Request: I’ll be so glad if you do a imagine about Hvitserk and his dark side. His love/friend/wife discovered it and she’s so scared of him. I don’t wanna see him as a person who apologize for what he did but a person who demand respect his choices. As I said before his dark and firm side :) Everybody knows that you are amazing writer but I want you to tell you that I really see passion and emotions in your stories! Keep going and stay positive for us and yourself! Much love for me to you <3
Note: Yes, I need to do it in two parts because it would get way to long otherwise. And thanks again for those kind words there, this really means the world for me. But I said that already.
I hope this is what you had in mind with his dark side? Let me know ;-)

Warnings: Blood and violence
Words: 2626
Tag: @raekenimages @itharley @miss-brightly-red @burningsunshin3 @teenagephilosophersandwich @alidoesimagines @bluearchersstuff

Freshly married, that was what you were. Although you didn’t married out of love, it became such a thing in the few weeks you spend with each other. And having a husband changed a lot for you, now you were a woman rather than a girl, you needed to take care for a home, needed to work, needed to tend a husband. And that wasn’t just any husband, it was Hvitserk Ragnarsson. You knew him as a playful young man, testing borders, taking adventures. He made you live a little more. Where you used to be stuck aside your mother spinning wool after your father shaved the sheep’s and washed the wool. Now you cocked, washed clothes, tend under the company of other wives in the great hall. Because being married to a Ragnarsson meant you were good enough to be around the more important men and woman of Kattegat. Not that you felt much change for yourself, but it was nice to be in the company of somebody else than your parents or little sister. Life was good, Hvitserk treated you good and beside the fact you were just married for a week, if felt that nothing really could change. You were in love, drifting above the clouds because, in comparing with the youngest Ragnarsson, Hvitserk was kind and generous. You never met his bad side and you were sure there wasn’t even one.

You turned on your side, moving the arm that laid on your stomach with you under the embrace from your arms. He moved behind you, following the light change his body had to make which for he laid closer. You enjoyed his warmth in these cold days. He snuggled his nose in the wild of your hair, resting his lips against your naked back. You smiled in your slightly wakening body, listening to his breath that warmed your skin again and again. In this way life could be forever. Nothing was so joyful as waking up aside the man you loved, the man that was gentle with you. You opened your eyes, looking down to his hand closed between yours. You placed your lips onto it, kissing the knuckles one by one. You felt him react, lips curving into a smile before he place a kiss on your back. What was there to say? Nothing, nothing could replace the feeling you got, not even words. He groaned, pressing his bare chest against your back while his lips caressed your collarbone. Waking up wasn’t his favorite time of the day but you always managed to clear him up. You softly turned on your back to your other side, looking to those deep going eyes of him. You rested your head aside him, the tip of your nose touching his. Your fingers traveled from his forehead over his cheek until you cupped half his face, placing your lips softly against his. He signed, almost out relief for you being here to make his morning a little more acceptable. His kiss was tender, slowly but deep going, you felt his fingers caress your body for you caressed his morning. You pulled back, smiling, while your forehead rested against his, your nose trailing his face.
‘Good morning.’ You whispered innocent. It was all very new for you, but he didn’t complain, not once.
‘Now it is.’ He reacted with that wide charming smile. He stretched out on his back and you rolled onto your stomach, trailing your fingers over his chest. You crossed your arm over it and let your head rest on it.
‘What are today’s plans?’ You asked on a loving voice.
‘Surviving the cold.’
‘Don’t complaining.’ You whispered. Hvitserk chuckled, pulling you tighter in his embrace, you giggled, embracing his neck before kissing him again. You really both got to get up, but there was nothing really stopping you from enjoying each other’s warmth.

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Redeemable - Vikings Series Part 2/?

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Ivar Ragnarsson x OC

Sitting on what was once his father’s throne, Ivar the Boneless looked amusedly down on the people who once ignored him. They had always feared him, even if they feared him more now, but they had not always respected him. He vowed to take their respect after he became king of Kattegat. However, they gave their respect willingly to his great appreciation.

