The Green Knight's Game

In tonight’s bedtime story, you are a knight of the round table, returning to Camelot after a most peculiar encounter with the mysterious Green Knight. As you travel through the wintry landscape, you reflect on the events of the past year, which led you to test your honor before the knight. Adapted from Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Feat. a meditation for the New Year

Music/Sound: A Glimpse of Avalon by Flouw, The Long Awaited by Kikoru, Binaural Alpha by Syntropy, Epidemic Sound

Transcript

Contemplate your mysterious encounter with the green knight in tonight's bedtime story inspired by medieval literature.

Sleep and Sorcery is a folklore and fantasy inspired sleep series.

My name is Laurel and I'll be your guide on tonight's fantastical journey.

Sleep and Sorcery is one part bedtime story,

One part guided meditation,

And one part dreamy adventure.

Listen to my voice for as long as you like and when you're ready,

Feel free to let go of the story and let sleep wash over you.

If you're still awake,

As the story concludes,

I'll guide you through a relaxing meditation for the new year.

In tonight's bedtime story,

You are a knight of the round table,

Returning to Camelot after a most peculiar encounter with the mysterious green knight.

As you travel through the wintry landscape,

You reflect on the events of the past year,

Which led you to test your honor before the knight.

You remember his appearance at the king's Christmas table,

The journey you undertook to meet with him a year later,

And the three unusual nights you spent at a remote castle.

This story is lovingly adapted from the 14th century chivalric poem Sir Gawain and the Green Knight by an unknown poet.

I've taken liberties with the format and toned down some episodes,

But this story contains material that might be scary for younger listeners.

Listener discretion is advised.

I sit beside the fire and think of how the world will be when winter comes without a spring that I shall ever see.

For still there are so many things that I have never seen.

In every wood,

In every spring,

There is a different green.

J.

R.

R.

Tolkien J.

R.

R.

Tolkien Your eyes drink full of the vibrant green hue,

So lively against the white winter snow.

One last look at the green chapel before you depart.

The deep emerald of it,

The overgrown ivy that marks its threshold.

Such a strange name for a place like this.

A chapel,

More like a rending in the earth.

A gap of stone and tree roots that form a natural chamber,

All moss-covered and dappled with vines and leaves.

A recess that somehow staves off the winter cold,

The kiss of snow and ice.

So green it's like eternal spring.

The place makes you think of those practitioners of the old religions,

Those druids who held their worship in no structure made by man,

But only under open skies and in ancient forests,

In the sacred spaces of nature's creation.

Perhaps that explains this year you've had,

And all these strange encounters.

Perhaps you've had a brush with something of the old world,

The ancient wild magic once thought lost.

As you turn your eyes from the chapel a final time,

Letting your gaze fall upon the purity of untouched white snow,

You blink hard against its brilliance,

Yet a haze of green still seems to creep,

Uninvited,

At the corners of your eyes.

Will it ever go,

You wonder?

Or will you always sense its presence,

The creeping green like slowly gathering moss?

You wonder if it will be more nuisance or comfort.

You tighten a small satchel through the loops of the saddle upon Gringolet,

Your beloved horse.

If only he could speak,

You think.

What a conversation you'd have on the ride back to Camelot.

What marvelous laughter and puzzled merriment you'd share as you look upon all that's happened to you this year and now.

Adjusting the green girdle round your waist,

Your touch lingering on the texture of gold thread woven into it.

With a heaving groan,

You hoist yourself atop the saddle,

And you gently kick his sides,

And he's off.

Disturbing with his hooves the immaculate snow,

Could it all have been a dream,

You find yourself thinking.

As Gringolet marches through the drifts,

Every turn and twist of this winding journey seems so.

The way remarkable things come to occur with such little ceremony,

And the way details,

Faces,

Objects,

Fancies from the waking life become untangled and repositioned in the dream world.

In whatever country you have walked this past year,

Be it the world of dreams,

The realm of man,

Or the fairy country,

You never thought you'd see such wonders and such wildness cross your gaze.

