The Yule of Camelot: The Treachery Within and the Fall of the Bastions

Antonio Ieranò

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December 17, 2024

It was the night of the winter solstice, when the folk of Camelot rejoiced in the dawn of a new sun, hearts brimming with hope for the cycle ever renewed. Yet, even then, even in that fleeting moment of peace, evil lay concealed beneath a white shroud of snow, masked by the solemn stillness and songs of goodwill. Within that Round Table—a refuge of honor and a mirror of equality among peers—a threat slithered as a serpent among the grass, unseen to the eyes but felt by hearts alert.

King Arthur sat in his grand hall, with Queen Guinevere at his side, her countenance serene despite the frost gnawing beyond the stone walls. Before him gathered the most valiant knights: Sir Lancelot, fierce and unyielding; Percival, pure and untested; and Merlin, the wise mage, with silvered beard flowing and eyes ever-watchful. As the torches cast golden light against the ancient stone, a heavy silence fell upon the company.

Merlin spoke first, his voice as deep as the abyss.

“O King, and ye knights of renown, know ye this: the enemy this night doth not tread our bastions clad in black armor nor wave banners soaked in blood. There is no clamor of swords, nor the thunder of catapults. Yet the foe is here, already within thy walls. Where trust abideth, treachery sharpens its dagger.”

Arthur raised his head, his eyes blazing like embers beneath the weight of his golden crown.

“Speak plainly, Merlin. What is this threat that dares invade Camelot unseen?”

The mage sighed deeply, his hands resting upon the gnarled staff, and he began his tale, a foreboding that would not go unheeded:

The Invisible Threat

“There was a time, my lord, when Camelot’s walls gleamed white and untarnished, a beacon of thy glory and of the justice thou hast sworn to uphold. But even the loftiest bastion crumbles beneath the weight of betrayal when the enemy is not without, but within. Like a cunning jester cloaked in friendly garb, the insider threat moves amongst thee.”

Merlin paused, his gaze settling upon the knights seated around the Round Table.

“Know ye who ye are, noble knights? Ye are the board of this fortress, the first and final guardians of Camelot’s safety. Just as lords of a modern keep bear responsibility for their digital strongholds, so must ye. Yet how many among thee, distracted by feasts or lulled by custom, hearken not to those who warn of danger?”

Arthur clenched his sword’s pommel, his knuckles pale. “Say ye that the enemy enters because we ourselves, blind in our trust, have welcomed him?”

“Aye, my lord,” Merlin replied gravely, his figure both stern and weary. “I have spoken long, as the mages whom men now call CISO, those who know the lurking shadows yet go unheard until calamity knocks at the gates. Thy neglect may cost the realm, as surely as a board’s ignorance imperils its company.”

Guinevere whispered, her voice trembling. “But who, then, shall listen, if not the king and his knights? Are we not the guardians of Camelot?”

Merlin nodded. “Thou art, madam. But heed me well: a king, or a board, that turns deaf to the counsel of vigilance betrayeth itself. The keys to thy gates, the knowledge of thy paths, rest in the prudence of those who lead. Even a maidservant who knoweth not the weight of a cipher may unlock the door to ruin.”

The Assault of Meleagant

As if to seal Merlin’s words with dread, a cry rang out from the tallest tower. A herald burst into the hall, his feet scarred by the cold, his voice hoarse with terror.

“My king! The defenses have fallen, a breach hath been opened! Meleagant hath unleashed his assault. He knoweth our secrets, the hidden ways, and his archers strike from the shadows!”

The torches flickered, as if snatched by unseen hands, and from without arose the wailing of alarms and the clash of steel. Through the windows, fiery shafts carved searing trails across the night sky, like cursed stars, to crash upon the snow-cloaked rooftops. Arrows shrieked through the air, and chaos devoured the stillness.

“To arms!” cried the squires, their calls a crescendo of desperation. The knights of the Round Table seized their swords, charging toward the open gates.

Lancelot, ever swift, met the invaders with the flash of steel, his strikes a whirlwind of fury. But amidst the fray, the foe was both nowhere and everywhere. Meleagant, cunning as the serpent, had sent his spies garbed as servants. From within, they unbarred gates and revealed the hidden passages that wove through Camelot’s depths.

“Treachery!” roared Percival, driving his lance into a band of assailants. “How came they to know of our secret ways?”

“The knowledge was given, not taken,” Merlin intoned darkly, even as he cast spells to quench the flames licking at the rooftops. “One careless hand, one unwatched cipher, and the bastion falls to ruin.”

The walls trembled beneath the ceaseless barrage; stones shattered, and fire lit the sky. A weary messenger staggered to Arthur, pale as a ghost.

“My king! The southern gate hath been lost. The foe cometh like shades through the undercroft.”

Arthur rose, his voice heavy with remorse. “Merlin spake the truth, and we did not listen. Now the cost is ours to bear.”

The Lesson of Camelot

When the dawn at last broke over the blood-stained snow, Arthur summoned his knights to the charred hall. His voice, though firm, bore the weight of grief and understanding.

“This day we have learned, noble knights, that the duty of defense lieth upon us alone. We may not turn deaf ears to those who guard against unseen perils. As a board must shield the walls of its company, so must we shield Camelot. We shall henceforth keep vigilance, not in suspicion, but in solemn responsibility.”

And thus, let this tale stand as a warning for all time: the board is the first bulwark of safety. Listen to your magi—your wise CISO—for even the noblest Camelot may fall when treachery lurketh behind trusted doors.

And should ye hear the bells of Yule, rejoice, aye, but keep thy armor ever buckled.

Finis.