One night after a big concert in a quaint English village, the guys from Linkin Park went looking for a place to sleep. They lugged their gear up and down the winding cobblestone streets until, drawn by the warm glow of a kerosene lamp, they came to an old-timey country inn, and knocked on the door. "Yes?" replied a surly voice from behind the large, imposing oak door. "We're looking for lodgings for the night," declared Chester Bennington. "Have you got any?" The door opened, and in the doorway stood the innkeeper, a little fat man with a bald head and a ruddy red face. He squinted as he regarded the band, all the while drying a pint glass with a dirty rag and loudly chewing tobacco. “Well you'd best keep looking," he said gruffly, his shaggy eyebrows bouncing up and down like white caterpillars on a trampoline. "There's a bangers and mash convention in town, and I haven't got a single free room, I haven't." "Oh no!" said Chester, dismayed. "But it's really late and we need a place to sleep!" "You won't find an inn or hotel with a vacancy in town tonight, you won't. Since I see you're desperate, I can tell you that down this very road, just past the outskirts of town in dread Ravensdark Woods, there's a castle that just might have room for visitors such as yourselves. But be warned, for many a man claims the castle be haunted, they do." With that, the innkeeper spat a wad of tobacco juice on the cobblestones, and slammed the door in their faces. Chester and Mike Shinoda looked at one another with uncertainty in their eyes. "Haunted?" said Chester, a slight quake in his voice. "Don't worry," said Mike with a grin. "There's no such thing as ghosts." "But how do you know?" replied Chester. "Just because," said Mike thoughtfully. "Oh, okay," said Chester. Cheered up a bit, he joked, "Besides, if too many of the rooms have ghosts in them, the rest of the band can just sleep in the moat. Isn't that right, guys?" Chester and Mike turned to the rest of the band, who bobbed their heads stupidly in silent, moronic assent. All, that is, but Brad Delson, who stood looking into the darkness of Ravensdark Woods with a strange, far away gleam in his eyes. "Well?" prompted Chester. "What?" asked Brad, shaken from his silent sombre reverie. "Aren't you going to complain about haunted old castles in the woods being lame?" asked Mike. "Actually, guys," replied Brad, "I've always had an interest in the history of military fortifications, especially those of the British Isles. Based on our location and the geography of the region, I'd wager that this castle could be anything from a late Iron Age hill fort to a post-Norman Conquest motte and bailey castle. Either way, I'll bet we could learn a lot about the architectural history of Britain from it." Chester and Mike just rolled their eyes, and in no time at all the band set off down the road, making their way towards the mysterious castle. As they entered Ravensdark Woods, a quiet chill came over the air. They found that the thick forest was full of all sorts of spooky stuff, like wolves that howled mournfully, spider webs that glistened in the half light threateningly, bats that fluttered and swarmed annoyingly, and other unknown things darting too and fro in the pale moonlight. Chester got a little scared, but with Mike leading the way he knew everything would be all right. Eventually they reached the castle. It was big and dark and imposing, kind of like Magus' castle in Chrono Trigger, and craning their necks back they could barely see the spires at the tops of its ancient towers. "Halt, who goes there?" came a loud, noble voice. It took Chester and the gang a second to realize that the voice was not coming from the castle itself, but rather from right beside them! Surprised to encounter other visitors on this lonely road, they spun around and saw the strangest thing they had ever seen: a group of men dressed in ornate suits of armour! "Be thee our friend or our foe?" demanded the foremost of the armoured knights, a tall, powerfully built man with a wise but stern expression on his red-bearded face. "That depends," said Chester slyly, "on who you are, and whether YOU are OUR friends or not." The man took a moment to think this clever reponce over, stroking his bright red beard in contemplation. Then he roared with laughter, as did the rest of his hearty companions, and declared: "My name, young man, is Arthur Pendragon. You may know me as King Arthur." "Whoa, really dude?" asked Chested in amazed astonishment. "Yes, really, dude," replied the gracious King Arthur. "These are my companions, the Knights of the Round Table. And this," he said gesturing to a beautiful woman dressed all in pure white, "is my wife, Guinevere." "Hold on a minute," interrupted Mike after King Arthur had finished. "I thought King Arthur was supposed to live in a totally sweet castle, not some spooky run down dump. Just who do you think you're fooling?" "That," replied King Arthur, "I do not know, for you have not identified