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The Fall Of Gareth

a poem in the Epic tradition

By Matthew J. FrommPublished 9 months ago 3 min read
The Fall Of Gareth
Photo by Camerauthor Photos on Unsplash

And so it came to pass ordained by fate, begun in such glory, that the acts of one altered the course of great Britannia.

Gareth, clad in cloak of red torn from foe by his brother Gawain, from Orkney southward in silent excite, they journeyed.

Excite steeled to fear as their mounted band harkened the calls from Camelot’s great towers, below passing the great gates of Arthur’s hallowed Hall.

Fear unbridled, silent and humble, Gareth understood, as though touched by divine hand, that his youth now departed.

For quest and crusade, for God and glory, for King and Country before him lay; folly ceded, and fancy delayed.

“All is well, brother, sit tall and proud,” Gawain said, Gareth at his side within Arthur’s Hall. A lone seat beside empty amongst the headless table.

But no, Gareth observed incorrect, for two seats sat forlorn and neglected.

Their swords, polished glyphs adorned, lay before them on the table round. Another gift given by Gawain—A bounty unearned. Proven glory Gareth yearned. No longer Gareth, Son of Lot, Brother of Gawain, but Gareth, slayer of dragons and wise warrior often sought.

A tattoo of pikes attention signaled. All stood, a lone figured appeared. Stern was he, unlike Gareth’s dreams, fire withdrawn, beard long gray. He sat in silence, his friends abiding. Gareth sat, gaze lowered, complying.

Ten swords lay on the table round. Two slots unfilled, before Arthur, Excalibur unfound. Their king drew forth such a valiant blade, and upon the wood, with its compatriots laid.

Only Arondight was absent, its master fell. Their table rent asunder by the absence of two who’s bond foundered.

Gareth knew, Gawain admonished, his brother Lancelot’s honor now fallen. Agravain’s seat, its emptiness heavy, filled now by Gareth, still shy of twenty.

No man of honor could fill Lancelot’s seat, blackened by his feats. So eleven sat now, where there were once twelve.

“Out of darkness came our great Camelot. For a land of chivalry we fought. Our friends in glory fell, but their sacrifice proved unworthy, simply tales of honor we tell.”

He spoke and Gareth felt fatefully the strength of Pendragon unleashed finally.

“With her I found him bound, he to whose love I was bound. A Friend and lover ripped away from my soul in a single day. Lancelot fled. Agravain lay dead. Guinevere remains. Justice must prevail. Her sentence now read…

…Fire to our foes. Fire for my love relented.”

To shock, Arthur proclaimed the fate of the lady, with venom named. Her honor forfeit. No love. No compassion. Only hatred unabated.

***

They stood in the courtyard, pyre erected. Gareth and Gawain and all the rest by Arthur’s side, brotherhood poetic.

Forward they guided, the lady never named by Arthur Pendragon from that day forth. Eyes covered, hands bound, Gareth observed fair Guinevere.

In her beauty, Gareth saw, desire worth betraying all. Were he base, Gareth would cut down these guards, would spirit her away from the burning pyre before. His sword stayed–his honor never betrayed.

But fate ordained blood flow, and a scream from the gate sounded the arrival. Swords brandished, steel shown, as Lancelot’s fury from far north came down.

Tristan and Galahad were swiftly dispatched, as were Perceval and Bedivere.

Gareth and Gawain then faced Arthur’s once brother, boldness abound.

For all of his training, for all of his valor, Gareth faced fury unrequited. While Gareth dreamed of quests and glory, foe Lancelot already long and far quested. Lands and leagues knew his name, and even Mordred shuddered when Lancelot’s banner from spear did hang.

Steel sang, and crows caws echoed.

They grappled together, righteous anger and lover’s malice without inhibition, but upon only Arondight did blood glisten.

A brother’s bellowed lamented a memory of love and honor within Camelot now departed.

And so fell Gareth, name unadorned. Remembered as but a boy–never more.

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A/N:

Finished Tolkien's Fall Of Arthur and declare it truly one of literature's lost masterpieces. I'm no expert on epic poetry, verse, etc., but wanted to attempt one purely on "vibes".

If you've enjoyed this, please leave a like and an insight below. If you really enjoyed this, tips to fuel my coffee addiction are always appreciated. All formatting is designed for desktops. Want to read more? Below are the best of the very best of my works:

artexcerptsFree Verseinspirationalperformance poetryProsevintage

About the Creator

Matthew J. Fromm

Full-time nerd, history enthusiast, and proprietor of arcane knowledge.

Here there be dragons, knights, castles, and quests (plus the occasional dose of absurdity).

I can be reached at [email protected]

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Comments (7)

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  • Angie the Archivist 📚🪶8 months ago

    Excellent epic poem!🤩 I’ve not read a single word of Tolkien's Fall Of Arthur, but this certainly captures the flavour. I loved all of your poem, captivating! Great tricolon, “ For quest and crusade, for God and glory, for King and Country before him lay; folly ceded, and fancy delayed.”✅

  • Paul Stewart9 months ago

    So now I need to seek out Tolkien's piece. But for now, I can marvel at your greatness at work. This was beautifully done. A beguiling eloquence to it all. Stunning flow and great amounts of detail without corrupting the flow at all. Well done, squire!

  • Lamar Wiggins9 months ago

    I knight thee, Wordsmith Wizard Fromm, lol. Expert or not, this turned out great. 🤩

  • D.K. Shepard9 months ago

    Really beautifully done, Matthew! Fantastic job with the language!

  • Mother Combs9 months ago

    As always, wonderful, Matthew <3 You know the way to my literary heart is through these medieval tales of old. <3

  • KA Stefana 9 months ago

    Great storytelling! ❤️ the poem

  • Rohitha Lanka9 months ago

    Fascinating Poem and well written.

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