It began at Christmastide,

When King Arthur lay at his court in Camelot,

A great feast and celebration.

All his knights,

Seven score,

Returned from their scattered quests and wanderings,

From their castles and families,

From the forests of adventure.

All was jubilant and jovial with great greenery hung about his halls,

Tables laden with ripe oranges and apples,

Puddings and pies.

Never let it be said,

You think,

That the good King Arthur did not know how to host fine festivities,

But all the dazzling decorations,

The delicacies,

Even the torches and the candles in their brightness could not compete with the glow of the King's magnanimity.

He shone like the brightest of stars at his elegant seat next to his fair Queen Guinevere,

Lovelier than ever.

You wonder briefly if your memory and the ordeal that followed has added a rosy tint to the scene in your mind.

Can it really have been so bright,

So cheerful,

So peerless?

Perhaps most clear in your recollection and most cherished among all your memories is the fondness with which King Arthur looked upon you,

His kin,

As he welcomed you to your seat at the round table.

The tenderness with which he kissed your cheeks and said your name,

Maybe this reverence with which he greeted you,

Played a part in your actions to come.

You only know for sure that you were seized by the desire to prove yourself,

To live up to the admiration in the King's face,

To become the knight he already believed you were.

And oh,

The feast was divine,

The food was rich and succulent,

The mead flowed plentiful in your goblets,

All the guests sat sated and sleepy,

Slumped back in their seats,

You at the right hand of the King,

Full and happy.

You surveyed the faces about the table,

The round table,

At which no one,

Not even the King,

Sat higher than any other.

There was Sir Lancelot,

Glowing and handsome,

Even if somewhat forlorn.

And there was Sir Kay,

A lovable grump and foster brother to the King.

And dear Sir Percival sat by,

Hardly more than a boy,

But brave and willing,

Full of that innocent longing for adventure.

It is among the greatest pleasures of a knight,

You think,

To rest in good company,

Surely,

The tournaments,

The battles,

The adventuring.

These are all the deeds that the bards will sing of one day,

These are the things for which you'll be remembered.

But they do not make a knight,

No,

What makes a knight,

You think,

Is fellowship,

The strong bond between kin and companion,

Forged in fighting and at the feast table,

The feeling of warm and hearty welcome,

Stories and humor shared between friends.

That is the reward.

You'd trade all the glory in the world for it,

At least,

You would now.

But on that Christmas day,

Though you basked in the warmth and contentment of your company,

Glory and honor were still at the forefront of your mind.

How single-minded you were then.

And when at last the feast was done,

Bellies were full and eyes glazing over,

The king addressed his many companions with a yuletide toast and a curious plea.

On Christmas day,

He said,

He should not leave this table till he heard some tale of great adventure or witnessed some marvel or miracle.

You can remember the smirks and the murmurs and whispers round the table.

Your eyes and many others fell upon Sir Lancelot,

Who always had great adventures to tell of.

But he did not so much as open his mouth to speak.

So,

In the absence of a knightly volunteer,

Someone to impress the king with a song of peril or jubilation,

As if on cue,

There came a great groan and creaking at the door to the hall.

The door swung open,

Heavy and thundering,

And all eyes were fast upon it.

He wondered if it was some knight of Arthur's,

Who'd ridden day and night to join the feast and sadly missed it.

Pelennor,

Perhaps,

Whose face you do not see today.

Maybe he comes at last to brag at the slaying of the dragon.

But no,

It was not a familiar face that the light of the lanterns fell slowly upon.

There was silence around the table,

A cavernous silence against which the sound of hooves upon the flagstone floor beat all the sharper and into the light he rode,

Monstrous,

Large,

And imposing,

So huge and hulking he might have been a giant.

And he sat upon a horse sturdy enough to hold his height and girth.

Bushy was his beard and hair and broad was his neck.

With each step,

The horse took into the hall.

Each hoof beat came the sound of shaking bells,

Though from where they rang you could not see.

And he was,

Though you could not believe your eyes,

Head to toe,

Ink green.