Bjorne, on the other hand, was another story. Ivar had expected him to retaliate immediately after Lagertha’s death. Instead, he had disappeared. He and several of Lagertha’s loyal followers had taken off into the north and had yet to be heard from again. Ivar loved his half-brother. He had not wanted Bjorne to suffer as he had when he heard that his mother had died, but there was no way around killing Lagertha. She had murdered his mother in cold blood and he warned her that he would avenge Aslaug. She had grossly underestimated him, just as many others before her, but not anymore. Ivar knew he was not safely guaranteed this throne. Bjorne would take action, it was just a matter of when and how. This was only one of several stressful problems that Ivar was facing each day.

Regardless, being king had offered Ivar many things that he had always wanted, the primary point being power. Ivar had strived to be powerful ever since he was old enough to comprehend his condition, and now he could do absolutely anything he wanted. His brothers did not tease him as they used to, especially Sigurd. Though he and Sigurd still had an all too prominent strain on their brotherhood, they were no longer at each other’s throats. Ivar also liked to think that having lost their parents had brought the four brothers closer together, even if none of them would admit it.

“Ah, there he is!” Ubbe entered the great hall with a drink in his hand already. His smile was wide and Ivar knew it was genuine.”My brother, the king!” Ubbe took a long swallow of his ale before slamming it down onto a wooden table. Sigurd and Hvitserk smiled over to the both of them from their own table and gave their silent cheers of ‘skal’.

“Ubbe.” Ivar greeted with a smile on his face. “What can I do for you?” The tilt of his head said it all. Ivar was in a good mood. He had been ever since he cut off Lagertha’s head.

Ubbe jumped up onto the dais and plopped himself down on the second throne beside Ivar, swinging his legs over one side “Can’t I talk to my little brother without needing a reason?” He asked cheerfully.

“I would not say I am so little anymore, Ubbe.” Ivar joked, sitting up straighter and holding his head higher. Even though Ivar was only jesting, Ubbe could not help but notice that Ivar did look rather… kingly.

Ubbe paused for only a moment before taking a much more serious tone. “You are right. You are viking, Ivar. You always have been.” Ivar only nodded and gave a thankful grin to his oldest brother. Ivar felt that he had proved himself as he had always wanted and he was high on the power that had emerged.

Of course, even as king, people still gossiped. The overly embellished story of Ivar’s night with Margrethe still wandered the streets of Kattegat. They said that his member had never even existed. It fell off from disease as a child. His inability to ‘relieve himself’ is what made him so explosive at times. Even if he did have a cock, his balls were shriveled and black.

Clenching his fists, Ivar refused to let the rumors ruin his mood. It seemed so long ago, after all.

* * *

That night, Ivar must have only gotten three or four hours of sleep. He didn’t dream, though he could not recall a time that he ever had. When he woke up, the upcoming evening and its events took precedence over any other thoughts. He would announce the postponement of the western voyages once again. He was throwing a feast to hopefully allay his warriors’ doubtlessly anticipated displeasure. He knew that his people were growing restless. His warriors needed to raid and the previous winter had been harsh. People were getting hungry for food, gold, and blood.

Unfortunately, Floki had told him that people willing to trade him resources were becoming harder to come by. Some of Ragnar’s old friends had concluded that Ivar was the least acceptable son of Ragnar to rule and had withdrawn their loyalties from Kattegat. When he killed Lagertha, some of them still remembered when she was the love of Ragnar’s life. She had been a formidable shield maiden and was highly respected even after leaving Ragnar. Those people were the ones that had betrayed him and Kattegat.

Thankfully, most of them had stayed loyal to Ivar for the sake of Ragnar’s memory. He had been instrumental in taking revenge for his father’s death, and people appreciated that. Also, they could not blame him for killing his mother’s murderer. It was unfortunate that those who had abandoned him were the ones with the most resources of the best quality.

Sitting up in his bed, Ivar banged his fist on the stone wall. When his door opened, one of the slave girls, Gunhild, scurried in with her head down. Ivar often found himself scoffing and yelling at his slaves, but even more so, he found himself attaining great amusement from their presence. He gave slaves little value even before he became king. It was his mother who had instilled such things in him. He supposed she always taught him the uses of his privileges instead of the unfortunate disadvantages of his legs.

