"Kings are the slaves of history"—Leo Tolstoy
Camelot 994
Rain poured from the sky with a determination, beating down on the earth with a ferocity. The winds roared in concert with the storm, the dark clouds hanging above casting a heavy cloud over the forest of England. Roving hills expanded across the horizon, hidden behind wind sheers so dense it looked as if Arthur were surrounded by a dome of air.
Arthur, son of Uther, of the House Pendragon, Magical King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and all other Magical Realms Known and Unknown, stood on the at the top of Castle Camelot. Its large towers, built sturdy and strong, touched the clouds. Sheets of rain battered against the walls, but still they stood, a testament to the work and magic was crafted into each stone by the works of masterful craftsmen and magicians. Arthur remembered when, as a young man, he would watch these masters through the cracks in the doorways. When he had no teaching, no gold, no respect from anyone around him. All he had was his wits, his mind, and his heart. He learned through each crack in the door different skills to help him survive. Until he pulled the Sword, His Sword, out of the Stone, each of those lessons had been seared into his brain. Standing on the pinnacle of his achievement, King Arthur remembered his youth.
The castle had taken nigh ten years to complete. Arthur, early on in his reign, had recognized the need to lay the foundation for His Authority and Rule. He needed to show the people of the world a clear and defined stronghold for Magic to reside and remain stable. He collected master craftsman, both magical and mundane, and paid their works through gold and titles.
Magicians followed the magical signature of his counselor and advisor, Merlin Emrys. He acted as a beacon of light and power, sustaining the poorer magical cores of those around him, and illuminating their potential. Magic blessed Merlin with a tremendously large magical core, but also provided a curse of destiny upon him. Merlin could not seek power over others, but instead had to aid those in power, specifically the life of Arthur Pendragon. Merlin did not see this destiny as evil or ill-informed, however. He once shared to Arthur, drunk over a night of ales and spirits, deep in his cups for the first time since their youth, that Arthur was his first and only true friend and it was because of that friendship that the only ruler Merlin would ever serve would Arthur.
To this day, Merlin denies this conversation, but Arthur would never forget the unwavering light shining in Merlin's emerald irises, nor the vow spoken, "The only true King of Albion, of the Magical World in general, Arthur, is you. Magic chose you as her Conduit and Voice in Earth, and as the years have gone by I've seen it every day. Arthur, you shouldn't doubt yourself, because know that I will always believe in you."
A loud noise broke Arthur from his thoughts, as thunder broke across the sky and lighting streaked across the clouds as a fish swims in a stream. The sound reverberated across the countryside surrounding the castle, until it hit the forest and the trees were bent down. They sprung back upward a moment later, battered but undestroyed.
"Your Majesty, if I may be so bold, what has you so troubled?"
Surprised, Arthur turned to the guard posted at the door to the top of the parapet. Among many things, having guards around him always was an aspect of ruling Arthur would never be comfortable with. This one, newly learned in both the arts of Magic and Sword, would not yet learned the unspoken rule of silence when guarding the King. Arthur held out his hand, palm facing downward. Embarrassed, the guard snuck forward, bent at the knee, and quickly pressed his lips to Arthur's hand. Head bent forward, he spoke, "Forgive my rudeness, Your Majesty. I know not what I speak of."
Arthur, however, wanted to hear more from this guard. "What is your name, Sir? We would like to know to whom We speak."
"Sir Percival of the House Weasley, Your Majesty." The soldier said, hesitating as he spoke his family name, as though Arthur would berate him for his family's past. It is true, Arthur supposed, that having a former Light Lord whom Arthur had personally annihilated in battle, in your family tree was not always best in conversation, but Arthur took what he could get at such a late hour. Besides, the Weasley family was so large, this Sir Percival is most likely from a different branch.
"Don't worry, brave knight. We do not hold innocent people accountable for the actions of their family. If that were true, the actions of Morgana would have condemned Us as well." Arthur knew, as a fundamental human failure, Sir Percival must have faced extreme backlash against the actions of his relative, Lord Antaeus, who tried to eradicate the existence of Magical Creatures in an attempt to protect the lives of innocent Muggles, mistakenly killed by a rogue Wraith of Death, known as a Dementor. Antaeus had manipulated the Magics naturally installed in forests and tried to trap the Magical Creatures within. Merlin, alerted to the vast amount of Magic being used in Albion, had immediately notified Arthur. Arthur had defeated Antaeus, and saved the lives of the Magical Creatures. It was one of his first interactions with other Magical Races, and helped fortify and strengthen every interaction since then.
