Chapter Text
“Emrys will come!”
The words rang out across the courtyard. They seemed to go on and on, forever stretching beyond the courtyard and the castle walls. They extended out across all of Camelot and to some foreign kingdoms, crossing vast forests, rivers, and valleys.
Arthur was sure the whole world heard the dying sorcerer.
All stood in horrified silence as the scent of slowly cooking flesh filled the air. The sorcerer said nothing else; he couldn’t say much now that he was busy screaming. The eyes were surely melting now, pouring out of the sockets, though he couldn’t tell from the distance. It was a gruesome sight for sure, but the screams were more gruesome still.
He did not break. He held his position at his father’s side, face turned to stone. The citizens were allowed their horror, but Arthur got no such allowances. He was to be strong and strength meant showing no mercy.
Still, those words had dug into his mind, clawing deep, and would not leave his mind. Was it magic? Was it some spell? Am I the only one so affected? A quick peek at his father told him he wasn’t. He scrutinized that hard face, trying to gauge the King’s feelings on the sorcerer’s proclamation. He hadn’t been expecting to find peace and calm and he was not disappointed; King Uther looked ready to bring the sorcerer back to life just to kill him again.
Arthur didn’t understand the significance of this Emrys thing (or person?), but his father surely did, for why else would he be so murderously angry?
Those words haunted Arthur through the halls of the castle, following after him as he left the scene of the execution. He didn’t bother attending to any of his duties; he knew there would be little point to them when his father was sure to call the council. His deep thought was broken by what he heard of the servants’ gossip; they were all terrified and bewildered. A few didn’t take the threat to heart. They must be new, then.
The council was called for a discussion on how to proceed. Everyone was thinking one thing: those damned words. Were they some sort of rallying cry? Or just the desperate last words of a dying man? Was it nothing, after all? Or were they to prepare for a siege? No one had any answers, not even Gaius, whom father trusted to know such things. After his failure to deliver any information, the councilors devolved into a raging debate, spitting everywhere on the table. Arthur tried to pay attention, but it was difficult with so many voices shouting at once. His father looked on, eyes moving from one lord to the next as though he was paying perfect attention and could hear them all fine. Arthur hoped he wouldn’t need to develop this sort of skill himself.
“Order,” his father said, tone cold and demanding. The lords did not react. “Order, I said! Quiet you fools or you’ll be joining that damned sorcerer next!”
That seemed to break through their shouting matches. They all shut up instantly and some of the lords who’d been in the process of climbing over the table sat back down into their chairs, looking prim and proper.
“We have reached the conclusion that we don’t have sufficient knowledge to deal with this potential threat,” King Uther said. “The only way to fix this is to prepare for the worst.”
A siege. They’ll be preparing all the knights and guards for siege on Camelot. Arthur could not disagree with this, as he had no way of knowing what sort of threat they might face, but he knew there was another thing they could do.
“I have a suggestion,” he said when no one spoke up. The king turned to him, waiting. “I think we should send someone out to gather information. As you said, we know nothing and we're not getting anything here. So, what best way to solve that problem then by simply learning the solution elsewhere?”
“A fine point, my prince,” said Lord Amarack. “But the issue is, who do we turn to? We cannot go to another kingdom, lest they think we have some sort of weakness. And the only other ones who may know of this magical thing are magical beings themselves.”
And, as they all knew, magical beings were not keen on Camelot for obvious reasons. Still, Arthur could not let this go by.
“You both make fine points. I will send a trusted man out to try and gather some information where they can,” King Uther replied.
“I can also make some inquiries to my colleagues. I will not mention anything specific about our state of business, of course,” Gaius said.
The king agreed with that as well and the council was adjourned. Everyone scurried away to perform their duties. The energy of the castle was nervous and taut, a string ready to snap.
“Arthur,” the king called. He turned to him and approached. The hall was empty now, save for the two of them. “I want you at the head of the knights and command of the wall.”
Arthur blinked a few times. He’d been so sure he would be the one ordered to go out. Surely such a dangerous mission should be fulfilled with no one but him?
“But who will go out, then?”
“Leon. I trust him well enough to complete the task and do it well.”
The words nearly ripped through his teeth, but he managed to keep them caged. He almost bit his tongue off to keep the “but” unspoken. His father had been clear in his order and Arthur knew, no matter how he pleaded, once his mind was made Uther rarely changed it.
