup he had brought with him and picked it up.

He sipped the mead within, he enjoyed drinking from a cup than a bottle. The mead consisted of it's average ingredients, but with the addition of some fermented apple juice. Graham loved apples, they were so sweet, but sometimes they would be slightly salty, like sweets.

He took another bite and sipped at his cup. He had raised his knee for his arm to rest on. He smiled as the morning sun climbed higher and higher. He had gotten up at dawn just to see it rise. As he followed it through till dusk, so he could watch the glorious white moon rise.

He enjoyed the celestial bodies, the satellite form of love he had for both giants was unencountered before. He took another bite of his apple, but stopped momentarily.

He put his index against his gums and looked at the apple. A single tooth had come out. He collected a piece of fresh lamb skin cloth and pushed it against the bleeding area. He pulled the tooth out and placed it in a tiny leather satchel.

His tooth sack he called it.

Like most childish designs, he had belief in the fairy tales, the tooth fairy, St. Nicolas and the like. He'd recently met someone who was trying to convince people that they were 'Evolved' from apes.

'Preposterous!' He thought as he reminisced on the moment, 'Why are there still monkeys then?'

The man had come up with no answer, he just went red faced and started screaming obscene things as he stomped off.

Graham removed the cloth and ran his thumb through the spot where one of his rotting yellow and black teeth had come out. He checked for blood but it seemed to have stopped.

He bit into his apple again, and sipped his mead.

He stood after he finished his cup, and grabbed his bag, slinging it over one shoulder he took another bite of his apple. He had almost finished it. Graham spat a few seeds out.

They weren't particularly his cup of tea, but he would sometimes eat apple seeds. He took another bite and decided he had finished with the now skeletal apple. The tossed it into the side-woods to his left and began to whistle.

The tune was slightly upbeat, but not too much. He was happy, and he knew where he was going. His travels had only been interrupted once by a highway man, who was actually quiet pleasant. Rather than demanding he asked kindly, Graham spared half his coin pouch on the poor sod.

He continued forwards, His armour jingling a little as he went. He continued to whistle, after a bit the birds even joined in, because well, most birds would join in a whistle they made whistling sounds did they not?

The tune was that of Graham's own make, he enjoyed music, but sometimes it was lacking. He'd paid bards to play but didn't find them appealing.

Once he remembered a party of dwarves with a half-ling or two, heading to the old run down fort, long since abandoned. They played their own instruments, and danced merrily around the inn. One even asked Graham to dance, And he did.

And he was bloody good at it, he actually got a few coins from the dwarves. This was while he wasn't in armour.

But around a week or so ago he was given a single man mission.

A spy from Scotland had taken a valuable piece of information, Graham was requested to fetch the information. Preferably with no casualties, England didn't want a war before they were fully ready to have one.

A child sized changeling sat out of Graham's direct view off to the side in the side wood. Graham took note, it was most likely going to try and get his attention sooner or later. Coax him into the woods with a story of lies and then have the rest of it's friends kill him and devour his body.

'Sounds like fun,' He chuckled in his mind, 'I ought drop something to make it think it has the upper ground on me.'

He quickly untied the thread of his silver dagger's sheath, letting it drop softly to the dirt. He heard the creature morph, the distinctive Bzzz, giving it away.

Graham smiled as he heard it's pitter-patter of feet exit the woods behind him. He heard it clear it's throat. He paused for a moment, a smile on his face. He was planning on turning the tables. He slowly turned his head over his shoulder.

“Hello l'il girly,” He said in his distinctive Irish tone.

His father was Irish, a good hard working man, but he could barely pay for the bread on the table. He was so proud when his son was knighted.

Graham turned around and knelled down. He pointed at his dagger.

“Is that my knife there little girly?” He asked in a soft tone.

The Changeling had taken the form of a small girl with orange and purple hair. Orange eyes as well. She nodded, slowly with a shy look on her face.

Graham shifted his weight a little. “Can I have it back l'il one?”

“M-my Pa-pa,” The changeling said, a little loudly, “He's hurt in the woods, he's hurt.”

The Changeling's eyes looked to be watering up.

“Really? Where exactly?” Graham asked.

The girl pointed deep into the forest. A changeling had mimicked the voice of a wood-cutter. Shouting for help.

Graham looked urgently to the changeling.

“I'll only help if I can have me knife back,” He said.

The girl moved a little bit too close to him when giving his knife back. He grabbed her arm and stood, twisting it. The girl screamed.

“Why didn't I hear your Pa's screams earlier?” He asked through his gritted teeth.

The girl howled.

“Because he only got hurt a few minutes ago!” She cried.

Graham applied more pressure and drew his dagger, he held it in front of the changeling's face.

“I was listening earlier, Didn't hear no calls for help,” He grabbed the changeling's head and pulled it back, exposing its neck.

“Last chance,” He smiled.

The Girl's body changed from clothing and skin, to unpleasant black scales. A venomous snarl on it's face. Graham let go of the changeling, kicking it forwards.