Green was his hue,

Top to bottom,

His hair and beard,

His face and neck.

He was green as grass,

As overgrowth.

Green were his garments,

Too,

His boots and tunic richly green.

He had neither helm nor hauberk,

Nor armor girding his awesome stature,

No shield upon his arm.

In one hand he held a sprig of holly and so looked like one attending to the festivities.

But at his waist he had a weapon,

Indeed a prodigious one.

An axe of such size and length befits half a giant.

It,

Too,

Was green and also gold,

Brightly burnished steel that seemed to soak up the flickering light of the lamps all about.

Its handle finely carved and wound with iron,

Engraved with symbols indecipherable and green.

Even now,

As you recall the moment of his arrival,

You feel a shiver penetrate the warmth of your garments.

You spur on Gringolet through the thinning snow,

Whether to hasten toward Camelot or hasten away from the green chapel,

You do not know.

The wood lies ahead,

Now no more a mystery as it was on the journey hence,

But a comforting place where the thick vegetation and dense canopy will provide cover from the cold wind.

Upon the green knight's entry to the king's hall,

Arthur himself was obliged to stand and welcome the uninvited guest.

Never before had the king appeared small to you,

Rather he was always a monumental figure.

But now,

The green knight towered over him.

Even the greatest king was only a mortal,

Facing whatever he would,

God or devil,

Even now you do not know.

But the green knight laughed and spurned the king's welcome,

Held in contempt his courtesy,

Chided you all for children playing at knighthood and chivalry,

Such an insult to the king.

And to the round table,

This greatest fellowship of knights ever assembled,

Could not be tolerated.

You felt the heat rising in your cheeks,

Your blood run hot,

But the green knight's laughter persisted,

Booming and flagrant in the echoing chamber.

A Christmas game,

He proposed,

As he dismounted.

Still he stood head and shoulders over any knight,

Without the additional height from his horse.

He rested his axe from his hip,

In his strong hands it looked light as a feather,

Though the steel was thick.

With the weapon in one hand and the holly in the other,

He smiled,

The apples of his cheeks blushing green instead of rosy.

By this holly branch,

He explained,

You all must know I come in peace to pass the hour.

He went on to say that far and wide,

Words spread of the chivalry of this court,

Of the games and tourneys held here.

He thought there might be among you a worthy opponent,

But now he sees that only children tarry here,

And none befit to face him,

Unless someone round this table,

King or knight or cup bearer,

Should participate in a Christmas game.

Stroke for stroke is what he proposed,

The axe gleaming green in his hand,

Blow for blow.

If anyone be warrior enough to face him and deal the first blow,

The green knight would give as a gift,

The glorious weapon.

Then,

With a respite of twelve months and one day,

The winning warrior must agree to receive a blow in return,

Such a curious proposition.

And though the axe was covetable indeed,

It seemed hardly a task worth volunteering for.

Silence again hung like a mist over the feasting hall,

The green knight's grin splitting wider by the moment.

Then,

In a moment of impulse,

Feeling fierce loyalty and desperate desire to avenge the insult to your king and kinsman,

Before a logical thought could calm your rushing mind,

You sprang from your seat,

Begging leave of Arthur to take the task in defense of his grace and the honor of his court.

You leapt lightly to it,

And knowing in your heart it was folly,

You fought all the more heartily to claim the privilege.

You were so foolish then,

And so prideful,

How humbly and falsely you proclaimed to the king that your life would be the least loss at the table.

Should you fall before the green knight,

How thickly you lay on the self-criticism,

How much,

Though you did not admit it to yourself then,

You imagined Lancelot would envy you as the king's champion.

With some reluctance,

But ultimately resigned,

The king blessed your blade and bade you give the green knight a blow.

An agreement was struck between the man in green and yourself,

That after you deal your blow today,

You should seek him out one year and one day hence.

Then he knelt and bowed his head and held out his axe to you.

The green steel caught the lantern light and glimmered a gleam in your eye.