He told himself that it didn’t matter. Arthur set out to do his duty as usual and protect his subjects from whatever sorcery was about to hit them.
It’s what he told himself, but that night, as he went to bed, he knew he would not let his own conviction go. His father may be stubborn, but Arthur was his son and he was even more so. He woke early, so early the sun had not yet greeted them. No servant was in his room, so he got up quickly and dressed himself as best he could. He got his sword and some mail, but left behind anything identifying him as being of Camelot.
He snuck out of his rooms while the guards were changing shifts and ran down to the stables, trying to avoid everyone else. He’d thought surely everyone would be asleep, but they were all scrambling about, air filled with tension as they waited for the cast die to land.
But none were so affected as King Uther.
He wasn’t just tense; his eyes were filled with cold fury, his words sharp like a fresh sword. He commanded the guards to keep a stricter watch, especially at night. Some were to walk through Lower Town at sundown. They wouldn’t stand much chance against magic, but it would work to dispel the peasants’ fears to see some kingsmen. Others were told to stand watch atop the walls.
Sentries were sent out to patrol outside of Camelot, into the forests and plains surrounding the city.
The knights remained close to keep watch over the lords and ladies of the court.
Important and noble though they were, they did not escape Uther’s wrath. The nobility of Camelot had their own keeps and castles and knights under their own command. They were to order said knights to raise arms and patrol around their own castles. Should the need arise, they would march on Camelot to help secure victory. Usually the lords and ladies had little to worry over as most of the attacks came directly to Camelot, but some of the minor lords and ladies suffered from sorcery as well.
Arthur managed to keep out of sight of the king, but in all his care he hadn’t managed to avoid the one person he least wanted to run into.
Morgana.
She was supposed to be kept to her chambers with guards at her door standing day and night. Yet, here she was, standing mere inches from him, a gleam in her eye. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know what it meant.
“Going somewhere?” she asked. Her smile was knowing, as it usually was.
“Yes. Preferably away from you. Shouldn’t you be in your room?” he asked, making sure to make his voice as obnoxious as possible. It worked, because she lost her smile as her mouth twisted in distaste.
She rolled her eyes. “Running away. I’m bored of my chambers.”
“You’ve barely been a day in them.”
“Well, it’s not so much about how long I’m in there as it is about the fact that I have no choice but to be. The heart always wants what it doesn’t have.”
Arthur snorted. “Didn’t know you had one.”
“Neither do you, apparently. Truly, you must be heartless to be going behind your dear father’s back like this.”
“I’m doing nothing of the sort.”
“Oh?” she asked, brow raised.
They stood in silence, watching each other. Morgana narrowed her eyes. “You don’t look like you’re heading up to the walls. If anything, it appears you’re heading down to the courtyard. Where the stables are.”
Curse her. Why must she always stick her nose in my business?
“How the hell do you know that?” the command was given only yesterday and he hadn’t spoken to Morgana. And he’s sure his father doesn’t have a habit of telling her all the commands he’d given out any given day.
“The benefit of being friends with a servant; they overhear all sorts of things while self-important lords forget they exist.”
He sighed. “Go back to your rooms. I’m going out to find out more. Hopefully whatever I find will be enough to quell father’s temper.”
“I don’t see the point in it. I hardly doubt anything will happen.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do. I would’ve dreamed it if it were.”
Arthur snorted. “Your silly little dreams don’t mean anything, Morgana.”
“My silly little dreams predicted that man dying.”
“You best not say things like that.”
“Why? It’s true.”
“Pray it isn’t true or you may be in his place next.” It wasn’t a threat and he hoped she did not take it as such. For all that she annoyed him, he would not want to see her die some gruesome death. Uther may favor her, but Arthur doubted he would show mercy even to his own ward if she were discovered practicing magic.
Her face was grim. He knew she was no fool. She could be brash and bold, but she knew the dangers well.
“I wish you safe passage to wherever it is you’re going. I hope you are successful in your pursuit.” She says it like it’s a prayer. It’s solemn and lacking any mockery her tone would’ve usually had. Looking at her, he doesn’t see a young woman, but an ancient one, eyes worn away by millennia.
He shudders as she walks away.
He heads down to the stables and finds his horse, Llamrei. There would be no point trying to hide. They’ll all know he’s gone when he doesn’t show up for his duties. It pained him, to think of it like that. He wasn’t one to abandon responsibility so easily, but he felt this is something he must do. Ever since he heard those words, he felt compelled to know what they meant.