yourselves to my satisfaction. Tell me your names, and I will tell you of the most sorrowful fate which has befallen my once-beautiful lands." "We're Linkin Park," said Chester. "I'm Chester Bennington, this is my dear friend Mike Shinoda, that guy is our guitarist Brad Delson, and the dudes carrying our guitars and amps and stuff are the rest of the band." "I see. Be thee some form of minstrels?" inquired the curious King Arthur, casting a quizzical glance at the rest of the band as they sweated under the strain of their baggage like a swarm of pack mules. "Some kind," replied Chester with a laugh. "Alas," said Guinevere, speaking for the first time. "We have no need of minstrels in Camelot these days, for our fair castle has been cursed by two roaming warlocks, and now all our songs are but laments and all our smiles turned to tears." "Oh no," said Mike. "That's awful. Is there anything we can do to help?" "It is said," began King Arthur, "that the warlocks placed a cursed instrument, a lute so foul that even the most skilled minstrels are unable to coax a pleasing note from it, upon my throne. If a tune could be played on that lute, it would break the spell over our castle." Just then, a loud, discontented groan came from within the ranks of the Knights of the Round Table. "Is there a problem, Sir Percival?" asked King Arthur, a note of weariness in his voice. "I'm sick of trying to break this lame curse. Why don't we just ride into town and get drunk with some nice wenches instead of wasting our time out in this cold, dumb forest?" whined Sir Percival. "Yeah guys," chimed in Brad. "I don't care about some stupid castle if we have to fight a curse just to stay there." "Don't worry guys," said Chester brightly. "I have a plan to break this curse!" "Hear that, men? To the throne room!" announced King Arthur. As the Knights of the Round Table and Linkin Park headed towards the castle, Chester noticed one knight, a noble but sad looking man with flaxen hair and clear blue eyes, tarrying near the back of the pack. "Hey man, what's wrong?" asked Chester. "Oh," said the knight, "I am in love with a fair maiden, but I do not know if she loves me, and I fear that we can never be together." "I see. If there's one thing I've learned on my adventures, it's that if you be true to yourself, things will turn out all right! I think you should tell this maiden how you feel," counselled Chester. "Gee, thanks!" said the knight. At last they reached the throne room. Atop King Arthur's great gold throne, covered in dust and cobwebs, there lay an electric guitar so foul that all who beheld its dull, chipped finish and awkward design turned away in horror. "A B.C. Rich Warlock!" declared Mike Shinoda. "Indeed. The most talented musicians from across the land have tried to draw sweet sounds from this lamentable creation, but none have succeeded," said King Arthur. "Hey Brad," said Chester coyly, "why don't you give it a try?" Brad frowned, but egged on by Chester and everyone else, he eventually picked up the Warlock and began to play. Everyone gasped, as Brad began to shred the most awesome song in the history of the world. It was a brilliant piece, with tons of sweep picked minor arpeggios and thunderous chords, and it conjured up visions of epic battles between giant robots in a futuristic desert for Chester. As Brad played, everyone could feel the curse being lifted from Camelot. The first light of dawn broke from behind the dark clouds, banishing the shadows that had lain over the castle. The stale air smelled sweeter, the dingy stones became bright and lustrous once again, and the sound of merry birdsong returned to the forest. All the wolves and bats and spiders fled and set up residence in the village, never to return to the forest. "Wow," said Brad, putting down the guitar. "Yeah, wow," said King Arthur. "Chester, how did you know he would be able to play it so well?" "Well," said Pester, "you said that the most talented musicians weren't able to play this thing, but Brad really isn't that talented." Everyone nodded at Chester's sage pronouncement, except Brad who went off to sulk in a corner. King Arthur beamed as he looked around his restored throne room. "Now my dear Guinevere we can once again... Hey, where's Guinevere? And for that matter, where's Lancelot?" inquired King Arthur. They took a look around the throne room and discovered, to the shock and amazement of all present, that Lancelot and Guinevere were behind the throne locked in a lover's embrace. "Lancelot! Guinevere! What do you think you are doing?" said King Arthur. "Just taking Chester's advice. Lighten up, Arthur!" said blue eyed Lancelot. "Yeah, lighten up," said Chester and Mike in unison, both throwing an arm over King Arthur's shoulders in a gesture of warm friendship. King Arthur just shook his head, and then began to laugh. Soon Linkin Park and the Knights of the Round Table were laughing along merrily with him. "Now this is what I call a happy ending," Chester sang. THE END.