You took the axe,

Which had a pleasant heft in your hands,

A substantial weapon,

Solid and strong.

It seemed you grew in size and stature holding it,

Became more capacious,

More poised.

The green knight bared the flesh of his neck and bid you make your attempt.

Gladly,

You gripped the axe and gathered it up high.

Then lay the blade down sharply,

Dealing your end of the bargain.

The steel was so sharp that it met no resistance,

And in an instant,

Your spoils lay upon the floor,

Silent and ever green.

How can it be that what happened next was no dream?

Such things are the domain of fairy stories.

Now,

Atop Gringolet,

The wintry sun cascading through the forest canopy like sheets of gold on white,

You touch your own neck,

Feeling the supple flesh there.

Even now,

You feel relief and release a sigh that on that Christmas day,

The green knight,

Cloven in two though he was,

Reached nonetheless for his head,

And stood once more before the round table.

Still,

He was taller than you by far,

Taller even than the king.

You might not have believed your eyes,

But for the gasps of a hundred and fifty knights,

All aghast and marveling at the sight,

And under his arm,

The green knight's head was cheerful as ever.

Laughing still,

The good queen Guinevere looked likely to swoon,

And soon Sir Lancelot was at her side,

Her ladies too,

To catch her fall.

Presently,

The green man chuckled gaily and gave you again your instructions.

This time he gave you the name of the place where you should seek him one year hence.

The Green Chapel was all he said,

And with his laughter booming,

He climbed again atop his horse and rode forth from the hall as if it were only a nick on the neck he'd suffered,

Leaving you all stunned and silent at the king's Christmas table.

You pass now by a glade through which you came first before this morning's dawn.

How different it looks now,

With midday sun above it thawing the snow,

Beneath which branches creak and crackle.

How bright and new it seems.

You carried with you all the year the green knight's axe and his promise.

You trudged through deep midwinter,

Cold and quaking.

In your dreams you saw the knight and heard his laughter and knew he'd greet you at year's end.

But when spring came,

You fought in tourneys,

Spirits lifted,

And looked on your encounter as a distant memory,

A Christmas myth to be told again at Yuletide when the king requests a marvel.

At times,

With the fields of flower and friends about,

He even slipped from your mind,

The knight all clad in green,

Until again,

Seeing how green were the groves,

He'd cross your thoughts and you'd grasp the axe.

At Pentecost,

The king called for his knights,

As every year,

To renew their oaths of chivalry.

At this great gathering it was upon the axe-blade,

Not your sword,

That you were sworn anew,

And on the swearing,

To the virtues of friendship,

Generosity,

Purity,

Courtesy,

And piety,

You thought again of the green knight and your bargain.

But summer was long,

And the days were long,

And you had many adventures with your companions,

Soft winds sprinkled seeds across the fields and forests,

And rarely then did you think of him,

Or of the hastening harvest on your heels,

For the summer lingered so languidly.

Then came the time of reaping,

When the scythe and sickle struck the stalks,

And then you clung to the axe at your side,

For the time of your reaping would soon be upon you.

How swiftly then the year yielded,

And leaves from lindens loosely fell,

The frost forthwith.

All the grass that was once green was now grey,

All that was ripe now rotted,

The axe weighed heavy at your side and your oath upon your heart.

At last,

When winter nipped at your fingers,

You begged the king,

Your lord,

For leave,

To seek the green knight and receive your blow.

You would not swerve from your strange destiny.

Mournfully the king granted your request,

And summoned all the best of his knights to counsel you.

On the morn you were made ready,

In the finest garments they dressed you,

With soft linen and knots of gold thread,

In shining mail,

Hauberk and helm,

A silken sash and rich gold spurs.

They brought you your shield,

Upon it the pentangle painted in pure gold,

The five-pointed,

Five-sided star gleamed bright on your arm.

Symbolic of your virtue,

You chuckle to think of it now,

Of the five virtues of chivalry,

Of your five faultless senses,

Five wits and five fingers.