Perhaps it really was some curse and he was heading for doom.
Regardless, he couldn’t stand the thought of sitting around and doing nothing when he could be out there, fighting and protecting his kingdom.
It pained him to know there wasn’t much he could do to quell his people’s worries.
Geoffrey had no information of value, though he’d promised to research in his books. Gaius said almost nothing, at least not of value. Arthur had seen his father’s shrewd eye, but he hadn’t pushed, so Arthur assumed his father believed Gaius.
Arthur, on the other hand, had some doubts. Gaius always knew something when it came to problems of a magical nature. So, for Gaius to be so tight-lipped seemed suspicious, though why he’d lie was a mystery. And with nothing better to do, Arthur decided this was a mystery worth pursuing.
So, last night, he cornered Gaius. In the physician’s quarters, he was busy brewing some potion instead of sleeping. His eyes were drooping and his mouth was a thin frown. He’d looked haggard, ready to keel over.
“Ah, sire,” he’d greeted upon noticing him. “What brings you here?”
Arthur ignored the question. “Are you quite alright, Gaius? You seem tired.”
“Oh, it’s nothing major. It’s just this whole business has made the people anxious. They see how urgent the king is acting and fear something might be coming for them! The lords and ladies have been demanding treatments in advance, just in case. And some can’t sleep, so I’ve been making sleeping draughts like the ones I make for Morgana.”
“I see. I’m sorry father has been keeping you so busy. I’m sure it will all blow over soon.”
“I pray for my own health it does,” he replied in a joking manner. “Is there something you wanted?”
“Yes. I’ve meant to ask you a question.”
“About?”
“Emrys.”
“Arthur,” he said his name with clear exasperation. “I’ve already told everything I know.”
“Have you? Gaius, please. I know there’s more to this. Just tell me something. Anything!”
“What will you have me do? Lie? How well do you think that will go if something is found out? Hm?”
Arthur sighed.
“I’m not asking you to lie to me. Or the king. I am only asking you to help me. Please.”
“I wish I could do that, sire,” Gaius said, voice filled with regret and face twisted in grief. He doesn’t regret not knowing. It is his fear that holds him back.
“Gaius, I swear to you. I swear, whatever it is you know, I will not tell a word of it to father. I swear on my life.”
Gaius took a deep breath and when he let it out, he seemed to sink into himself, all his worries weighing him down. I had thought he’d be relieved to talk.
“I’m sorry, sire. I cannot help.” And with that, Gaius turned back to his potions, completely ignoring Arthur. He was the prince, but in that moment he was but a boy, disturbing the Royal Physician from his duties.
He sighed and turned to leave, already trying to think where he could go next before being stopped by a quiet voice.
“The druids. I hear they know many strange things, knowledge not found in books.”
Arthur did not turn back but he did say a thank you.
That night his dreams were filled with whispers of Emrys and swirling colors of blue and gold and red. Whatever this was, it was hounding him as it was hounding his father.
Getting out of Camelot is not as hard as he’d thought it would be. He’s just a rider, passing through. Some even mistake him for Leon, though the distance probably helps with the illusion. He gallops past the walls and out into the wilderness in search of the people that dwell there.
The druids. Of course. Why hadn’t he thought of that before? Maybe because father had them killed and drove them from our lands. And I cannot judge him, for I did not fight as hard as I could’ve against his orders. I witnessed their deaths at mine and my knights’ hands. And now I intend to seek their help.
It was madness, he knew. He planned to ride out on his own to ask for magical information from magical people who hated him and his father. For all that the druids were said to be peaceful, even they must have some limits.
Still, he could not sit here and be driven mad. King Uther was mighty displeased; Arthur remembers how stricken his father had looked after the man had yelled those three cursed words. It seemed his father did not feel the usual bout of victory over magic.
Instead he’d been furious, raging at everyone and anyone.
Arthur has never seen his father this incensed and distrustful. Every time a councilor failed to present the knowledge he needed, he looked more ready to execute them. They’d all sat at the table, quiet as ever for fear of saying the wrong thing, though that was easier said than done when the King was expecting you to say things. He’d seen them struggle, trying to be of some sort of use, while also acknowledging they had nothing to offer. They only spoke when they were spoken to. It did not seen to make his father happy, though.
Perhaps nothing can, not anymore.
He had seen his father laugh and have a good time during feasts, but it was short-lived before he went back to his stoic, if somewhat cold, self.
