Gargoyles: Pendragon

The Green Kirtle and the White Flower

Jan 9th, 1998 Glastonbury Tor

A beat up old lorry sputtered away and pulled into the empty parking lot near the Magdeline Chapel. It was the wee hours of the morning, and the dawn would be breaking soon.

Two figures stepped out of the truck, the driver was cloaked, and kept his hood up, lest anyone see. The cloaked figure's companion; a man in his fifties wearing a blue trench coat climbed out of the vehicle and quietly opened the boot of the lorry.

The cloaked figure looked around surreptitiously and then removed his cloak, revealing that he was not a human at all, but rather a tall, dark green griffin, dressed in leather, and sporting a sleek green Mohawk. The inner lining of his wings were a deep maroon. A single, oddly shaped gun rested in a holster on his belt.

"Are you sure about this, your majesty?" Griff commented. "This place really shouldn't have been on our list. There's nothing here for us."

The bearded man looked wistfully over the cityscape.

"We should leave no stone unturned, Sir Griff," Arthur said, quietly.

"Old Pog knows more than most gargoyles ever forget," Griff said stubbornly. "And he said that the Arthurian connections to this place were made up by 12th century monks trying to recover economically after a fire. They needed pilgrims."

"I would agree with you and Elder Pog," Arthur replied smiling. "Were it not for one thing. This IS where Castle Carbonek appeared to Sir Tristram."

"I…did not know that," Griff said, frowning. "What exactly is Castle Carbonek?"

"The Castle of the Holy Grail," Arthur said. "Where the cup that held Christ's Blood came to rest after Joseph of Arimathea brought it out of the Holy Land. It is enchanted. It moves from place to place. Only those worthy enough to see it can even find it. And being worthy enough to see it is special enough. Only five Knights achieved that. Of those five, only three could cross the threshold of the castle."

"Fascinating," Griff commented.

"Sir Galahad, Sir Peredur, and Sir Bhors were all worthy to cross the threshold. After drinking of the Grail, Galahad ascended to heaven."

"He died?!" Griff asked, taking the keys to the lorry and locking the doors to the vehicle, which they had borrowed from the London Clan.

"He ascended, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "Much like the prophet Elijah or the Patriarch Enoch. Went directly to heaven without shedding their mortal body."

"Right," Griff said, rubbing the back of his neck. He was not all that familiar with human religious traditions.

"Sir Lancelot and Sir Tristram found the castle at different times," Arthur continued. "Though when they attempted to cross, they were rendered unconscious for ten days, before awakening, and then having to face some sort of beast. Sir Lancelot battled a wyvern, or so he claimed."

"Why couldn't they cross?" Griff wondered.

"Sir Tristram was unable to cross because of his affair with Isolde. He recognized and understood that this prevented him access to the Grail, and departed willingly, returning to Camelot in shame."

"Sir Lancelot attempted to cross through the gates of Carbonek Eleven more times, before Sir Gawain had to force him to return to Camelot. The thirteenth attempt may very well have killed him."

"But why couldn't Lancelot cross?" Griff wondered out loud, before suddenly realizing that the answer was standing in front of him.

"I…I'm sorry, your majesty," Griff said. "I…I spoke out of…I should have realized."

"As should I have, Sir Griff," Arthur said. "But I didn't. Not until it was too late. The books at Knight's Spur indicated that two bodies were discovered here in the twelfth century, identified as those of Guinevere and myself. Obviously not my own remains, as I am not dead."

"Those bodies were lost just a few centuries later," Griff said, folding his arms. "I read the same books that you did."

"Nevertheless," Arthur said. "It is a place to start."

"A place for you to start, perhaps," Griff said, pointing towards the eastern horizon. "Unfortunately that traffic in London delayed us just a little too much. I can't help you until tomorrow night."

"I shall guard you during the day," Arthur swore.

"No need your majesty," Griff said, pointing towards a nearby cemetery. Arthur noticed several stone griffins and other heraldic beasts atop tombstones and mausoleums. "I'm fairly certain that I won't stand out in there. And you can use the time to investigate."

"Until the sun sets, my friend," Arthur said, saluting his knight.

Griff smirked and darted into the cemetery. He loped over to the base of a tree, noticing an empty alcove in the moss-covered wall on the far side of the tree. The alcove was empty, but there were statues in the alcoves on either side of the empty one.

Perfect, Griff thought, leaping into the alcove just in time. The sun breeched the horizon, and the sun froze him in stone. A tall figure in a green cloak stepped out from behind the tree. The emerald-clad figure glanced over in Arthur's direction and then back to Griff's stone form.

