he procession of people slowly filled Artoros' hall as the guests began to arrive for the occasion. Artoros felt that starting new traditions was a good way to create a bond in the people, and the Christ seemed like the perfect person to fill this tradition. In order to unite Dyfnient, Artoros would have to unite them in a god to have faith in. The one thing that could unite the Britons would have to be the faith. Artoros quickly put these thoughts to the back of his mind as he began to greet guests as they entered Ehangwen. One after another the guests entered, and Artoros stood his post diligintly. He joked when he needed to joke. He showed his condolences to the knight whose wife was too exhausted to make it. He couldn't remember which knight it was. He had met many that night. Could it have been the green knight? No. Nevermind.

Finally the meeting was over. This was a procession that Artoros had understood, yet despised it the whole while. He understood the need to make allies, but he knew that he made his allies later, after the ale begun to flow. But many still preferred to partake in this regal tradition dating back to the ancient days when everyone had to meet one another, shaking hands and exchanging formalities. The ale began to flow, finally.

Artoros loosened up and drank ale, and wandered throughout the great hall, talking to his knights that had served him well. Somehow the conversation that night turned from an earlier incident where Sir Bors was caught cheating in a race, to an earlier conquest. Artoros and his knights had just recently returned from their conquest of digging up a head on the other side of Britain near Caer Lud, where the river flows into Britain.

"That is it," said Artoros with a conviction of ending the conversation, "that is what we have to do. We have to systematically remove the old ways, beginning with the old gods. That is what is keeping the people from uniting. They all worship a different form of divinity, and no one can get along."

This confused whoever it was he was talking to, and by this point, Artoros didn't care because the ale was starting to talk. This gave him the greatest idea he had in a while. He leapt to the table with food still on it.

"It is I, Artoros." The party stopped and turned to look at the man on the table. He looked down at the table and saw a ham, half eaten on a platter. He reached down and grabbed the ham.

"Britain, as it is now, is like this half-eaten ham. The island itself is being eaten away by foreign invaders. The Romans have been gone since our grandfather's time, but we can take care of ourselves. We are British and we are not a half-eaten ham."

The crowd stood and looked at Artoros as he reached into his pocket. He pulled out a beautiful, jewel encrusted cross.

"This." He motioned to the cross. "This is what Britain needs to aspire to be. A confederacy of regions, to become an army under one Lord and God, and not to rely on those ancient superstitious beliefs. Britain needs not Bran's protection, but only mine, and mine Lord's protection." Artoros crossed himself and looked up.

A man snorted from the crowd, "What do ya plan on doin', diggin' 'is 'ead up?"

Artoros looked straight down at him and looked him straight in the eye. "If that will prove to you all that you do not need the protection of a pagan god, but accept one Lord to look over us all as one, then that is what I shall do!"

The crowd, still bewildered, began to look to one another for an answer. "This is a call for all eligible knights to join up as we uncover this superstition." Artoros leapt back down from the table and looked around the hall.