How fair you looked with the shield and the axe and your armor aglow,

Gringolet too,

Splendid with a saddle fringed with gold,

A steed fit for the greatest of knights,

Which,

You had no doubt on that solemn day,

Was you.

The shield is at your side no more,

Nor the axe.

You set forth from the court of Camelot before the first snow fell,

Though it came quickly behind you.

You kept no company but gringolet,

And rode far northward through the woods of North Wales,

Into the mountainous midlands,

In every village to which you came and at every hermit's door on which you knocked.

You asked about the knight in green.

None could tell you a tale of such a man.

Save for folk tales and fairy stories,

Though they often offered you food and hospitality.

Quivering cold settled soon about the country.

But on you rode,

Even as icicles clung to the sides of your helm,

Through your difficult journey,

As all went white and gray around you,

Still the leaves of holly and fir were green,

Greener than ever.

And all the more brilliant,

For the contrast with the snow.

Into that same forest you ventured,

The one through which gringolet now bears you,

And it struck you as a most wonderfully wild wood.

The hazel and hawthorn were all twined together and covered with moss.

The trees tangled and mired.

You soldiered on,

Praying for a path or to stumble onto some hermit's hearth,

Where you might be shielded from the night's cold.

Then,

As if the prayer of your heart had fallen upon some eager ear,

Through the briar and brambles you beheld a light,

Aloft upon a hill,

Shining in the night's cold and darkness.

You wondered if it was a mirage,

A trick played upon you in this state,

But there,

Though you blinked,

It remained a castle,

Not so elegant or extravagant as Camelot,

But most welcome to your weary gaze.

Gringolet's step even was springier,

As you directed him toward its light,

Hoping the hosts had some hospitality to spare.

Now,

You passed beneath the castle again,

In the light of day,

Where not hours ago you slept,

Fitfully,

Where for three days and nights you feasted in the company of its lord and lady.

In the wintry daylight,

It seems to quietly smirk from its hilltop,

Wily and coquettish.

Nothing in the world would bring you back through its doors now,

You think,

But the night,

You think,

Spurring Gringolet on,

Away from its shadow.

In that castle you were offered food and drink,

And lodging for as long as you needed.

You were pleased to accept,

But Christmas was drawing near again,

And on St.

Stephen's Day you were expected at the Green Chapel,

You explained.

At this,

The lord laughed,

His laughter booming to the high ceilings of his hall.

Why,

The Green Chapel was not half a day's ride from the gate.

He knew the Green Knight of whom you spoke,

So here you'd stay,

In the comfort of your private chambers,

And you'd be welcomed by all the guests of the castle,

Who longed to hear tales of adventure in the elegant speech of a Knight of the Round Table.

Indeed,

Your name was well known in this region already,

And you were lauded as chief among Arthur's Knights,

The most virtuous and most gallant.

It was in that castle that you struck another bargain,

This one with its jovial lord.

Knowing not how tangled the threads of your promises would soon become,

But this bargain seemed so simple to uphold,

While each day of your stay the lord would go to the hunt,

You would remain here,

Within the walls,

Enjoying the warmth and comfort of his hospitality.

At the end of each day,

The lord promised to present to you as a gift,

The spoils of his hunt,

And,

At the end of each day,

In return,

You would present to the lord any gifts you received while within the castle.

Of what gifts he might speak you could not conceive,

So you shook on the bargain,

Bemused as ever,

While the web spun about you unseen.

The spinner,

Though you did not know it so then,

Sat silent beside the lady,

An old woman,

Nameless,

Who looked upon you with curiosity and care.

You held up the bargain,

And so did the lord,

Still with pleasure and laughter as he laid his quarry before you each evening,

And you presented your winnings too,

Though holding your tongue as to where each was won.

On the first day,

A kiss you exchanged for a deer,

On the second,

Two kisses for a boar,

And on the third,

On the third day you gave three kisses to the lord,

But you withheld your true winning.

For while the lord was on the hunt,

His lady had come to your chamber and offered you something more precious than gold.

