The fire had engulfed the room.

Ruber wearily stood, looking about him. The walls and tapestries were lapping over with flames. He picked up his sword, hearing clangs in the next room. Someone was battling.

Arthur. It was Arthur and Ruber's father, Ardanus. A lord, battling a king weilding Excalibur. Ruber watched in horror as the cieling rained down ashen red wood. He rushed up to the pair. He tried to tell them to get out, that the castle was going to burn down at any moment, that it would collapse and kill them all. Either they were too heated in battle to even notice him, or the roaring of fire was too loud to hear anything.

Frustrated, Ruber ran out of the room, and bursting through a fire-laden door. He fell to the ground, wheezing, catching his breath. He looked up, just in time to see the castle fall down, to collapse, as if nothing had even been there before. Horrified, he shielded his face as smoke gushed out of the collapsed stone and wood. He looked again, trying to make out any survivors. The fire had spread to other parts of the castle, and the knights of Camelot and the knights of the castle of Terranus had already stopped fighting and retreated.

But Arthur was still in there, and more importantly, his father. Seemingly realizing this, he gasped, and ran into the smoke, developing himself into a coughing spell. He stopped, making out the silhouette of the King. He followed him out of the blanket of gray smoke, and stared at him for a few moments. Then, widening his eyes, he rushed back into the grayness.

His father lay there, dead, blood trickling from his head, his face charred with burns. He turned him over, examining his wounds. His left arm was gone and his armor was battered. Ruber lost all control. He leaned over the body, allowing a single tear to drop from his eyes. He then turned to Arthur, who stood silently.

"Tell me, my King, when did you decide to storm this castle?"

"I never decided. The Knights of the Round Table did."

Ruber frowned. "Alright, 'all for one and one for all,' when did the Knights of the Round Table decide?"

"A month ago." Arthur said, annoyed.

Ruber looked again to his dead father. "He's dead."

"I know. There's nothing else anyone can do, Ruber, when a Lord cannot tell the difference of right and wrong. Your father was mistreating his servants."

"He never--"

"Your father had problems, Ruber!" Arthur interrupted. "If you are more clean than him, you can take his place."

Ruber looked to Arthur. "Very well, King. I shall take his place. I shall rebuild this castle, first given to my great-grandfather Terranus. I shall serve you and Camelot. I also expect new land in a matter of ten years, maybe in a meeting of sorts. I shall be a knight of your round table, if you will accept me."

Arthur nodded. "Of course."

Ruber smiled. "Very well. Your men have retreated, so you might want to go round them up."

Arthur said nothing, then turned and walked off.

Ruber was left with this dead shell of a man. "How fitting, dear father, that I become a better ruler than you," Ruber stared at his father. "killed by Excalibur, the mightiest sword on the face of this earth. I shall own that sword one day. I shall get my revenge on my father's murderer.... and I shall be King..."