Not dated journal entry for today, but . . .

there's this undated page of some brainstorming I did and it's between the entries for Feb. 1 & 4.

Hmm... Here's a peek at my musing. And a comparison with what evolved from it.

From 1992
K I Sawyer, MI

Britain was not ready for the chaos which was about to descend upon us at the loss of King Arthur. Without the strength and support of the Round Table knights, my claim was hopeless. I could give it a try. Rally those men out there to my side? Could I? Would they? Wfft! They were Arthur's men, not mine. Not his daughter's.

Dad and I talked late into the night last night on just this possibility. I did not want to accept that this could happen.

****

Here's what ended up in the published edition of "FIREBRAND"

Ballocks. Why can Bedwyr not address the men? He would know what to say. True. But what made me believe that his pain and grief were any less than mine? Addressing the soldiers was my duty now. I could no more walk away from it without so much as a by-your-leave than I could bring my father back. They had a right to expect my father's heir, not the weakling I had become, too much the coward to face them. Yet I had no idea what I should say. That Arthur, the Pendragon, was gone? Unthinkable. Once the Saxons caught wind of the day's disaster, they would be on us like a pack of starving wolves on an unsuspecting doe. And if not the Saxons, then all our fickle allies would descend like carrion crows, with Camelot as the feast.

If my father could not depend on the aid of his fellow countrymen as the Pendragon, what chance in Annwn did I have?

Between the Saxons and Britain's own people, Camelot would be torn to shreds. And it would take far more than the meagre remnants of the Round Table and my father's army to prevent such calamity. What could I possibly hope to achieve in my father's wake?

Thanks for reading!
Debra