A man named Arthur is said to have been called upon to lead the Britons against the Saxon invaders of the Isle sometime in the 5th century. This man, a combination of truth and legend, was referenced in multiple high medieval works as a hero to all Britons. His legend varies from that of a minor noble elected to lead all the Welsh against the barbarians, to a world conquering Emperor of all the lands from Iceland to Syria. While the latter is untrue, this Arthur Pendragon is the foundation of medieval storytelling, a king both noble and valiant, willing to lead the charges himself yet at the same time able to administer a kingdom near flawlessly. Though the legend of Camelot, the knights of the round table, and characters like Lancelot were later additions to the Arthurian Legend, the one Arthur who stands above all the fable is a simple hero. I decided the best way to present him is in the style of the historians of his time; through poetry. The bards of ancient Cymru would have sung his tales to audiences in feasting halls in the dark months of the winter, bringing warmth to the hearts of lords and their subjects. Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons, the Dragon of Cymru, and Protector of the Realm, is the greatest lasting effect on the world of a people both ancient and mysterious, oppressed and violated by the English since the 5th Century AD. Though their people have been crowded into the hills and mountains of western Britain, their language tossed aside, and their voice squashed by the invaders who still control the Isle, the Welsh gave us Arthur – and Arthur gave us all our stories.

The wind swept over the hills of Gododdin

The corpses of heroes bent over and broken

Here Angle slew Briton in fields now abandoned

Not far from shore where Ida and his barbarians landed

Fell Gododdin and Rheged in shame and defeat

Gwynedd, Gwent and Powys to live by retreat

Alt Clut and Strathclyde both stung in the fight

Men of the Cymraeg slain by Germania’s might

Descendants of Odin, Freya and Thor

Invaded the Isle by Dingnayrdi’s shore

Now the lords of Prydein cower and hide

From the sea of barbarians who flow in on the tide

Long gone are the days when the dragon did roar

Undead King of the Britains, may you come forth once more

Arthur ap Urien, Dragon of Wales!

Drove them back the invaders, to their ships and their sails

Though many more noble than he could have led

No other man filled vile Hengist and Horsa with dread

The Ri of the Cymraeg, all of Wales rallied by him

Charged into the shield wall of Saxons impious

Where first he met Saxon, he slew them at Glein

Then rode them down on the banks in Linnuis

At Bassus and Celidon the the Angles were broken

The Dragon of Cyrmu, the Celtic fire awoken

When last he fought the Kentish at Badon

Charged into the fray with sword and saddle

He slew himself nine hundred and sixty that day

With the Lord above’s fury pushed the Saxons away

But yet they came still, and Arthur no more

Sailed to the North, to Dingnyardi’s shore

And there reigned Ida, Bernician scourge

Then his son Adda, of Gododdin’s dirge

In the year six hundred the Fflamddwyn came

And now all we have is Arthur’s old name