"If there is anything," Diarmuid began, "that I want more than anything in my entire life; it is to be a knight. That is why I have come." His voice was clear and audible for the entire table—of what looked like twenty or thirty men—to hear him speak. No one said a word until the blond man next to the king whispered something and the entire table was alive with whispers; roaring and breathing, like the soft flame of a hearth, speaking of doubts and hopes for the male.

     "Yes, We understand that." The King sighed loudly. "But why Camelot and why not any other kingdom, maybe Cornwall, or what have you?"

     Diarmuid licked his lower lip and realized that his heart was pumping at a higher rate than usual. In fact, it seemed to be thumping audibly. How everyone in the room did not hear it was a miracle in and of itself. "Well," he started once again, "I have always admired Camelot and its way of ruling. Your specific rule, my king." He had opened his mouth to speak once again, but he was interrupted.

     "But, We are not your King, Diarmuid. We are practically your enemy. Thus I ask you a second time; why should We accept you? It makes little sense when you are the son of a god. You could be in any kingdom you want, you simply say the word, and Aengus will snap his fingers and your wish is granted." The King sighed, "Why have you chosen Camelot, when you know much too well, that even the strongest of spells do not work on me?" The King's emerald eyes bore into his own, beseeching, curious.

     Diarmuid had kept silent until the King was done with his words. "Because Camelot is just. I have found that the Fianna have the same principles and wishes for the country as the Round Table, and thus I have a yearning desire to rejoin these principles and ethics," he said, eyes lighting with fervour, "To be a knight is my calling, but because of things that occurred to me without my consent, I am stripped of my wish and my vocation. My love for Knighthood exceeds any other love I have, but my loyalty will stay but with one that does not betray me in return. I would have followed Fionn and Cormac to the ends of the world, if they will it.

     "But—" he broke off, breaking the smooth façade of a confident knight, and if only for the slightest of moments, the barest of seconds, allowed no more than a glimpse of the rather nervous and worried man he truly was. "But how can you love those that want your head on a pike? Never had I thought that jealousy and folly would taint my trust and reverence for my master. Never had it crossed my mind that my life was but a game to those I had pledged allegiance to. And after near-death, I was restored to my natural mentality and no longer remained under a petty spell. My trust in Fionn was tarnished; he had desired my death and destroyed my loyalty and dignity in Ireland for a woman. As much as I love my country, I can and will never return, and so I seek refuge in Camelot."

      At this point, his amber eyes glittered, with the promise of a dedicated knight who would follow whom he chose to the ends of the world. "I wanted a new start, where I could embed my loyalty, where I could trust those around me; Camelot offered hope for me.

     "When I heard that you have knights with no noble status, I realized that you are the most fair King that I have ever heard of. Never has there been this kind of equality and love for the people of a country. I came hoping that I could forget my past, forget all the pain I had ever endured. I have no home, and I wish Camelot to be my only home. I want it to be where I can return from battle and rest, where I feel safe and where everything I will ever know will be an adventure."

      "You mentioned a spell—what is the sorcery of which you speak?" Green eyes burned into him, like some kind of iron plate branding his very soul. Piercing, that was the word. More piercing, dare he say, than his own lances.

     Diarmuid blinked, his eyes falling as he collected his thoughts. "Years ago, when I was younger still, I met Youth. It was a rainy way and there was a knock on the cabin door. No one wanted to answer it, but the knock persisted. I could not fall asleep, knowing that there was someone outside in the pouring rain. And as it is only natural, I opened the door and—much to my surprise—I saw a rather deprecated woman, older than myself and rather short compared to many other women. If she had once been lovely, time had not been kind to her, so I had thought." Gooseflesh ran up and down Diarmuid's arms, the eerie thought of that night leaving the chill of the rain and something else that he couldn't quite place.

     "I allowed her in, and since my bed was next to the fire place I had lent it to her for the night. In the early hours of the day, I sat up from the floor to view a beautiful young lady sitting on the bed, and with a few words of thanks, she kissed my cheek.

     "She introduced herself as Youth, and insisted for me to marry her. After I declined, she kissed my cheek again, and with laugh that seemed less mocking, and more wicked, she whispered with a tone that must have bewitched many at that point, 'You will never find someone that truly loves you, and you will come back running into my arms once again.'...

     "Her green eyes held a depth of ancient knowledge, of magic. I remember very well because since then, I have acquired a new companion, and I can never rid myself of it." He smiled ironically while pointing to the beauty mark under his right eye. His smile dropped and he continued, "About a year ago, I met someone I wish I never had. Beautiful, yes, but smitten. Falling for me due to my beauty mark, she teased and teased me, trying to make me fall for her, in one night. The night of Fionn's and her marriage, she bewitched me. That is why I am here today."