Arthur, satisfied that Griff slept safely, departed for the town, unable to see the green-clad figure against the green moss covered wall.


Arthur made a beeline for the nearby Nightstone's Coffeehouse that rested at the edge of the town. He silently cursed Macbeth for getting him addicted to the brew. He vaguely wondered about how quickly the franchise seemed to be popping up everywhere.

But regardless of the addiction, Arthur had found the concoctions sold at the coffeehouses invaluable. It can be a difficult thing, to befriend a gargoyle. If one is active at night, and then must stay up through the morning, protecting the gargoyle while they sleep, then stimulants are required.

After consuming his beverage, Arthur quietly joined a tour group being lead through Glastonbury. A tour group he found himself unable to stay in, as each time the guide said something with regard to Arthurian myth, Arthur had to restrain himself from saying anything. Or arguing with the guide, as had happened when visiting Tintagel Castle last fall.

Arthur quietly returned to the Nightstone's Coffeehouse. He ordered another drink, and sat in the corner, quietly pulling out C.S. Lewis's That Hideous Strength, and opened the book. He read for over an hour before his eyelids grew heavy, and quietly nodded off. Even an immortal king needs to sleep every once in a while.


Manhattan 1:32PM

Matt Bluestone awoke abruptly. Someone was in his apartment. Ever since Tony Dracon's men blew up his apartment 2 years previous, he had always been jumpy; but now he was very aware that there was someone in the apartment with him.

"I do apologize, Detective Bluestone, for the intrusion," a voice said, quietly stepping out of the shadows. "But I required a…Private audience with you."

Matt sat upright in his bed, taking in the stranger.

He was short. Around '5"3, but built like a truck. Scratch that, Matt felt sure that if this man got in a fight with a truck, the truck would lose. He had a permanent scowl etched upon his face, emphasized by two thin scars over his face. Something in Matt's gut told him that a gargoyle made them, a VERY long time ago.

He was dressed very frugally, but modern. All black.

Matt glanced at the dresser by his bed where he kept his sidearm.

"I can respect a man whose first instinct is to go for his weapon when confronted by a stranger," the man said. "But it's not a fight you can win, detective, and I don't mean you any harm. I just need to ask you a few questions."

"You seem to have caught me at a disadvantage," Matt said. "You know who I am, but I don't know who you are."

"Allow me to introduce myself then," the stranger said. "Three."

Matt stared blankly at the stranger for a moment, not fully realizing what he was saying, and then slowly dawning comprehension.

"Uh…Thirty-Six?" he said at last. He was standing in his bedroom with a member of the upper echelon.

The stranger smiled.

"Detective Bluestone," 'Three' said, matter-of-factly. "For six months, your partner Elisa Maza was on Avalon, using the enchanted mists of that island to travel the earth."

Matt hesitated. He wanted to immediately deny what "Three" had said, and instinctively cover for Elisa. But it was the truth. And a not-commonly-known truth at that. The Illuminati already knew that it was the truth. There was no real point in denying it.

"Um…yes, that's…what happened," Matt said, swallowing.

"Here is what I want to know," 'Three' said. "What actually happened on Avalon? Why is King Arthur awake and returned, and most important of all…Where is King Arthur now?"


At that very moment, King Arthur was drooling in his sleep. He was stirred awaked by a barista.

"Sir?" she asked. "Nightstone's is closing. I'm afraid that you have to go."

"Of course," Arthur said, peeling a few notes from his wallet, to leave as a tip on the table. "Thank you for indulging my nap."

Arthur exited the coffeehouse and checked the time on the watch that Lunette had given him for Christmas. 3:16PM. It was about an hour until sunset. He was so distracted that he almost stumbled over a young woman in her early twenties.

"Apologies, Milady," Arthur said, bowing and turning towards the graveyard where Griff slept.

"'Milady?'" the woman asked, with a light French accent. She suddenly gasped.

"Arthur!?" She yelped in surprise.

The Once and Future King froze, turning towards the stranger.

"I fear you have mistaken me for another, milady," Arthur said tactfully.

"No mistake, Arthur Pendragon," she said, tears of joy in her eyes. "I've been seeking you. I heard you had awakened early, but I didn't quite believe it…yet here you are, in the flesh."

Arthur was suddenly on guard. Few people in the modern era knew who he was. And he could not guarantee that those who did were ally or enemy. His hand shifted towards his sword, concealed beneath his trench coat.

"Arthur Pendragon," the blond Frenchwoman said, looking almost upset. "Do you not recognize me? It has been 1,500 years, and I'd wager I'm in better health than I was in the 5th century, but I know that I haven't aged. The Grail saw to that."