Sir Percival looked upward, only for a glance, but saw understanding in the eyes of King Arthur. His shoulders relaxed, his ginger head dipped forward for a minute before lifting upward as his body returned to its original position.
Arthur stared out at the storm thundering around them. Magic protected the King against the effects of the fierce weather, so it was with a steady gaze outward Arthur said, "In truth, my knight, We are tired. It has only been nigh twenty years since Our Coronation, but Magic is already whispering to me at night about the future."
Surprised, Percival exclaimed, "The future, Your Majesty?"
Arthur could understand the surprise. Not many knew of his powers of divination, even less knew the source. However, Merlin hypothesized the reason. Magic gave humans their power, but was unable to act in any direct way in the world. Due to the Magic's inherent nature, any direct action on Earth could cause a cataclysmic reaction due to the unbalance of nature, and she could not bear the thought of any harm occurring due to her actions. Therefore, to circumvent this law, she sometimes gifts Arthur with prophetic visions. So far, they have been small. Now, these dreams leave Arthur troubled.
"You know how We were chosen to become King, correct?" Arthur inquired. The story had become fabulized due to inherent communication failures over the decades since his coronation.
"I heard from Sir Lancelot a tale of Your Majesty smiting some fantastic beast called a Nundu from the Africas and Magic being so impressed by your strength," Percival paused here, too, but his Weasley courage pushed him forward, "but as with anything from Lancelot, I took it with a grain of salt."
Arthur chuckled, the sound building up from deep in his chest until his heart swelled with delight. Lancelot was a dear friend, so hearing this fib did not surprise Arthur, and reminded him of when he was little, and Lancelot would tell him harrowing tales of adventure and danger. He supposed now, having lived some of those very dangers, future children would be told the very same. "As you should, Sir Percival. Lancelot always favored tall tales when we were youths."
Sighing, Arthur continued, "Magic came to me in a dream when I was only but a boy, seven years after my birth, and spoke to me of my destiny as something more than the son of Uther, of the House Pendragon. Seven years after that dream, when I was a boy on the cusp of manhood, she reappeared to me, and led me to the Stone."
"Oh! I heard about this. Was it not that your Sword was stuck inside a Stone, and a prophecy stated that those worthy of the Power and Majesty of being King could take the Sword out?"
"Again, close. My father, Uther, was a mage who studied deep and complex magics related to Magic herself. Magic had taken an interest in the House Pendragon before, and so, knowing of my existence before my mother had even given birth, told Uther of the need for a King in the world to act as mediator between both Dark and Light Magic. She crafted a Sword out of the Essence of a dying star, and Uther weaved an enchantment that prophesized only those worthy of Magic's Right to Rule would take the Sword out." Rain slammed against the dome of magic at the top of the castle, and in the distance a roar of thunder could be heard, the sound like the falling of a forest.
Arthur paused, the weather disturbing his thoughts, before renewing his story, "Uther and my mother, the Lady Igraine, had fallen ill from the Magical Plague. At the moment of his death, my father's prophecy was enacted, and the Sword and the Stone appeared. The people knew of this wonder, because a Ritual site had appeared surrounding the Stone, and only those worthy of hearth, along with magic, could enter the site and attempt to pull the Sword out.
"After many years, still no one could wrest the Sword out. From the most powerful magician, to the lowliest peasant, to the bravest knight, the Sword remained. The land lamented, for the need of a King was greater than ever, as the factions between Light, Dark, and those remaining neutral grew greater than ever. Both Light and Dark Lords rose in attempts to wield the power of the Sword, and some tried to sway the people away from the prophecy, wanting the Right to Rule for themselves. The land became lawless and ungoverned, and wars broke out. Magic saw this, and wept. You see, Sir Percival, Magic loves all of her children, even those born without her power, because she helped make them with Her Brother and knew all of their troubles and problems."
Sir Percival, although astonished of the depth behind his King's Power, had to interject, "Wait, wait a moment! Magic has a Brother? Why have we never been told this? I was never taught this in my Religion Classes!"
Arthur could now see his lack of tact was probably genetic, as Antaeus had the same issue, although slightly darker in tone. "People do know about Her Brother, but magicians and those with magic alike mainly worship Her. Those without Magic, for about the last thousand years, have worshipped Her Brother, Yahweh, who helped shape the Earth."