His plan to disobey orders and ride out of the castle to the druids would certainly not make his father happy. But if he were successful, then perhaps his father would calm and everything would be as it should be.
It was up to Arthur now to do something.
He’ll just have to find this Emrys thing one way or another.
He rode all day, east into the forest of Ascetir. He was sure he’d find some druids there and if he didn’t, he’d have to ride further east, beyond the borders of Camelot. He really hoped there’d be no need for it; he didn’t look forward to being in enemy territory all on his own.
When he was sure he was deep enough in the woods, he slowed his horse to a steady trot and tried to keep a constant watch on his surroundings. It didn’t help that it was nearing night and the moon was barely up, with little light to give. What it could give was not enough to penetrate the layers of leaves up above, piled together to form a thick green sea. He could not see the setting sun now.
Since his human sight was entirely useless in the dead of night, he mostly relied on his ears, but he heard no human in the forest. There was no campfire, no clang of pots, no flaps of tents, or cheer or laughter.
Arthur was the only person in the world.
An owl gave out a hoot. Somewhere in the distance, leaves of a bush rustled. And not far, the steady stream of water rushing along could be heard. His fist clenched the reigns and he grit his teeth. He steadied his breath to calm his heart.
This night felt an eternity. It was just him on his horse in an endless dark, riding and riding, searching for a dawn that will never arise.
But arise it did, as it always surely does and finally, exhausted from lack of sleep and constant vigilance in the night, he stumbled upon an old man at the stream. Or a stream. Who knew if it was the same one he'd heard before, Arthur barely knew where he was.
The old man heard him and looked up from what he was doing – washing up, it seemed. He gave Arthur a small smile, welcoming and curious.
“Hello, stranger,” the man said. As Arthur approached, he got a better look at him; he was grey at the temples, but his hair was all in place. He had a beard to go along with it, carefully trimmed, and a moustache on his lip. His clothes were plain, as plain as any peasant’s.
But from where his shirt sleeve had ridden up, Arthur could see a familiar mark that distinguished the man as a druid.
“Hello,” Arthur replied eventually. “May I ask for your name?” he asked. He was here to question, not demand, and he would remind himself that every time he spoke. He could not afford insult and he didn’t wish to threaten anyone – it’s why he came alone in the first place.
“Of course. I’m Ælfheah.”
“Ælfheah. I am -”
“Prince Arthur.”
Arthur didn’t hold back his surprise.
“You know who I am, yet you call me a stranger.”
“Well, I know of you. That does not mean you are not a stranger to me.”
Arthur had to concede the point.
“Tell me, Prince Arthur, what brings you to Ascetir? You appear to be alone.”
“I am.”
The man stared at him, waiting for him to continue. Arthur decided to take this moment of silence to get off his horse; he wanted to be level with the man and it would not do to continue looking down upon him.
Feet firmly on the ground, he looked to the man, looked him in the eye. Ælfheah did not avert his eyes, but met him head on. In court this would be a sign of utmost disrespect, but here, in the middle of a forest, it meant nothing.
“You’re a druid,” Arthur said.
“Yes.”
“Are you alone here?”
“Why do you ask?”
“I was reliably informed that the druids might possess something I’m looking for. Or, at least, knowledge of it.”
Ælfheah did not look too pleased with Arthur’s response. His open eyes turned wary, but he did not lose his smile, though it did lessen.
“I see. And what is this thing you seek?”
“Truthfully? I’m not entirely sure. All I have is a name.”
The man gave a thoughtful hum.
“Curious, indeed. So? What is the name?”
“Emrys,” Arthur said with no hesitation.
The man’s eyes widened and his mouth gaped. It appears that Arthur has struck gold.
“And where exactly did you hear of this?” his voice rushed out, and his body followed, coming close to Arthur. He didn’t appear threatening; if anything, he looked frightened. Arthur was sure whatever this was, it was dangerous and that was all the more reason he had to know. This was for Camelot and its safety.
“That isn’t important,” he replied quickly. He didn’t wish to lie, but he doubted telling the truth would be very productive. “What’s important is that I need to know what it is. I know it must be magical and its existence does not please my father. I wish to learn more, to soothe his ire.”
Ælfheah took a step back and sighed.
“I cannot tell you, my lord.”
“But -”
“You are a good son, to seek peace of mind for your father. However, I’m afraid this knowledge will do nothing to temper Uther’s rage,” Ælfheah answered. Arthur dropped his head, ready to accept that this trip was for nothing, when Ælfheah spoke up again, “However, I believe it is important for you to hear this. I will tell you about Emrys, but I warn you, I do not know much.”