Arthur's eyes widened, as he finally placed the woman standing before him. Not a friend, per say…an acquaintance. Someone he had met in passing a few times, but never had and deep or memorable conversations with…

"Queen Blanchefleur!" Arthur said, all tension suddenly gone. "Sir Percival's bride. The Grail Queen…of course. Oh how could I have not guessed!"

Not usually an emotional man, nevertheless Arthur couldn't help himself. He surged forward and hugged the slimmer woman. It had been too long since he had seen…anyone really, from his own time period. Even an acquaintance such as Blanchefleur was welcome.

"Your Majesty," the Grail Queen said, returning the hug. "I tend to go by 'Fleur' these days, if you will."

"And Sir Percival?" Arthur asked, breaking the embrace. "With the Grail at his command, does he still live too?"

Fleur suddenly looked very uncomfortable. "The man that I married…the man that I fell in love with…He is dead."

Arthur frowned. The way that she had phrased that was unusual; it made him anxious and suspicious. Not emotions that he was particularly accustomed to.

"What of Sir Bhors?" Arthur asked. "Is he Fisher King in Percival's stead?"

"Sir Bhors was…killed in the Seventh Century," Fleur said, not looking Arthur in the eye. It wasn't until just now that she realized she hadn't thought her plans out further than 'Actually find King Arthur'. He was now asking questions that she was not quite prepared to answer immediately.

"It's complicated," Fleur said. "It has been 1,500 years. A lot has happened."

"We shall have plenty of time to discuss it, I am sure," Arthur said, smiling. He began walking, gently guiding her in the direction of the graveyard where Sir Griff slept.

"And you…you have already recovered Excalibur, I see," Fleur marveled. The Illuminati didn't even know where it was. They spent centuries looking for it.

"Aye," Arthur acknowledged. "With the help of my friend, Sir Griff."

"Sir Griff?" Fleur wondered. "You have a Knighted Champion. A modern Knight. Of course…that's how you've managed to remain undetected. You have had help. I should have guessed. You were always a leader of men. When can I meet this Champion?"

"He is sleeping at the moment," Arthur said. "You will-,"

Arthur stopped abruptly.

"Arthur?" Fleur inquired.

The wall, and the alcove where Sir Griff had been slumbering were gone. As if they had never been there.

"He is gone!" Arthur exclaimed.

"What?" Fleur asked.

"Sir Griff," Arthur said. "He was asleep within this cemetery when I went to the Nightstone's Coffee."

"And you are certain he didn't just go to the restroom or something?'

"No," Arthur said. "Sir Griff could not leave this post, at least not for another 45 minutes. You see, Sir Griff is-,"

"Hold that thought, your Majesty," Fleur said, suddenly frowning, taking note of a tall man with slick oily hair in an Armani suit nearby.

"I have an idea of who kidnapped your Knight," she scowled.


Matt Bluestone sidled up next to his partner and grabbed her arm. Quietly guiding her into the interrogation room. Elisa didn't react. Just followed along. If it had been anyone else, they'd have had a one-way trip to the ICU in their future for grabbing her arm like this.

But Elisa knew her partner. She knew he wouldn't be this quiet and this intense without a reason. Most cops knew their partner better than their own spouses. While Elisa wouldn't say she knew Matt better than Goliath, she definitely knew him well enough to know something was up.

Matt led her into the Observation room and locked the door. He did a quick look around the room to make sure that there weren't any bugs.

"I got visited by a member of the Upper Echelon of the Illuminati today. Scariest moment of my life," Matt said. "Scariest guy I've ever met. And I've gone toe to toe with mob bosses. Thing is though…He was interested in you."

"Me?" Elisa said, slightly taken aback.

"Yeah," Matt said. "You. And King Arthur. He sounded desperate to find out what happened on Avalon."

"What did you tell him?" Elisa asked, her eyes narrowing.

"The truth. Or part of it, anyway. Pretty sure that if I lied, he'd have known, and this guy would have snapped my neck. I told him about the Archmage's siege of Avalon, and how you woke him up to defend the island. Then I told him that Arthur chose to venture beyond the mists of his own accord."

"That's it?" Elisa asked.

"Yeah," Matt said. "I neglected to mention the part where I got to meet Arthur himself four months ago at your commitment ceremony. Must have slipped my mind."

Elisa smiled at that.

"We should probably warn Arthur that someone's gunning for him. Lexington has been emailing a member of the London Clan on a daily basis. I'll ask him to pass a message on."

"Good idea," Matt said.

"And…I think that you and I maybe should talk to Brooklyn," Elisa said, biting her lip.

"Brooklyn? Why?"

