The Fall of King Arthur: Part I

24 Apr, 2025

King Arthur jorked it in the closet while Lancelot pounded out G-mama nice-style. Through a small crack he watched them tumble and play under the sumptuous silken sheets. The candles flickered with each thrust, bump, and high five. The bed bounced and moaned under the strain.

“Uuuwaaaah!!!” Arthur busted a fat nut in his royal panties. He sighed deeply, and began dissociating. Post-nut clarity always hit that man like a truck. He closed his eyes and felt himself fall deep, deep down. An enormous abyss opened before him. He walked on a footpath of gnarled roots. Withered and twisted Elm trees emerged in an arch around him; the faces of his ancestors hung off of the branches, round and plump. He hung his head low.

“Fucking cuck.” “King dipshit can’t even pound out his wife nice-style.” The mockery of his ancestors stung his eyes to tears as the nut dribbled down his left thigh.

BANG BANG BANG BANG

Arthur came to. The voice of his pimp son, Mordred, cleaved through the silent dusk. “Lancelot! Guinevere! I know you are in there! You shall burn for your infidelity! You can not hide from God!” Arthur panicked. He burst out of the closet and hopped up three times before spinning in a 360. Lance and Guinevere emerged from the sheets; G-mama looked scared, Lance plastered a smirk on his moustachioed face. It must be false bravado, thought Arthur.

Mordred's voice shot through their hearts. “You can’t hide! There are fourteen of us, and we will bash this door down!” BANG BANG BANG. Arthur slapped himself in the face and dribbled melted candle wax onto his hand. He closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of the hardening wax. Calm. Be calm.

Guinevere spoke first, “There’s no getting out of this. It's over.”

“No.” said Arthur. He had returned to the present moment: the King had arrived. “If the three of us are discovered together it would be much too confusing for the people of Camelot. I’ll hide in the closet, like always, while Lance makes an escape.”

Lance had sprung out of bed and began tying his long hair behind his head. More bangs rang out along with a cacophony of voices. “Ha! I relish a challenge. Only…”

Lancelot paused for fifteen seconds. G-mama rolled her eyes. BANG BANG BANG.

“This’ll be too easy!”

In one leap Lancelot cleared the room, dong swinging in time with the jump. Arthur crouched in the corner of the closet while Guinevere pulled the covers tight. “Open up in there!” Agravaine’s voice came loudest. Lance stood on the hinge side of the door and unlocked it. Agravaine hadn’t expected this: he sailed in the room onto the royal rug. He stared through his visor at Guinevere. To G-mama, his houndskull bascinet made him look like a huge mutt. A click: Lance locked the door again.

Before he could face his foe, Lancelot had pulled the carpet out beneath Agravaine's feet. He tumbled onto his ass. “Go-“ before he could speak Lance had moved past his point and latched onto his head with both hands from behind. He shook him so vigorously, back and forth and forth and back, that his brain matter was reduced to brain doesn’t matter. Guinevere shrieked and covered her eyes.

“Hmph.” Lance looked at Arthur in the closet. “Funny how things... shake out.” He plucked Agravaine’s sword up mid back hand-spring and landed in front of the door in perfect form. He unlocked it again, and out came Florence, son of Gawain. With no helmet on, he could see Lance in the corner of his eye. He executed a horizontal chop aimed at his man’s neck but before he could even blink Lancelot had jumped and landed perfectly upon his sword. He balanced like a super cat and purred “goodnight sweet prince” before plunging Agravaine’s blade through his skull and out his nethers. G-mama flopped onto her belly and spouted tears.

“That’s my Lance.” Arthur smiled wistfully and imagined their first joust. Fields of verdant green rushing under his feat and BAM—suddenly he’s ass up on the pitch. His gleaming foe extended a hand out to help, as soon as they locked gauntlets together it was friendship ever since. That’s my Lance.