“Come out me poppet’s!” He shouted.

Immediately a rustling sound was heard. Graham raised his hand to the left. A changeling in the shape of an arrow flew out at him. He grabbed firmly onto the shaft and brought it down to the ground. The changeling instantly returned to its form.

“Let's get to the point shall we?” Graham asked, for a dry comedic affect.

He stood and stomped on the back of it's head.

The rustling stopped.

“Now if you'd kindly piss off back into your forest I’d be eternally grateful,” He shouted, putting his dagger back in it's sheath.

He heard muttering as the Changeling’s walked away.

He smiled and continued to walk, he pulled out his pipe and put some marijuana in the end. He then lifted the pipe up and lit it with a small air-match. He inhaled through the pipe for a few seconds before puffing out a smoke ring with it.

“Ah, Ol' Toby, Gotta love the stuff,” He said aloud.

Slowly Graham moved to a village just resting between a pair of mountains, this was a borderline between England and Scotland. He wondered for a moment of why the people built a village in between two mountains. He concluded after a moment of mental negotiating.

‘Probably thought it was a nice breeze,’ he joked.

He walked the path split between two large wheat fields. Several farmers took notice. Some were Scot’s, others were English. A couple waved at him. Graham waved back, smiling pleasantly.

Most days he would keep his helmet in his pack. Only wearing it when he was in the middle of a field battle, or being intimidating. A few small children charged around, playing hero’s and dragons. One caught eye of him and pointed.

“Look a real knight!” the little chap squeaked.

A couple bonnie lasses were sitting on chairs and watching the children. The overzealous handful of children charged at Graham. They admired him from close by. Asking him questions, and requesting he tell them stories of his accomplishments.

A couple of the men’s-wives had approached and greeted him. Graham informed the women that he was on an important mission from the king, and required supplies for is journey. They said that after their husbands had finished working the fields they would talk trade with him.

Graham settled on the muddy cobble path, answering questions from the children and telling stories of his conquests for the king, his in numerous feats of valour, and how he came to be a knight. All toned down to suit the young ones.

A little girl approached him.

The other children had dispersed mostly and were playing nearby. He shifted up a bit more and smiled.

“Hello little girly, what is it you wish me to tell you?”

He noticed that the girl was, oddly familiar, like he had met her before. She held out a small flower. He took the small flower, the girl sat down. Graham, confused inspected the flower, moving it’s petals slowly.

It was of the nightshade family, he knew that much, but he had never encountered this flower before. He held it out.

“Where’d you get this?” He asked.

Smiled, a bright, almost knowledgeable smile. As though she knew he wouldn't believe her if she said it. Graham, grimaced whilst looking at the flower.

“Don't y'know that these types o' flowers are poisonous?” Graham asked, “Because I highly doubt your parents will take kindly to this.”

“I used to live on a rock farm,” The girl said in an, oddly happy voice.

Graham blinked a few times, confused.

“Rock farm? Is that a Scottish thing?”

The girl shook her head. A light frown appearing. She drew her hands out and drew and imaginary square with her fingers. Graham could almost see it though.

She pointed to the centre.

“Where we are currently,” The girl began, pointing to the sun, “The celestial bodies move themselves on accounts of gravity,” She re-drew the square, and drew a line going out of it, “Where I am from, there are two princesses that move them.”

Graham smirked.

“But little girly, that's not possible, besides, there are no princesses in England.”

The girl waved her finger, “Not England.”

Graham chuckled.

“Then where?”

The girl shrugged.

“You could see for yourself...” She trailed off mumbling, she stood and left while mumbling.

Graham, slightly unsettled, continued to roll the flower between his fingers. Experimentally, he sniffed it. After a few minutes of nothing happening he pushed it against the ground and sniffed the air.

Something was off about it though. It was, sweet. Sweeter than average country air. Graham looked at where he mashed the flower against the ground.

The oddly coloured, pink, purple and red flower was gone. Graham blinked, his surroundings changing around him.

“What is this witchcraft?” He asked in a throaty voice.

More changed, he noticed the children were gone, replaced by shrubs and trees. The houses changed shape, every time he blinked it changed.

Colours, even the sky changed. For a moment, bright auburn. Then back to blue. Clouds seemed to hang lower. The world seemed to get larger, even though it was clear everything had shrunk a good foot or so.

After a minute of this magical change, Graham looked around.

Was that flower hallucinogenic? Possibly so, what was it the girl was doing with the flower?

Graham strains his ears, unable to make out any clear sounds. He looks left, then right, before carefully moving about his surroundings. He checks around the corner of the building he's at, seemingly he had an alleyway grow around him.

He slinks forwards, making sure that if anything was there it didn't take notice of him. He didn't want, if anything there was going to harm him, to be noticed by it.

The streets seemed abandoned. Graham, not entirely knowing where he had found himself, decided to think over what possibly could have happened, because whatever had just happened, was more odd than a knight's mind could handle..