“Anything is good enough.”
And so Arthur was led to a large fire where they sat. The druids who’d been dallying around their camp all gathered around to listen in. They had watched Arthur warily as he approached, but seeing him with Ælfheah and without a retinue seemed to calm them.
“Emrys is not a thing,” he began. “Not a what, but a someone. It is a title given to a legend. Some believe this legend to be true, though none have witnessed his rise.”
“His?” Arthur asked.
“Emrys is a title given to the most powerful sorcerer to ever live.”
Great.
This is exactly what he needed. He might just be king sooner than later; his father will undoubtedly go into an apoplectic shock and die of heart failure upon hearing this.
“And you said he is only a legend?”
“Well, he is certainly legendary. He is mentioned in an old prophecy that many still believe will come to pass.”
That would explain why a dying sorcerer would shout something like that. It was a desperate plea for revenge, a cry for retribution against King Uther the Tyrant.
“This prophecy…what does it say about him?” Arthur asked.
“I don’t know the exact wording, and these things do matter when it comes to prophecies, but he is said to be the one responsible for bringing back magic to Albion.”
Arthur took a deep breath.
“But only after it is united by the Once and Future King.”
“And that is…?”
“I do not know. No one does. These two men are legendary, and yet, unknown. But it is believed that Emrys and this King will work together; their destinies are entwined.”
“Do you believe they are real? This king and sorcerer?”
“Does it matter what I believe?”
“Yes.”
Ælfheah sighed.
“I believe that they are real. I trust in the prophecy and what has been foreseen. However, I do not know whether it will come to pass in my lifetime. Perhaps it is meant to happen in the distant future, in many hundreds of years. Perhaps it will happen in a few years. Maybe they’re both already walking the earth.”
Arthur hoped not. Something struck him, suddenly, and he had to know.
“I know you said that you don’t know the exact words of the prophecy, but does it mention Emrys ever killing King Uther?”
“Your father? No, I do not believe he’s mentioned in the prophecy at all.”
Arthur couldn’t resist a sigh of relief. Well, that means regardless of his father’s wishes, he won’t be the one to unite Albion. But then, why should Arthur trust these stories?
“However, it is mentioned that Emrys will be the doom of someone. A powerful witch.”
Ah, well then. If he’s to kill a witch, Arthur can’t very much begrudge this mythical man.
“And this king? What else does it say about him?”
“That I do not know. I don’t believe anything else is mentioned besides what I’ve already told you, but I cannot be certain.”
“Well, that’s alright. This is already more than I knew yesterday. I thank you for your knowledge.”
He could be courteous, yes, even if he did think this whole thing was nonsense. But at least he had something to give to his father and hopefully, after hearing it was all some sort of legend, he would calm and everything can go back to normal.
Ælfheah invited him to stay the night despite the fact that Arthur felt like an intruder. The druids did not want anything from him, so all he could do was thank them for their hospitality; heaven knows Arthur doesn’t deserve it.
After he’d eaten his bit of cheese, ham, and bread, he went into the tent he set up for himself. He took out his sleep roll and tried his best not to think about where he was. The druids wouldn’t slit his throat in the middle of the night, he had to believe that.
He worried that there might be an attack or a raid, but apparently they’d never suffered any attacks, claiming that something was protecting them. Magic, Arthur figured.
He tried not to think about that.
He doesn’t know how long he lay there, thinking about what the druid told him. This whole mess was started because of some man who believed a little too strongly in a fairy tale. And yet, Arthur could not stop thinking about this Emrys fellow. And the other one, what was he called-
The quiet of the night was suddenly disturbed. The rustle of leaves had been loud, loud enough that he knew he did not imagine it. And loud enough to tell him something was near.
The druids had said they were protected, so whatever it was would probably go away on its own and anyway, they were in a forest; all manner of creatures came out at night to conduct their hunts.
He tried to keep all this in mind, but his instincts won over his logic. He was a trained warrior and he felt something was amiss. So, gathering all his courage – and his sword – he quietly snuck out of his tent. The night was dark, the moon and stars hidden by the canopy up above, but he could still make out vague shapes of bushes and trees. He scanned the forest, looking for the telltale sign of glowing animal eyes, but found nothing.
The rustle was so loud he’d been sure it was either human or a wolf or something as big as. And yet, he saw nothing, not even a squirrel or a bird.