"But anyway, I was squiring for a brave knight at the time of my fourteenth birthday, and learned much in the ways of bravery and chivalry. Sir Godric Gryffindor was his name, and although I had no idea, he was also a magician. He believed me to be mundane, and so never shared his knowledge of magic before that point. There was a tournament being held in the place of his birth, now named Godric's Hallow due to his acts of heroism during the various wars in Albion. Godric, however, had always been absent-minded with his possessions." A tone of amusement infused itself into Arthur's voice, as he remembered the night his life had changed, "He had forgotten his sword, the one made by goblins and forged in the flames of the Last Great Dragon, the daft fool! As his squire, I looked around everywhere for the blasted thing, and yet still could not find it. Eventually, I went to every door in the Hallow, asking for a spare weapon that might suffice for the rest of the tournament and not cause Sir Godric any more shame."
"After a whole day of looking for a weapon, I had noticed the Sword in the Stone that sat in the middle of the town square. I knew that I had magic, so I could at least try and pull it out, but I had also known braver knights before me could not even move the blade an inch, so my hopes were not high." A silence overcame the night, as though the weather realized the climax of the story had begun to unfold. "I rushed to the Sword, and with both of my skinny hands took a great heave and lifted it straight into the air. Overcome with excitement and prideful in my work, the consequences of my actions had not settled upon my mind. Once I reached the tournament, and showed the sword to Sir Godric, I realized the implications. Godric had recognized the sword as well, and looking upon my face, asked 'Did you pull the Sword out of the Stone, Arthur?' Timidly, I nodded, and at once Godric pulled me out into the middle of the arena, announced my actions, and before I knew it the entire tournament was on bended knee before me."
Percival had listened the entire story, gasping at the right moments and holding his breath in anticipation and wonder. Percival saw neither pride nor excitement on the face of Arthur, which looked set upon the expression of deep worry, his brow edging ever further upon his forehead, his mouth set downward, his eyes only looking out into the flood around the castle.
"After being proclaimed King, advisors from all sides of the wars came to Our side. Our most trusted, those of the Round Table, were hand-picked from different noble houses and those who proved themselves worthy, no matter the magical affiliation. Our Advisors were supposed to act as a mediator between Us and the people, bringing forward issues and addressing Our concerns. Merlin and Morgana came to Us first, and still to this day, as happily wedded as they are, they are Our most trusted friends. But one of our Advisors, the wizard Mordred, of House Mortimer, conspired against Us. However, his magical power alone, although powerful, did not stand a chance against the combined might of Myself, Merlin and Morgana. We thought Mordred vanquished."
At this thought, Arthur turned his head, still heavily weighed down by duty and authority, and looked directly into Percival's eyes. Percival swore he could see power emanating straight from Arthur's emerald irises, golden streams weaving between the green and shining with an unnatural intensity. "But I see now that my successor in the future will face an evil far greater than Mordred ever was. They will need every power, as well as the help from all of Our subjects, both magical and mundane to overcome this foe. I worry, Sir Percival, that due to the inherent human nature, our descendants will be unable to set down their differences and my heir will have to focus on those issues, instead of defending Humanity and Life itself."
Percival did not fully understand the implications of Arthur's musings and visions. However, he did recognize that Arthur needed to be brought out of this wallowing, and needed his worries soothed. With this thought, Percival took his sword from his belt, laid it on the ground before Arthur's feet, and knelt again.
"I, Sir Percival of the House Weasley, solemnly swear to obey and follow the Future Magical King of Albion, Camelot, the Holy Roman Empire, the Byzantine Empire, the Caliphates Continuum, and all other Magical Realms Known and Unknown. My House and my line will advise and protect the King with their dying breath, and may their last words act in accordance with His Will. My line shall never raise a sword or wand against those of the King, or Magic shall smite them where they stand. With this vow, so mote it be."
"So mote it be."
Magic grew between the two men, and with a great flash of white that illuminated the storm around the castle, a pact was formed between the two men. Arthur clasped Percival on the shoulder, and raised him up as a brother. The maelstrom around the castle lessened as the two stood on the parapet, until the wind caressed the castle like a mother comforting a scared child.
Arthur's last vision, the dream he witnessed before coming out onto the walls of Camelot, swam before his eyes. A child laying beneath a layer of rubble. The body of a woman with crimson hair was nearby, obviously still trying to protect the child even in depth. Horrendous screams of pain and fear ripped across the air, the house surrounding the child falling down and crashing into other rubble. A giant man, with black beard and hair and kind, crinkling eyes entered the nursery, cast a singular cry at the sight of the woman, and scooped up the child in one big palm. It was not until the giant was half-way through his flight, on the bike borrowed from Sirius Black, did the child cease his wails and fall asleep, his head still aching from the lightning bolt scar placed upon his forehead.