A ring first,

Bright as the sun with a crimson gem set in it,

This,

So tempting,

You refused,

But then she offered you a girdle of green,

Green as the night you would come to face if your memory served,

All embroidered with shining gold thread,

And soft as the finest silk,

A remarkable thing,

But all the more wondrous for the power it held.

For the lady said,

Whomsoever wears this sash of green wears a charm of protection to keep them safe from worldly harm,

That this might fall into your lap.

On the very eve of your encounter struck you as most miraculous,

And although the lord's bargain gnawed at your thoughts,

You accepted the lady's gift,

And tied the sash tight around your waist,

Concealing it beneath your tunic.

The lady bid you swear to keep the girdle secret,

And you kept your word that night.

At the exchange of winnings,

To say it did not tear at you,

This secret betrayal would be a lie,

But on that day you weighed your life against your honor,

And made a choice,

Three kisses to the lord in exchange for a fox,

And the Christmas feast commenced in good humor.

When Christmas day had come and gone,

And the red crest of sunrise slipped over the horizon,

You donned your charmed green girdle,

Your shield,

And the glorious axe,

Mounted gringolette,

And rode to meet your strange destiny,

Your pace was slow,

But determined,

And you held high your head.

The sash seemed to keep you warm,

Though it also set your thoughts to stir.

It was only a short ride to the place described by the lord of yonder castle,

Where dwelt,

He claimed,

The night in green,

And as it came into your sight,

You had no question that you had found the green chapel indeed.

It was not a chapel in the style with which you were familiar,

Nor would you have called it such had you come upon it unknowing.

It was more like a great fault in the earth,

As if the green knight,

Large as a titan,

Had brought his axe down heavily upon the ground,

And from the rending in the earth had poured luscious greenery in untamed spirals,

You steeled yourself to slip between the rocks into the natural opening,

Where lay the dealer of your destined blow,

And he was there,

Of course,

Green as ever,

And yet not so brilliant as before,

For now in his chapel he seemed to blend with the natural tones of the grass and moss and vines about him.

It was as if he himself were a grove,

Which having one day set himself to it,

Had pulled up his roots from this very ground and become a man.

There was laughter in his eyes,

Just as there was fear in yours,

But the green girdle warmed you still,

Steadied your beating heart,

The shield on your arm,

And the axe in your hand.

You bowed your head and presented the weapon to its master.

You'd come at last,

On the destined day,

To complete the Christmas game,

Even now,

As you emerge from the wood,

You wince to remember it,

You tenderly touch your neck once more,

As if to ensure it's still there.

It is,

Oh,

Without a doubt,

It is,

For the green knight missed his blow after all this time,

Though you did not but flinch.

It's only hours ago,

And yet the details seem to slip away,

Again making you question whether all of this was only a dream,

But still the sash adorns your waist.

The green knight's laughter echoes still within the chamber of your memory,

The persistent and familiar laughter.

How could it have taken you so long to notice?

How could you have failed to hear the ringing echo of the night in the laughter of the lord of the castle,

The curious coincidence of the lord's knowledge of the chapel,

Or the predilection they shared for games and tricks?

At Christmas time,

The green knight dropped his axe and laughed,

And in so doing,

His green hue reddened and his face ruddied,

Till his cheeks were shining like ripe red apples,

His hair went brown as the hair of a boar,

And his stature was suddenly not so imposing.

An artful disguise,

The lord admitted,

Laughing still,

Spun up by none other than Morgan le Fay,

King Arthur's half-sister.

The green knight was no devil,

No ancient druid's god,

But a man,

Like any other,

And he'd be glad to bring you back to his castle,

Raise a cup to you and drink to your honor.

She was there,

After all.

Queen Morgan,

In the guise of an old woman,

And she'd be curious to know the outcome of her play.

It was all a game,

You deduced,

A test,

Rather,

A wicked game,

A web in which you were spun unknowing and stitched into an impossible knot.

Then the lord gestured to the slip of green silk that slid from beneath your tunic.

Though you concealed it and dishonored the terms of your latest bargain,

He forgave you.

