BRITAIN:
Centuries before the beginnings of the Holy Grail War...
He had come all this way, as Camelot had burned and bled all around him, to resurrect a hope that had long ago died. He fought his way back to the Lake—to where it had all begun, to where it had all died, to where it could possibly live again. He had come all this way, and as he lay on the bank, his life leaving him in fits and starts, the Lady came to him.
"It has been a long while, brave Knight."
"Ay...my Lady." His voice was feeble but firm.
"What can I grant you, last Knight of Camelot? When you die, the Legend dies with you."
The knight nodded.
"She had a dream right before she died. I wish you to grant it."
The Lady looked back at him calmly.
"Her dream was not of Camelot. Wishing this will not preserve your world."
"My world died when she did. I do this for her."
The Lady smiled, but her smile was sad.
"She did not ask this of you."
"She did not know how to ask."
"And what if it does not guarantee her happiness?"
"No one's happiness is ever guaranteed. But at least...at least she will have another chance. The chance her Kingdom never gave her."
The Lady nodded her head.
"Very well then. I grant your wish, noble Knight. Fare you well and may your long sleep give you peace."
And with that, Sir Bedivere, last Knight of the fallen kingdom of Camelot, breathed his last.