While Ivar and others all knew he could get out of bed and get dressed on his own, he did not mind using his slaves for just about anything. He could also bath himself, but enjoyed how disquieted it made them when he asked them to do it instead. Of course, for this reason he tended to utilize the female slaves more than the males. He had no urge to have any boy or man bathe him or dress him. While he may not be able to relieve himself sexually, he could practically intoxicate himself on the girls’ fear.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” He mocked. Still avoiding any eye contact, Gunhild fetched his crutches for him. While they had taken more getting used to, Ivar had relentlessly worked on his upper body strength solely for the purpose of using these crutches. He was surprised how much mobility they had given him. Of course, he still had to bind his legs or else they would become damaged.

The poor girl handed them to Ivar, being careful to not allow his hand to touch hers. While she was still close to him, he made sure to stare into her eyes and drink in her utter discomfort and anxiety. He loved to provoke his slaves into jumping, squealing, or gasping from fright. This girl was no exception. She broke eye contact and was obviously becoming rather flustered. He gave a quiet chuckle that made her withdraw completely, as if she had been burnt.

Tilting his head he decidedly raised his voice at her. “Gunhild.” She lifted her eye to meet his. He rolled himself forward, daring her to move away from him again.While she flinched, she did not retreat again. Satisfied, he gave her a purposefully wicked grin. “You can go.”

Diverting her eyes again, she nodded left as quickly as she had come in. He would dress himself this morning. He would have hated to give the poor thing a heart attack.

* * *

Many people had gathered in the hall if Kattegat that evening to hear an announcement from their king. They all either hoped or dreaded that it was about the western voyages, but none could say. King Ivar was a very unpredictable young man. Sigfrid had Eydis pouring wine fir many warriors and their wives and children. Eydis became more uncomfortable when she came to the table of the three sons of Ragnar who had bought her earlier that morning. The oldest, who she now knew to be Ubbe, urged her closer and lay a hand on her waist while she poured his drink. The others, Sigurd and Hvitserk eyed her heavily and laughed at jokes spoken only in whispers.

She grew only more confused when the hall suddenly became silent just before men began to beat their cups on the tables like sticks on drums. Following the eyes of others, she directed her attention to the front of the hall. A young man dressed in rich clothing sat on the throne on the dais. His hair was dark and brushed back. His eyes shined blue like some kind of jewel, or what Eydis imagined a jewel would look like. She couldn’t help but notice the heavy axe that swung from his belt, nor the way his legs were bound and tilted at an odd angle. A pair of odd looking sticks resting against the side of the throne also caught her attention. This was King Ivar. She had only heard ‘the boneless’ whispered once or twice since she had arrived, but it was now clear what the words meant.

“Warriors!” His voice boomed louder than Eydis had expected. Though his legs may have been disfigured, Eydis did not see a cripple. King Ivar was strong; that much was obvious from the bulging of his arm muscles; and he was smart. Eydis never knew that a person could detect intelligence with only their eyes, but that ice blue gaze was scanning and deciphering every move everyone made. He only briefly swept over her with the others, but she saw it. No, he was not a cripple. “Allies.” His voice managed to soften somewhat. “You are here today because I have an announcement, and I will tell you now that it is not good news.” Muttering swept over the small crowd, silenced only by a raised hand of the king. “The western voyages are still being delayed.” The muttering resumed, but grew into a roar of disappointment and resentment. They only quieted as the king shouter over them. “We are but men. We can not simply swim across the tides and take England’s gold. We need ships. I fear that the ships I had been waiting for are not going to be arriving.” Again people shouted and slammed their cups down.

“What do you expect us to do, King Ivar?!” One burly man from the center of the room bellowed. “Our crops are short and the days are long! We are vikings! We must raid while the days are hot or else we will starve!” Many called out in agreement.

When Eydis looked back at the king, she was taken aback. Those thoughtful blue eyes from before had been replaced by boiling, dark orbs. They had seemingly sucked all of the noise from the room and Eydis couldn’t help but back away a few steps, even though she was already near the back. “Sir Hermund, I expect you to listen to your king!” He shouted mercilessly, making many jump. King Ivar wore a violent scowl and his fingers clawed at the arms of the throne. After a moment of silence, he seemed to calm down. “We will raid, but I require your patience and resources. Floki, though incredibly gifted, is not the only boat builder in all of Noway!” In an even but cold voice, he continued. “At least one of you must know where I can get boats, and as your king, I demand that he who does inform me immediately.” He narrowed his attention back on Sir Hermund. “You think I do not know that people are hungry? You think I do not care?” The king narrowed his eyes dangerously and the man opened and closed his mouth several times before speaking.