     "Oh, was that young lady Gráinne? We had heard and even had been invited to that wedding, but the Saxons did not allow Us to attend. Now We know how much of a chaos it truly was." The king suppressed his laughter. "So you swept her off her feet?"

     "Not my intention, and never had I felt a single thing for her, if it weren't for her géis. After seeking help from the High King, he exiled me. Trying to flee the country, I was cornered by the Fianna, where Fionn 'opted' for peace, and after a couple of weeks, he asked me to hunt a boar with him. I could have never felt so accepted in my entire life. This was when he deliberately killed me... They say that a man—"

      "Who drinks waters from the hands of Fionn will live." Arthur smirked. "A legend, is it real?"

     "It is, my king, very true indeed. And he could have saved me, if he had truly forgiven me. But envy is the most horrific beast, and as he would pick up the water from the creak near by, he would allow it to slip away with my life. I died at his hands—how can I trust such a master? Betrayal, at my own liege's wish. I no longer desire such a ruler. But you, you are fair and just. At your highness' command; I would lose my life for you."

     "Does your loyalty to Ireland restrict that?"

     "Ireland has betrayed me, turned its back to me, forgetting of a loyal servant who I was—it will never want me back."

     "Well," Arthur smiled, "now that you have told Us your entire life story, the council and We will discuss the decision and We believe that it could be much better if you would kindly exit the throne room. Now, if you would be so kind," the male glanced towards the door, and Diarmuid understood his cue to leave. He straightened his back, and exited the room.

     It had not been much of an inquiry, if anything, it was story telling time. No one had asked him many questions. And everything was laid out in the story before them. His intentions and history were clear, nothing was left out intentionally. He had been waiting for a rather long a while, only hearing murmurs and white silence from the big room. Letting out a shaky breath, he tried to prepare himself to keep on moving. Maybe he would simply settle down somewhere, give everything up... perhaps even knighthood.

     The enormous door creaked open, and a messenger came out to greet him. "The king calls for you." A scrawny man, he was. A small moustache growing thin atop his big lips. Dark chocolate curly brown hair as neat as it could possibly be, and eyes almost as dark as the night, blinking ever so often; the male led Diarmuid back inside the room.

     "Well, Diarmuid, the council and We have decided that you may remain in Camelot. There will be no exile, but you must prove yourself worthy of being a knight. The Round only allows the most loyal and the most strong; you must demonstrate your greatness to Us and then you will either be Knighted or overlooked. Will you be able to accept?"

     "What ever my King wills, I will do. My loyalty lies within you." Trying to suppress his pure and utter joy, he prayed that the King would accept him to be a knight and that he would be able to prove himself.

     "Good. We hope that you are right. We will have a room in the barracks prepared for you. You begin in the morrow by cleaning the stables, of course you will do this for a week and then, depending on how pristine you are able to keep them, you will be promoted. This is all done whilst you train."

     "Yes, my King, I will do as you please. I give you all my gratitude." He knelt before the king, bowing his head and standing when told to do so.

     Diarmuid was ushered from the throne room and then taken all the way to the soldier's quarters, which was a simple section of the castle—the left wing of the castle, to be more precise. Rooms were shared with two to four people, but depending on one's rank, they could have their own room. The Irishman's room was rather small for two bunk beds, but he was the lowest rank at the given moment, so he didn't argue.

     In fact, he remained absolutely ecstatic.

     "The left bottom bunk is yours, the others can meet you by nightfall. The King wishes the best for you and hopes you to be up by the break of dawn. He will check on you at least once a day, maybe twice if you are lucky." His escort had been the blond male that had always kept an eye on him. "My name is Gawain, I am a cousin of the King and I could not help but fancy you. You hold such values that make me much too proud to be a knight. I know that you have not said anything of what you believe in, but I can see it in your face, so I thank you...for coming to support his majesty."

     "Thank you for allowing me to be here. I offer my sincerest gratitude to both you and his Majesty." Diarmuid bowed to Gawain and the other male dismissed it with a flattered chuckle.

     "There is no need to act so formal, see me as a friend." With a glance out the window, Gawain noticed how the darkness had settled upon the night. Candles and torches were being lit in the halls in the absence of daylight. "I must return to my own quarters. I will see you in the morrow, then." And with a simple goodbye, the male was gone, disappearing behind the door not to be seen for the rest of the day.

     It was quiet and he could barely hear the outside world. It was very refreshing for him, to be able to start anew—forgetting what had happened to him countless times before. He was truly starting to feel like he belonged somewhere, and his heart hoped that Camelot would be that place.

     Because if not, what other place on Earth could he call home?