If you were drawn to the camaraderie among Arthur’s knights—Lancelot, Gawain, Tristan—setting out on perilous quests, you’ll love how the Fellowship forms around Frodo much like a new Round Table. In The Fellowship of the Ring, oaths and honor bind Aragorn, Boromir, and the others to a shared mission, echoing the vow-taking at Pentecost in Le Morte d'Arthur. The journey from Rivendell through Moria and Lothlórien mirrors those episodic knightly adventures, with each member stepping forward in turn—just as different knights take center stage in Malory’s tales.

If the grand arc from Arthur’s coronation to Camlann gripped you—the forging of a realm, its glories, and its tragic undoing—then The Silmarillion offers that same mythic breadth. Tolkien chronicles ages of heroism and doom: Fëanor’s oath and the sundering of kin, Beren and Lúthien’s quest, and the downfall of Númenor. It’s the same tragic music as Arthur’s Britain, where a high ideal (the Round Table, the Grail) collides with human flaw and fate, writ across centuries rather than chapters.

If Merlin’s enchantments, the education of Wart, and the aching love of Lancelot and Guinevere are what stayed with you from Le Morte d'Arthur, The Once and Future King deepens those very threads. White gives us Merlyn living backward, Wart’s formative lessons (from ants to geese), and the tender, tormented triangle of Lancelot–Guinevere–Arthur, culminating in Mordred’s machinations—familiar episodes reframed with piercing introspection and heartbreak. It’s the legend you love, made intimate without losing its enchantment.

If the fault lines in Camelot—the Lancelot–Guinevere affair’s political shockwaves, Agravaine’s schemes, and Mordred’s betrayal—kept you riveted, A Game of Thrones amplifies that courtly intrigue. You’ll find the same knife’s-edge between honor and realpolitik that undid Arthur: Eddard Stark’s rigid virtue pitted against Cersei and Littlefinger’s plotting, rival banners like the Round Table’s fractured fellowship, and oaths that bind—and doom—houses as surely as they did knights in Malory.

If the Grail Quest section—Galahad’s purity, Percivale’s trials, and the wound that will not heal—was your favorite part of Le Morte d'Arthur, Parzival is its beating medieval heart. Parzival’s early failure to ask the healing question at the Grail Castle (to relieve King Anfortas) and his long penance echo the moral tests faced by Malory’s knights. You’ll recognize Gawain’s parallel adventures, the tension between knighthood and grace, and the sense that a single right question can redeem a broken world.