"He spent forty years traveling up and down the time stream," Elisa said. "And some of the…more cryptic stuff he's mentioned offhandedly sort of sounds like he's had a run-in or two with your friends the Illuminati. I think maybe it's time you compared notes."

"Huh," Matt said. It honestly hadn't occurred to him before. Elisa spent more time with the clan in general, so she tended to pick up more than he did, but now he felt almost foolish for not talking to the resident time traveler about the Illuminati.

"The Clan will be getting back to the castle from their patrol at 2AM," Elisa said, unlocking the Observation Room door. "In the meantime…Let's check the security footage from around your apartment and see if we can't get something useful about your visitor."

"Good idea," Matt said, following Elisa's lead. He may have been the conspiracy theorist, but Elisa's cop instincts gave her the objective edge when it came to the Illuminati.


Watson Doyle quietly pulled out his pocket watch and checked the time. He was a tall, olive skinned man, dressed well. He had slicked back black hair and a solid black Armani suit trimmed with gold and green. He had a green ascot tucked under his neck.

3:45. Good, he thought. Only a half-hour until Falstaff arrives with the-.

He snapped his pocket watch shut as the willowy platinum blond approached him. Blanchefleur? He wondered. He'd always had a bit of a thing for the Upper Echelon woman. It was no secret in the top 10s that she and her husband were on the outs. Watson longed to be the one to win her affections, but he never allowed his crush to mar his professionalism.

"Five," he said immediately acknowledging his superior.

"What the Bloody Hell are you doing here?" she demanded.

"Aren't you supposed to say 'Three'?" Watson asked looking rather confused.

"I asked you a question," Fleur glared pointedly.

"The same as you, I would imagine, my Queen," Watson said, taking Fleur's hand and kissing it. "Mycroft doesn't trust me to do a simple artifact relocation, so he asked you to do it. Without informing you that I was coming at all, it would seem. Typical. A hundred years and he still hates my guts."

"Can you blame him?" Fleur asked.

"I suppose not," Watson said. "Well, it doesn't matter. The job is simple enough."

Watson walked over and pressed on an Illuminati symbol badly etched into the wall next to the graveyard. A nook slid open next to the wall. Watson reached into the nook and pulled out a simple sword scabbard. It was blue, with Pendragon's crest insignia in the center.

Fleur sucked in a deep breath. Oh no, she thought.

"The scabbard of Excalibur," Watson said. "Duval wants it transported to Eastcheap."

I'll bet he does, Fleur thought. "I can take the scabbard from here."

"Ah," Watson said, snatching the scabbard back from her reach before she could grab it. "As much I have a great deal of respect for you, Fleur, I was assigned this task by Mycroft. I very much wish to accomplish the task, and rub his face in it."

"That's all well and good, J-," Fleur started to say.

"It's Watson Doyle, now," Watson protested. "I don't use my former name. Haven't in decades."

"Fine," Fleur said between gritted teeth. "Just give me the scabbard."

Watson furrowed his brow.

"Why do you…"

"Queen Blanchefleur," Arthur's voice spoke from behind her. "Are you all right?"

"Sire," Fleur whispered hoarsely. "I asked you to wait by the cemetery…"

"Sire?" Watson frowned. "Fleur, who is this man?"

"That is the scabbard of Excalibur," Arthur said, stepping up next to Fleur, frowning. "How did you come to have that?"

"How do you know that this is the scabbard of Excalibur?" Watson asked, looking very annoyed.

"I am, Arthur Pendragon," Arthur said. "It is my scabbard. And this is its blade."

Arthur drew his sword and held it aloft in front of him, pointing it at Watson, who stepped back somewhat dumbfounded.

Watson surveyed the two of them, his mind suddenly calculating.

"Duval doesn't know you are here, does he?" Watson said.

"Duval?" Arthur frowned.

"Things are about to become very interesting, very fast," Watson said grinning. "And look at that…Falstaff is early."

Fleur's head snapped around, and sure enough, the steward of Eastcheap Island was quietly approaching them, his minions Doll, Points, and Pistol behind him.

"Pute," Fleur swore.

All hell broke loose.


Griff awakened from his stone sleep with a triumphant roar, splintering shards of stone skin all around him.

He frowned. He was in a dimly lit cave with torches along the walls.

"Well this isn't where I turned to stone," he murmured absently.

"Arthur? Your Majesty? No? I didn't think so."

He drew his Lightning Gun and cautiously stepped forward.

"In for a penny, in for a pound," he said.

A feminine scream suddenly echoed through the cave ahead of him.

"I need to learn to keep my big beak shut," he said, nevertheless running towards the sound of the screaming woman.

To Be Continued…