Beyond that initial rustle, the night was quiet as the dead.
That didn’t do anything for his nerves; he was only more on edge, his knuckles turning white at his unforgiving grip on the hilt of his sword. His breath was coming quick and short, his eyes wild as they quickly scanned the perimeter of the camp.
No one else was out and about. All the druids were away in their tents, sleeping peacefully and unaware of anything amiss. Perhaps they were right, perhaps there truly was nothing to fear. And yet, Arthur’s paranoia only grew.
He’d never particularly liked the dark. Most people don’t, he knows. Gaius had told him a story about how fire was man’s first invention, to keep the night at bay. He could very easily believe that. When he was a child, he would get so frightened at night, he’d end up running to Morgana’s chambers and asking to stay with her. She would always make fun of him, tease him, but let him stay anyway. Now that he thinks back, the teasing was probably a distraction as much as it had been genuine mockery; instead of focusing on his fear, he’d instead gotten angry with Morgana, angry enough to bicker. And after a few arguments, he was tired out enough to fall into an easy sleep. That had ended, of course, after they’d gotten older and it was no longer deemed appropriate.
Father hadn’t been too pleased with him. So, he learned to master his fear. Spending nights out on patrol in the middle of forests certainly helped to acclimate him. Still, that residual animal fear remained somewhere, tucked deep inside. And now, he felt it come undone in him, felt it rise to the top.
He pressed his lips together, he tensed his muscles to keep from shaking.
Morgana had never been afraid, he remembered. Or maybe she was just good at hiding it. The only fear he’d seen from her was fear of marriage to an old oaf; Arthur was sure the old oaf in question had more to fear from her than she him.
The dark was suddenly gone. A bright light shone out, from somewhere ahead of him, beyond the camp. His arm came up, trying to shield his eyes from the onslaught, but it was such a powerful light that it did nothing to help and Arthur was blinded for a good few seconds. Its appearance had been instant, one moment dark and then the next, brighter than any sunny day.
It was like a star had fallen from the night sky and landed right here in front of him.
For many seconds, all was white, but it deemed to have mercy on him and began to recede back into the forest. He blinked and lowered his arm, trying to see what had caused the light. Something magical, no doubt.
He stared into the epicenter of where the light came from, trying to focus his eyes. In it, he saw a form, a shape slowly growing out of the bright light. It was tall and strange, but as it grew nearer, it became more familiar.
It was a woman, on a horse.
Once she was close enough and the light had died down, he could make her out more clearly, though he could not see her face with her hood pulled up. She wore white robes over a white flowing dress and she rode atop a white horse that had-
He took a step back.
No. It can’t be.
He quickly got his bearings and stood, raising his sword. Woman or no, this was clearly the work of magic, and that was certainly no horse.
The sorceress merely smiled at him, as if upon a child. He sneered, not backing down.
“Arthur Pendragon,” she spoke, but he did not see her mouth move. Her voice was soothing, like a whisper or a cool stream of water running through a fresh wound. He would not let her tricks get to him, though. This was a trap of some sort. Obviously.
He tried shouting for his men, but then remembered that he’d come here alone. Wait, where was here again? As he looked around, he noticed that his tent was gone and all the tents he’d seen earlier were gone, too. He was surrounded by trees and grass and bushes, no person in sight.
“Arthur Pendragon,” she spoke once more. “You seek the one who is destined. Your heart longs for knowledge.”
“Who are you? Where is everyone gone?”
“Do not fret. I am merely a messenger. Your hosts are safe. But not here.”
What the hell does that mean?
“We cannot waste any time. Please, follow me.”
“And why should I do that?”
“Because I will show you what you yearn to know.”
“Oh? And what’s the price of this information?” he asked warily. He knew that when it came to magic, there was always a price; it was tricky like that.
She smiled at him, a knowing smile. She looked amused. He didn’t like this, didn’t like feeling so out of his field. Clearly, this was her domain.
“You are correct, this is my domain. However, I cannot keep you here long. Please come.”
“Not until you tell me the price I’ll pay.”
“You’ll pay nothing.”
And that was that, she turned and rode away, not bothering to see if Arthur would follow. He ran after her, not able to stop his own curiosity.
He wondered if he’ll have to walk, but a horse, an actual horse, turned up from nowhere. He got up on it and rode after the strange woman.