“Of course not, my king! I respect you as a strong and just king and I have full confidence in your leadership” The air was tense and Eydis realized that people were genuinely concerned. What were they afraid would happen? Do they really fear that their king would hurt one of his own warriors? Just who was she serving? King Ivar only nodded and the man smiled and sat down.

“Carry on with the feast!” The king said with outstretched arms. The merriment resumed wholeheartedly and surprisingly quickly. Eydis made her way around the room again and continued to refill empty cups. She had even had enough time in between to make conversation with some of the other slaves. For a. moment, she dared to hope that she would able to find some happiness here.

Just as that thought had crossed her mind, Eydis had caught the eye contact of the king himself. He looked content, but ever watchful, just as before. He made a slight hand gesture, conveying that he wanted her to come to him. With small and wary steps, Eydis approached the most powerful person she had ever seen. When she finally reached the dais, she stood a step below the throne, in front of the king. She bowed her head in acknowledgment to him, just as Sigfrid had told her. When she looked back up, she couldn’t help but search those mysterious eyes. Eydis had always felt such a need to understand things, even as an uneducated slave. She knew a lot more than people thought she did and she was always curious. It often outweighed her memory of her place as a slave.

“What do you think you are looking at?” King Ivar’s voice was low so that only she could here, and she feared he must have been angry with her. Instead, she realized he was staring at her confusedly and was studying her indiscreetly. She wished that she could have kept her head out of the clouds.

“I apologize, King Ivar.” Eydis said. He was silent and so she snuck another look. He looked pretty terrifying. He wore an impish grin and his eyes no longer seemed like ice, but like hot blue fire.

“You dare address me?” It was less of an angry inquiry than it was a look of genuine amusement. Eydis did not know how to answer. She did not want to say anything else, lest she make him mad. Finally, he simply held out his cup to her. She stared at it for a moment before quickly remembering what she was doing there in the first place. She filled up his cup quickly, nearly spilling it on his legs in the process. Too afraid to look at him any more, she waited for him to dismiss her, but he didn’t. “What is your name?” He finally spoke.

“Eydis.” She said quietly, so quietly in fact, she feared he had not heard her. After another long pause, he replied.

“You can go.” His voice was gravelly. Relieved, Eydis turned around and went back to her duties. She couldn’t help but notice that the other slaves were staring at her.

After the feast had ended, Eydis was cleaning up with the other slaves. They were the only ones left in the main hall since it was late. Most everyone else was asleep or very drunk, roaming the burg. Very few of the slaves had said anything to her, and Eydis had just assumed that it was because they had not gotten to know her yet. Her mind was changed, however, after being confronted by Gunhild.

“Are you alright?” She had asked carefully.

Eydis smiled at her. “Of course I am. Why would I not?” She paused with her mouth open, looking to the others for help before replying.

“King Ivar talked to you.” She said slowly. Eydis took a deep breath, understanding why they would possibly be worried.

“Um. Yes. He did. He just wanted me to fill his cup.” She shrugged it off and stacked a couple of wooden plates with chicken bones on them.

“Yes but…” Another girl was quickly cut off by a glare from Gunhild. After they both saw the expression of Eydis’s face, she continued. “He spoke to you. What did he say?” Her voice was a low whisper now and it occurred to Eydis that they could easily be punished for gossiping about the king.

“I just made a mistake on my first day here and he corrected me. It is alright.” Frantic whispers starting to come from several other girls around her, while many of the male slaves ignored them all completely.

“What kind of mistake?”

“Is he mad at you?”

“What did he say exactly?”

Eydis quickly quieted them all, looking around to make sure there were no others walking into the hall. “I had held eye contact with him for too long and I addressed him without permission.” I could tell that they were about to burst, but were waiting for more information. Smoothing her hair with her hands, Eydis continued. “And he just corrected me. Then I filled his cup and I was dismissed. That is all.”

“But you looked into his eyes and spoke to him?” Gunhild beat all the others to speak. Eydis simply nodded her head and continued to clean, leaving the rest to continue without her.