After all,

You only valued your life,

And what man could think less of you for that?

Dazed and daunted,

You politely refused the offer of return to the lord's castle,

The thought of showing your face there after such an encounter,

And facing the woman who designed your strange destiny,

Was unappealing.

Even thinking of the warmth of the lord's fire,

You thought only of Camelot,

Leaving your shield and the axe in the green chapel,

Where the lord's ceaseless laughter pealed like Christmas bells.

You dashed off to start toward home.

Around your waist,

The green girdle is bound still,

And will be bound,

Henceforth you set yourself steadfastly to it,

After such an ordeal and such a failure of your renowned chivalry and courtesy.

You'll wear it as a mark of your disgrace.

You've tied it outside your tunic,

Over your shirt of mail,

So it might be seen in its dazzling green hue by all.

The ride to Camelot takes several days,

But it passes lighter and swifter than before,

For though your heart is heavy with humility,

And the winter's chill sets deep into your bones,

The end of the journey is home.

You've left the chapel of the green knight in one piece,

And you are grateful for each glimpse of green holly on the boughs,

And even for shivering birds on bare branches.

It's a return you never thought you'd make,

And you bless the goodness and beauty of the natural world for guiding you forth.

You seek shelter each night in the homes of humble folk,

Wary of the games and tricks in noble houses.

At each you're welcomed and praised for your renowned virtue,

And to each you tell the story of your strange encounter with the green knight,

Your honor besmirched,

And your mark of shame in the green girdle,

But your pleas of ignominy fall unheard by the glowing admirers that surround you.

At last,

When you and Gringolet are most in need of it,

The sight of Camelot crests over the horizon.

Already you can taste the flowing mead and fresh bread that await you in the king's hall.

You wonder if word yet has reached the court of your survival,

Or if your return upon the new year will be a complete surprise.

You ride into the castle gates and find lodging and food for your hungry horse in the stables.

You stroke Gringolet's mane and neck.

What a good friend he's been to you throughout your ordeal.

How grateful you are that you'll see more adventures together.

Then through the heavy oaken doors,

In the company of the king's guard,

You pass into the familiar halls of the castle,

Never before has it seemed so welcoming,

So warm,

And so cherished as it does now.

You thought you'd never see these halls again,

And you treasure every inch,

From the gray polished stone to the cavernous ceilings,

And now,

To the feasting hall you go,

Where already you can hear the sound of a joyous gathering.

So they haven't all departed yet,

Your companions,

You think.

Some have stayed to ring in the new year alongside their king and queen,

Or perhaps to remember you in solemn mourning.

The guard swings open the doors,

And for a flash,

You feel taller than yourself,

Greater in stature and swelling with pride.

You feel supernaturally strong,

A thing of powerful magic,

But as the hall erupts in cheers and shouts of welcome,

And as the faces of your friends come into focus before you,

You diminish once more to your own size and state.

A hundred hands are clasping yours,

Your name,

On the lips of the greatest knights at court.

Lancelot is beaming with pride as he congratulates you,

And there is Percival.

Oh heartily you embrace him,

So much more a man than he was at your last parting,

The king and queen are there,

And in Arthur's eye you see such sparkling admiration that you can hardly bear it,

Indeed you can hardly bear any of it,

For none of them will hear your plea that it is no honor to return unscathed,

None of them will accept the green girdle as a symbol of your failure,

Instead,

Each and every one pledges to adopt the girdle as the newest fashion in honor of your great quest and well-matched victory over the green knight,

