A long, grand funerary boat waited in the shallows carved from black oak wood with a dragon-head prow at the head glaring seaward. The deck was laid with furs, flowers, and a broken spear Rhydderch, a weapon he had carried since his youth, now laid to rest with its master. That drew his attention for a moment making him wonder why his father’s beloved spear which he took care of like his own child would be broken, but what laid in the boat drew him away. 

In the center, his father lay clad in full battle armor, hands folded over the spear’s hilt. Death had not diminished him. Even now, he looked as though he could rise at any moment and demand to know why everyone was standing around instead of preparing for war.

Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/163185186493756909/

Ector stood beside Artorius, voice low and rough. “It is the old family rite. Before the crown. Before the church. Before even this nation had a name.”

“I remember it. What was I, four, when grandfather was sent to sea like this?”

“Yes,” the old man nodded his head. “And twenty years later, we find ourselves here again.”

“My uncle… I see he didn’t come today,” Artorius remarked.

“No he didn’t,” Ser Ector intoned. “I thought he would set aside his differences with the family.” 

Silently watching as the pallbearers — all men and women who had served his father loyally and dutifully — lifted the bier and set it gently in the boat. A hush fell, broken only by the tide hitting the stone. Artorius stepped forward. His throat felt tight like there was a nose around his neck. Words caught and stuck inside so he simply placed his hand on his father’s gauntlet, feeling the cold metal beneath the flowers. “Safe journey, Father,” he was finally able to whisper. 

Image: https://www.ginodachille.com/products/the-funeral-of-king-arthur

They pushed the boat from the shore. It drifted out into the gray, carried by a current only locals knew. They watched it disappear into the horizon and fog the mourners bowed their heads. Some prayed. Some simply watched, knowing they would never see such a man again.

Artorius did not look away for a single moment, not even when the mist blurred the line between sea and sky. And that was when he saw it.

He noticed a figure far out in the sea standing on the water. He was an old man who still stood upright and held a kingly bearing with an eyepatch covering one eye. Their gazes met for the briefest moments. Then he was gone, swallowed by the mists, almost making him doubt he truly saw him if he wasn’t the same figure that he saw when he was a child. 

Image: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/2885187257493018/

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By the time they returned to the manor, the sun had bled itself away behind the mountains, leaving the estate bathed in molten gold and deepening shadow. From the tall windows of the great hall, Artorius watched the last of the guests' cars drift down the driveway, the black cars gliding away like funeral barges. He stood alone in the great hall which felt cavernous, a shell of its earlier self now stripped of the noise. Only the soft scurry of household staff cleaning up echoed in the distance, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

He was interpreted from his thoughts by footsteps coming from behind and a loud and boisterous voice. “I see you are busy brooding, huh.” 

Turning to face the figure, he saw it was Ser Ector’s son, Kay. He was always the trouble-maker in the household, Kay had been one of his closest friends in the house. He was a few years older than him standing at the same height as him with brown hair, dark hazel eyes, and seemed to be sporting a short beard.

Image: https://otterandarthur.blogspot.com/2013/04/character-study-sir-kay.html

“I don’t brood, Kay,” Artorius stated, clasping hands with the man. “Its good to see you after so long.” 

“I would say the same, if unfortunate events did not bring us together,” he remarked. “Anyways, my old man had me checking up on you seeing how you are doing.” 

“I’m fine,” Artorius simply stated. He could see the man doubted that, but he was kind enough to let it lay down. 

“There’s something else. My father said your old man left a letter for you. It’s in the study.”

Artorius thanked him and made his way up the main staircase, each step creaking underfoot. At the far end of the attic landing stood the heavy oak door to Rhydderch Pendrath’s study, its brass handle still faintly warm, as though touched not long ago.

Inside, the room smelled faintly of leather, parchment, and the spice of old pipe smoke. The desk stood cleared of all but a single envelope — black wax seal stamped with the dragon rampant of Pendrath. Taking a seat at the desk, his desk now, though it didn’t feel like it and he never knew when it would. Artorius stared at it for a very long time, its presence heavier than the wood it lay upon.

Finally, he broke the seal. The letter began without ceremony: 

My son,
If you are reading this, then I am gone — in body, not in spirit. I have left you more than a name, more than a fortune. I leave you the legacy I carried, and the fire within you.

You were born to a bloodline forged in war and oath, bound to a throne that sleeps but does not dream. I raised you well and trained you for the day that would come, though I prayed it would not be so soon. You are now Lord Pendrath. Protector of what must not be found. There are keys you will inherit, doors you must never open, and enemies who will know your face before you know theirs.

The world is about to change soon. I felt it in the air itself. When it happens, nothing will remain the same. And when it does, you will learn that Earth is not alone out there, and this little old rock has many secrets it keeps under guard. Be wary. Be ready.

I am proud of you, Artorius — not for what you will do, but for who you are. You will be tested. Hold fast. And when the crown calls, answer not with words, but with the truth in your blood.

Your father,
Rhydderch Pendrath — The Red Wyrm

By the last lines, the words blurred. He didn’t know when he started crying, but Artorius held the letter in his hands like a life line. His father’s handwriting was so familiar, the strong, deliberate script of a man who never hesitated. Now he was gone. 

He sat there for a long time, the silence thick with grief. Collecting himself, he folded the letter and tucked it into his suit pocket and made to get up. He had much to do tomorrow; putting the household affairs in order, meeting with the company shareholder, seeing the Queen, and so many other things. 

Getting up and making his way to the door, he was hit with the most unusual thing in his life.. a blue screen.

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Author Notes: The Pendrath Enterprises takes inspiration from the Wayne family company in DC. 

More Info: https://batman.fandom.com/wiki/Wayne_Enterprises

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