Of course, she was worried, but slaves always enjoyed a bit of gossip. However, She did not want to partake in any dangerous activity before fully realizing the rules of this household. She could only imagine what her previous mistress would have done if she had caught Eydis whispering about her.

The king seemed to be much more… well masterly than her previous owners. They had only need for chores to be done. These brothers, however, seemed to require much more attention than Eydis was used to. As powerful young warriors and members of royalty, they gave the impression that they reveled in owning slaves. This included the power that they had over them.

Eydis couldn’t help but notice the brothers’ use of the slaves during the feast. Ubbe had had his hands on many young female slaves; and Hvitserk had had many slaves feed him, rub his shoulders, and even clean his face with a cloth. While these slaves did not seem to mind too much, Sigurd had appeared much more callous. He had seemed to purposefully spilled his wine and food on the floor for slaves to clean up many times during dinner, laughing at them all the while.

This place was decidedly much scarier and confusing than her old master’s villa. Eydis thought about things thoroughly while she finished cleaning up. She came to the conclusion that she would merely have to keep her head down for a while, at least until she had a full grasp of what she ought to expect here.

I hope you guys are enjoying reading this as much as I am writing it! Some of you may have noticed, that I edited and changed a few minor details. No biggy. Fair warning for upcoming chapters: those of you who are fans of Sigurd may not be all too happy with me( sorry ). He is going to be portrayed in a more antagonistic way than I had anticipated.

Nonetheless, I love you all and hope you enjoyed.

To Anyone Wondering About My Stucky Celtic Gods AU

Buchanan was a powerful god. Stronger than any to ever grace the rolling green hills of his land. His rugged appearance was marveled at by men and women alike, mainly the cold gray-blue eyes peering from under his dark lashes, and the glossy brown hair that waved gently down to his shoulders. But Buchanan was not without flaws. A certain hubris darkened the purity of his actions, told him that his capabilities were larger than their true limits, and that any battle could be won. That hubris took away his honor and title as king, lost in a ill-prepared battle along with the muscled form of his left arm. Cast aside as the crippled, imperfect former king, Buchanan wanders across the land, coming into contact with the healer god who’d helped him the entirety of his reign as king (fuck if I know who that’s supposed to be Tony? Bruce?). Through his help, the Lost King was given an arm of pure silver, it’s glistening expanse covered in etched designs.

It was after he regained the use of his arm, that he meets another god, one whose radiance and intrigue are too much to resist. Stéphanos was the most beautiful of the gods, with golden curls about his slender neck and eyes as blue as the seas below the cliffs of Moher. His youthful beauty shone with the magic of the sun, and although slim in appearance, he rivaled Buchanan in strength.

Through the help of Stephanos, he retakes his throne, returning to reign with the young god as his lifemate. Eventually, when Buchanan dies, the god who loved him more than the green, fresh earth he ruled, claimed the throne.

(Basically I have no idea what I’m doing but it’s loosely based on the story of the Celtic god Nuada, with a few alterations, including the sun god Lugh being Steve and his eternal lover, the usual.)

Feel free to expand on this and interpret it how you like. I’m gonna go ahead and tag @falcon-hill because they were interested in it. Oh and if you wanna see the art that was made while I was fumbling with the idea, I had cal-aus do it for me. He’s a good bean, trust me.
Here it is me boys:
New Dawn - Chapter One

Pairing: Ivar x OC

Words: 3.776

Warnings: slavery; bad language; blood; fight; magic;

Notes: So, guys, now I will post this one one chapter at time. This is the biggest fanfiction I wrote until now and I hope you enjoy it. Also, I am still learning greek, any mistakes, please forgive me!


She stood frozen in the moment they stepped in the docks, like a marble statue, cold by the icy weather. Her wrists were throbbing because of the thick ropes that tied her up to the main beam of the boat. The sight of the village was terrifying to a young heart used to the copious sun from her lands in the south.

“A slave, nothing but a miserable slave!” she thought to herself closing her hands in fists, angry mad for have been betrayed by her own flesh and blood.

She frown in a deep look, shirring her lips like an animal ready to bite and rip apart anything that appears ahead. The other girls close to her started to tremble in fear for her breath was like of a beast just waiting for the right moment to attack.

“What is this?” asked one of the men noticing the state of fury that the young lady was on.

“May the gods deem me capable of massacring any man who finds himself entitled to subjugate me!” she said in greek, her mother tongue.