As he sidled up next to her, the trees started to change. They, and everything else, began to blur. He knew it was magic, but he couldn’t help wondering what exactly was happening. The horse and unicorn were moving at a steady pace. Nothing to indicate how they appeared to be traveling so quickly.
The blurring finally stopped, as abrupt as the appearance of the woman had been.
Arthur tried not to throw up the cheese, ham, and bread he ate for dinner.
Instead of the middle of the woods, they were now at the entrance of them, on top of a hill which sloped down gently towards a valley in which a small village was situated.
It seemed odd that the sky was bright, no longer night, but he could not find the sun, either. Perhaps it was cloudy, it was difficult to tell; everything looked sharp at times and completely hazy at others, like he was suffering a headache.
The world shifted around them, people bustling around the village, livestock grazing or running about. It looked simple and peaceful and he felt a longing for it. For a second, he could see another life, another him, unburdened by a kingdom and a crown.
But that was not meant to be and he knew not even the most powerful sorcerers could make his dream come true; he’d have to ask the gods, but he could never quite get himself to do it. He was where he needed to be, something told him.
He turned to the woman. She was watching the village below, but she wasn’t looking around. Her gaze was steady, eyes following someone specific.
He tried to follow her line of sight and came upon a young man. He thought it was a young man, but they were far away, so it was hard to make out any details. He had dark hair, Arthur could tell, and wore a simple tunic, trousers, and boots. He was carrying a bucket, presumably filled with water.
“Why have you brought me here?” he asked. Though his gut told him it had to do with the boy.
“To show you. You asked after Emrys.”
“Emrys. He’s real? The druids said he was a myth.”
“He’s been long awaited and humans have poor patience. They live such short lives, they want everything to happen quickly.” She turned to him, then. “But yes, he is real.”
“That boy…” he trailed off, not wanting to finish his question. Or was he about to make a statement? He wasn’t sure.
“Yes.”
“But. But he’s just a farm boy!”
“What does it matter?” she asked, truly baffled.
“You’re telling me that that skinny little village farm boy is the most powerful sorcerer to ever live? Supposedly.”
“Yes. He is the prophesied.”
“And how do you know this?”
“I felt it, when he came into this world.”
“You felt it,” he repeated, tone flat.
She raised a brow at him.
“Magic,” he muttered with a defeated sigh.
“Magic,” she agreed.
He looked back on the village. The boy had gone into his house, but now he was running off with another lad, his mother shouting at him from the door.
“Why him? Why not a nobleman or king?”
“Because there already is a king.”
Arthur wanted to sigh. Was magic always so frustrating?
“Yes, I know. But what is the point of having it be two separate people when it could all be one?”
“Because the world requires balance. Such is the nature of power, that no one man can have it all.”
Arthur supposed that made some sense; after all, being the most powerful sorcerer ever was already quite a bit to handle, he imagined. Being a monarch on top of it, well…anyone would lose their minds. A regular peasant boy would not grow up in a palace, surrounded by doting strangers who constantly vied for attention through elaborate compliments and gaudy gifts. He wouldn’t have people stooping low, bending over backwards, to get his favor.
He would grow up knowing the most basics of life, instilled with a humble nature instead of an arrogant one. Like me.
“But what is to stop him from taking over? Once he grows and becomes so powerful, who’s to stop him from simply taking the crown from the king?”
“If such a thing happens, then there will be no balance and the world will fall further into chaos. Destiny is one thing, but it cannot fully control those bound by it. Humans, after all, still have their free will. He was given power, but what he chooses to do with it is up to him.”
“Doesn’t that frighten you?”
“Why should it? I will not be the one to suffer the consequences.”
Arthur looked at her and although he could not see the expression beneath her hood, her voice was impassive and uncaring. She watched the village from atop the hill like an apathetic god watched the goings on below the heavens but never bothered interfering.
He shuddered, to think the human race so abandoned.
“We placed our faith in Emrys,” she suddenly said. “As your people place their faith in you. Emrys and you both have choices to make, choices which will alter this world. You have been granted great powers, too. I beg you not misuse them.”
She sounded a little less apathetic now, a bit more amused. And there was something sharp there, too, in her tone. He felt he better listen.
There was movement beside him and he saw the woman turn her steed back.
“Come. I have shown you. You have received what was owed.”
Arthur’s brows came down. He wasn’t sure what the sorceress meant, exactly. She’d said some confusing things, but been mostly coherent. Which is more than he could ask for, he supposed, coming from a sorceress.