You can no more protest their praise,

And so,

After courses and courses of fine rich delicacies,

You retire to the guest chamber made for you,

Tenderly you untie the green sash round your waist,

And you feel a great exhale rush forth when you've removed its constraints,

It really is a work of wondrous craft,

You wonder whether in fact there is a charm woven into it,

Or if you merely believed it so,

Out of longing and hope did Morgan,

The king's own half-sister,

And well-known sorceress,

Sew it with spells,

The way she made Arthur's scabbard,

That gift too,

Protects its wearer from harm,

Even more so than the sword it sheaths,

The silk slips across your fingers,

And the threads sparkle in the light of the dying fire,

You hang it by the hearth,

Admiring it still,

Even if it reminds you of all you've failed to do,

You can admire it,

On the morrow,

It will be a new year,

A new start,

All the perils and marvels of this year may pass away into memory,

Or myth,

You'll tell this tale again at the king's Christmas table to be sure,

You'll try not to change the details too much,

To make yourself seem braver,

Nobler,

Bolder,

It is a pity you think to close out a year feeling as though you're a step back from where you started,

But perhaps that's alright,

Perhaps it's in the nature of things to crest and fall,

To win and lose,

To struggle and to triumph,

You might not mark the years or yourself so sharply if that were the case,

You might look upon yourself as you look upon your friends,

And they upon you with recognition,

Support and indulgence,

There will be time to contemplate it all,

For now you are thankful to have found rest in Camelot,

Among friends and cherished kinsfolk,

A garland of greenery hangs above the modest fireplace,

Brought in from the outside,

Pulled down from the trees that never lose their hue as a reminder of the promise of new life,

New growth,

Was it really only some trick,

Some cruel test you've endured,

Or have you had a brush with that old magic,

The realm of fairy and folk tale,

You think of that green chapel far away,

That even in bleak midwinter snow flushes full with green,

Erupting in the magnificence of life,

You can see him there now,

The night with his axe,

A figment,

An illusion,

A trick not to you,

You'll sleep tonight in gratitude for your life and your breath and your companions,

You'll wake tomorrow in the light of a new year and when the sun rises and you dress for court,

You'll make the choice of whether to don the sash or no,

You'll choose anew each day,

Sleep comes over you in a haze of gold and green,

Be still and soften,

Let your breath be smooth and calm,

In and out,

Feel the breath in your belly and chest,

Bring your awareness to your chest,

Your heart chakra,

Feel your heart space as a center,

A space from which your breath radiates,

Sending warmth and nourishment throughout the rest of your body and outward,

Beyond your edges,

Feel warmth and radiant love in your heart as represented by the color green and the element of air,

Visualize a pentangle,

A five-pointed,

Five-sided star,

Let its hue be a soothing,

Neutral green,

Allow your inner eye to travel across its lines and angles,

See how the lines overlap,

Creating a continuous,

Unbroken design,

Visualize that star at the center of your heart chakra,

Let your heart open and soften,

Bringing peace,

Compassion,

Harmony,

Forgiveness,

And kindness to your mind and body,

Let the warmth and lightness generated from your heart chakra continue to radiate throughout your body and beyond,

Breathe,

You are capacious and capable of change.

As you let go of this year and look ahead to the next one,

Let yourself find peace with who you are and where you are,

Even if you're not where you hoped you'd be,

Make room to be kind to yourself,

To forgive yourself and love yourself for everything you are.

In the new year,

Try to look upon yourself as you might look upon a best friend or a cherished person in your life,

Without judgment,

But with the same compassion,

Indulgence,

And admiration you hold for them.

See yourself as continuous,

Ongoing,

In progress,

Like the unbroken lines of the pentangle,

See it as a reminder of your continuity and longevity rather than as a static ideal,

See it as a symbol of your capacity for love,

Kindness,

Understanding,

Harmony,

Peace,

Forgiveness,

And bliss.

Breathe,

Be warm,

And a blessed new year.

Reviews

Fell asleep quickly, but enjoyed what I heard of the story.

Really enjoy all your stories Lauren Thankyou so much.☺🐱😺🙏🌸🐨🇦🇺

Forgive and accept yourself so that the simple happiness of every precious day shines from you. --- Thank you for another wonderful story.

I just found this type of method tonhelp you to hobo sleep easier and I love the story!! Her voice is very soft and comfortable. It gently guides you to the scene. Is fantastic! The problem is that you never know how the story end becuase uou fall asleep quickly. I recommend it to any one.