Lancelot opened up the door just enough to let another man in and then locked it, double time. Lovel, Gawain’s other son, unleashed a flurry of blows. Clang, clang, clang. The arrhythmic cacophony triggered Guinevere's tinnitus. She covered her ears with her feet and clasped her hands in prayer. Make it stop. Please.

Lovel blinked twice. What had he been striking? Lance had moved a suit of display armour square into the centre of the room. Shit. Lovel turned, expecting the worst. Yet all he saw was the door. He whipped around again just in time to notice the armour moving: Lancelot was inside after all! Lovel flinched his arms upward, trying to time a swing, but Lancelot seized the moment. Florence's sword pierced through his armpit. Lovel fell onto his knees. "Please tell Ga-"

Lancelot crack-holed his head-case through the visor before he could finish. "Lancelot!" The pimp Mordred's voice sounded desperate now. "Be a man and take us on all at once!"

"No!" Lance opened up the door. No one came through. He tried again. Nothing. He looked toward Arthur and shrugged. Arthur peered out and gave him a thumbs up. G-mama gave him a look that said please take this man mangling out of the bedroom. Lance took two deep breaths and shouldered the door with such massive velocity the wood shattered into one thousand splinters. Two knights dropped dead, splinter pierced into porcupines.

"Door to meet you!" Lancelot shrieked like a banshee as he tore into the nine remaining knights. For once Lancelot was on the defensive, nine knights was three knights too many. The pimp Mordred signalled for his men to circle the knight. A pause in the violence. Mordred's wicked smile burned red in the torchlight. Lancelot smiled just as wickedly back, no one could see it because he had a helmet on. He lifted his visor.

"How the mighty have fallen. You will die here, your lover will be burned at the stake. Arthur will lose everyone he ever cared for. Muwahahaha!"

"What about you? You know the King loves you, right?" Lance's retort stung. Mordred was a daddy issue.

"He loves me only to rectify his sins! Arthur is no saint!"

"Maybe not. But at least he doesn't pimp out the laundry girls!"

"That's untrue!" Mordred was genuinely offended. "I'm not a pimp, stop calling me that!"

Mordred gave the order to attack. Eight blades blazed toward him. At the last second, Lancelot torpedoed past the group. He threw himself in a horizontal missile formation past two men and into the ring leader's chest. Two more knights fell wounded; in the dim light and chaos they mistook each other for Lancelot. Mordred shattered a rib while Lancelot's head quickly concussified. They collapsed in a mound of iron, and tumbled backward toward the stairway. Superior in strength and skill, Lancelot scrambled atop Mordred and rode him down the steps. Mordred's head banged off each step and concussified at a faster rater than his rival. "Cam- elot- will- ne- ver- know- peace- again!" By the time they reached the bottom Mordred fell unconscious. They had landed in a hall surrounded by onlookers. Every fibre of Lancelot's being wanted to slaughter the slimy pimp Mordred, but he knew Arthur would never forgive him. He also knew Mordred was right: life had irrevocably changed. The dream is over.

Lance found the nearest window and threw himself out of the castle. He ping-ponged off a tree and smashed through the roof of a stable. His balls chafed against hard steel as he slipped into the darkness.

Guinevere had gotten dressed; she was prepared to meet her fate. She looked toward Arthur, tears streaming down her face. "I guess this it." She said, "I, the Queen of the Britons, am to be burned at the stake."

"No, mama. Lance will save you. I know he will." Arthur shyly poked his head out of the closet.

"What about you Arthur? I love you." Fifteen more tears dropped onto the floor in a syncopated rhythm.

"It's not about me, mama. I'm a symbol, and I must remain so. Not just for the Britons, but for all people of all times. I love you, mama, but now we are mere puppets in a theatre." Guinevere kissed him on his forehead. Maybe for the last time. Arthur hid in the closet. The remaining six knights entered and declared the Queen infidelicious: she is to be burnt at the stake. The pimp Mordred had won and Arthur's throuple was broken forever.