The land shifted once more and he was back at the empty space where the camp had been. He climbed off the horse and looked back, but the woman was gone.
“Wake up, my king,” he heard a voice coming at once from a distance and right next to his ear, like a whisper.
His eyes shot open, greeted with the morning sun.
“Sire?” someone asked. He blinked a few times, trying to get his bearings. A blur swam into focus, the colors slowly coming together to form a face.
Ælfheah’s concern was obvious in his set brows and wide eyes. When Arthur sat up, he noticed he was in the middle of camp, lying on the forest floor. He felt many eyes on him, curious to see what he was doing sleeping outside his tent, no doubt.
Arthur waved a hand absently at Ælfheah. “I’m fine. Just. Sleepwalking, probably.”
The man seemed skeptical, but accepted Arthur’s explanation and did not further question him.
He had sleepwalked before, so it wasn’t impossible, but it happened when he was a child. And even then, it was a rare occurrence.
Then, as though an arrow had pierced his skull, he remembered the strange dream.
That was no dream.
With a pinched smile, Arthur made way to his own tent and went through the motions of clearing his things and preparing to ride out. His body worked while his mind wandered back to that hill, watching the boy with the bucket of water.
When he reached Camelot, it was afternoon.
Arthur made the very wise decision of keeping his strange dream to himself; Morgana’s dreams were only getting worse and he didn’t want his father to think he was suffering the same affliction. Besides, he couldn’t qualify his dream as a nightmare, like Morgana’s always seemed to be. This was more akin to a vision and therefore something like magic.
And therefore, his father could not know.
Instead, he simply told his father what the druid man had told him. After Uther was done shouting and scolding him, that is. The minor act of treason had been worth it in the end; he could instantly see Uther easing. He sat a little less straight and his eyes lost some of their sharpness.
He was convinced now that all this had been just a bother, borne out of superstition.
There was no threat.
But Arthur knew differently. He couldn’t tell his father about this, yet. There was no way he could make him listen with no proof. Even if he did manage to convince his father, it wouldn’t accomplish much beyond a pointless search of every village for a dark-haired young man.
And that would be very unproductive, as far as Arthur could tell. He didn’t even know if this village was in Camelot.
He hated lying to his father, but it wouldn’t be forever. For now, he would need to silently gather more information, something concrete to bring to his king. This wasn’t lying so much as omitting what he knew until further notice.
“You did well, Arthur,” father finally said. “Although, you did defy my orders.”
Arthur bowed his head. “I know and I did so willingly. I will take whatever punishment my lord sees fit.”
He remained bowed until he heard a chuckle. He looked up to see the amusement dancing in his father’s eyes.
“Your punishment…Yes. Let’s see, you were gone about three days. So, for three days you will act as Lord Geoffrey’s assistant. Whatever he asks of you, you will do without question.”
Arthur’s eyes widened a bit, but he quickly tempered his expression. He’d been expecting house arrest or even a night in the dungeons. It certainly would’ve been preferable to this fresh hell.
Still, he could not do anything about it and going by the look on his father’s face, he knew exactly how Arthur felt about this punishment. Father knows me too well.
He went back to his chambers and life resumed. Well, apart from those days spent in the dreary library, reading and writing and organizing old texts and documents. It’d felt more like an entire decade than three days. Arthur had returned to his bedchamber that night, exhausted and feeling older than his own father. When he’d went to the basin to wash up he feared for a second that he would be greeted with a wrinkled and bearded visage. But when he glimpsed himself in the water, he was relieved to see himself as he always was. His hair was as blonde as ever, no grey in sight.
The strange dream hadn’t come that night or any other night. It stuck in his mind during the day for a while, clinging like the plague, but his duties as prince put it on the back shelf.
He gave it no more thought in the coming days.
Merlin flinched, but tried to hide it.
He went about his work as usual, trying to get it all done as fast as possible so he could horse around with Will.
But still, the burning sensation stuck on his neck. He felt like a rabbit waiting for a predator to jump out and get him.
Someone was watching him, he knew it instantly. His magic stirred in him, like a lazy cat waking up. And then, it began roiling like an angry sea, pleading to spill out. He kept it in tight as he walked back to his house.
Still, he couldn’t stop his eyes from automatically looking in the direction of his watcher.
But when he looked up the hill into the trees, he saw nothing, apart from the usual. There was no one there.
He narrowed his eyes, thinking perhaps he’d been mistaken, but…
Magic never lies.