The other slaves began to scream in the moment they saw her eyes turn into solid black.

“Isa, stop!” the nearest girl said almost in a whisper with tears in her eyes.

“I will fight for my freedom and I will die if I must to!” she said through her teeth like a growl.

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Being a Negro in America means trying to smile when you want to cry. It means trying to hold on to physical life amid psychological death. It means the pain of watching your children grow up with clouds of inferiority in their mental skies. It means having their legs cut off, and then being condemned for being a cripple.

Dr. Martin Luther King Jr’s speech “Where Do We Go From Here 1967

quotes from mlk they don’t teach in schools.

Once upon a time in the Enchanted Forest, there was a king whose wife could not bear a child, no matter what they tried. Without an heir to the throne, their powerful kingdom would surely fall to ruin once the king grew old and gray. 
When there was no option left, they decided to choose an orphan child, to raise as their prince. The lucky child was called Rumpelstiltskin, a timid, but intelligent boy who had been raised with proper manners by a couple of spinsters. 
Unfortunately, when the boy entered his teens, something horrible happened. A fire broke out in the palace, taking the life of the queen, even though Rumpelstiltskin tried with all his might to save his step-mother’s life. But the flames had consumed her already, and he could only make his escape through an open window, crippling himself when he fell down.
With his wife buried in the castle’s graveyard, and with his son a cripple, the king became bitter and cold. The kingdom had grown weak once more, and at Rumpelstiltskin’s eighteenth birthday he sought a bride for his son, to fortify their position in the Enchanted Forest.
But no other kings and queens wanted to have their daughter wed a bastard cripple - feeling like they could find a better match for their offspring. None, but the king and queen of Navarre.
Navarre was a small, neighboring country to Avonlea, and though it was rich from trade, they lacked proper defense. The men in Navarre were old and their army was small. The king and queen knew that this would become a problem in the future, because the rumors that the ogres would attack their northern border increased each year. 
When king Maurice heard that king George was looking for a bride to his son, he knew that it would solve many of their problems, since the army of Avonlea was one of the most respected in the Enchanted Forest. 
There was only one problem… Little princess Belle was only five at the time, and surely king George had found better and older suitors for his son already?
But as king Maurice soon found out, he hadn’t, and it didn’t take long for the betrothal to become official, even before Rumpelstiltskin or Belle knew of the unusual agreement. 
Princess Belle and Prince Rumpelstiltskin were to visit each other every summer, until Belle came of age. Only then would they marry…

I am the blind, I am the weak.
I am the bastard, I am the Queen.
I am the warrior, I am a child.

I am no one.

I am an assassin, I am death.
With one word a soul will drop dead.
A faceless man coming for The Queen, The Hound
and the boyish king who took the crown.

Who are you?
No one.

I was a lady, I was a wolf
We howled, we clawed, we hunted, we ruled
The Little bird, The Northern knight,
The Wild Wolf, a Crippled King,
Bastard white dressed in black
Cold as ice, Flames at his back.
Now they are gone
turned to stone, off with their heads
a lions roar to silence them.

Who are you?
No one.

The lone wolf survives and her pack dies.
Who am I?
No one.

—  Arya Stark (via)
Nerd Moment: The three meanings of Siege Perilous.

The title for Episode 3 of season 4 is Siege Perilous this not has one meaning but three. It can be broken down to the definition of each word, Arthurian Legend and Spiderman. Yes, you read that right, Spiderman.


Siege: Is a military operation in which enemy forces surround a town or building. The cut off essential supplies to the city, with the aim of compelling the surrender of those inside

Perilous: Simply means full of danger.

A siege on any city can be risky if you don’t take it. An opposing force runs the risk of not being able to take the city or being attacked while taking the city not only by the army within the walls of reinforcements outside. How is this connected to Camelot or the title? WHAT IF there was a risky siege on Camelot in order to retrieve and item of a person. All me know is that Merlin is gone and has been so for a very long time. He is somewhere that not even his Apprentice seems to know about. This could explain why Merlin went into hiding.

In Arthurian Legend The Siege Perilous is a seat at Arthur’s table, in which ONLY THE CHOSEN knight may sit. This chosen knight is the knight that is able to bring back the Holy Grail. 

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