Even the smallest things can make me remember. Mind you, it's not that I don't remember the things that have happened in the God-knows-how-many-centuries I've been alive, but quite frankly I try not to think about them. My memories contain too much blood, too many bullets, and far too much pain for me to want to think about them. It'd drive me mad.

…Oh. Oh dear, how bloody rude of me. I beg your pardon, ladies and gentlemen, I haven't properly introduced myself. Arthur Kirkland, at your service. Or, if you prefer, United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. Britain for short.

For you see, gentle reader, I am the anthropomorphic personification of the British nation. I have been for a very, very long time. And although I realize that it sounds like bollocks, it's true. You'll have to trust me on that.

You wouldn't know it looking at me, though. I appear to be perfectly normal. Young; short, golden blond hair; light green eyes; not very tall; slightly overlarge eyebrows (yes, I will admit that my eyebrows are a little big); six-string tattoo on the upper part of my right arm; pierced ears. All right, so the index finger on my right hand is missing, but that can be attributed to all sorts of accidents and mishaps. Not unusual at all, to most people. Perfectly human in every way.

Perfectly human. Oh, how bloody accurate that description is for us personifications. We act human. We speak human. We think human.

We feel human.

I sometimes wonder what it would be like to feel no emotion. To simply go through life unfeeling, uncaring. Part of me believes that it would be better, or at least easier; at least then it wouldn't hurt so much when…when things happen. But another part of me is reminded that not all emotions hurt, that some soothe or even – God forbid – heal the old wounds, and it makes me wonder whether all the pain is worth it.

Regardless, sometimes I'll see or hear or feel or smell or taste something and, whether I damn well want them to or not, the memories come back, along with all the feelings attached to them. The adrenaline and confusion of war, the numbness and despair of many a realization, the bitterness and hurt of abandonment or betrayal – and always, without fail, the hope, the fear, the pain and the bliss that I would spend years associating with a certain pair of sky blue eyes.

I could tell you about all this, if you like.

I could tell you everything. It's not like you would tell anyone, because let's be honest, who'd believe you? Who would believe you if you said that you knew the story of a man whose earliest memory is of a lakeside in the 5th century?

Part I

By the Waters of Avalon

Chapter 1

October 31, circa 489 A.D.

Llyn Llydaw, Wales

Yes, a lakeside. The lakeside of Llyn Llydaw, actually. That is my earliest memory. I try to remember the time before, honestly I do, but I was so young and so much time has passed that anything before then is a haze of colors and images. I remember mostly the woodlands I wandered through, all the trees and flowers and animals, and I remember that everything seemed so very large to me. I was only a child, you know, physically no older than six and small even for my age. I can remember splashing in the streams in my bare feet (I didn't have shoes, only a small shift that I must have gotten from a villager at some point) and climbing up almost every tree I came upon, but that's about it. The earliest thing I can remember with any degree of clarity is that night in October.

It was late evening, and a thick fog covered the region like a woolen blanket. I was walking along the side of the lake, not really doing anything, when I heard voices some distance ahead of me. I remember thinking that they were very nice voices, soft and lyrical, but steady. Curious, I ran towards these voices, the sandy mud oozing up through my toes.

I don't know how long it was before I saw them. Fog is always such a bloody nuisance when you're trying to find something, and this one in particular was a very thick fog, as thick as beef stew. Eventually, however, I was able to make out a small, makeshift dock with a little white boat tied to it. Standing on said dock were two women. My curiosity still threatening to kill the proverbial cat, I walked as close as I dared and looked up at these two people I had discovered.

The first seemed to be about forty and, as I remember, looked a bit like a crane. She had very pale skin, hollow cheeks and silver-blonde curls pulled into an elegant chignon. The second was younger, no older than twenty-five, and looked more like an owl. Also very pale, but moonfaced and with wavy, blue-black hair that fell to the middle of her back. They were talking about someone I had never heard of before. Someone named Arthur.

"Has your brother set up Leodegrance's table?" the woman with silver hair said.

The dark-haired woman nodded. "Arthur has."

"And the knights?"

"Launcelot du Lac, my nephew Gawain and his brothers, Pellinore's son Perceval, Trystan of Cornwall, Urien's son Yvain, the one-handed knight Bedivere and Arthur's foster-brother Cai have sworn fealty to him. Anyone else is going to need convincing."

"And Gwynnever? How is she?"

The dark-haired woman shook her head. "As well as can be expected, the poor girl."

"Yes, that poor child. Such a shame." The silver-haired woman sighed and brought her hands together. "Alliance or no alliance, war or no war, that marriage was a terrible idea; mark my words."

"Well, at least they don't hate each other. We can be thankful for that, if nothing else."

"You are right, Morgaine. We can be thankful for that. Still, I have a bad feeling about this union. Somehow, I just know that no good will come of it." The silver-haired woman turned her head towards the lake. "I wish I could tell you more."

There was a long pause in the conversation, and after a few minutes I grew bored with simply watching them and turned back the way I came. I had only taken a few steps, however, when I heard the silver-haired woman speak again.

"Morgaine," she said, "I do believe we have a guest."

I stopped, my whole body going rigid. How could she see me through all this fog? I wondered. I turned around, and to my utter astonishment, both the silver-haired woman and her companion – Morgaine – were right behind me, when they had been on the dock only moments before.

That was when the old instincts took over. I started to back away, but the mud was slippery, unstable. I moved too fast to keep my footing, and fell backwards into the half-liquid sand, splattering mud in all directions. I can remember the adrenaline, the panic, trying to stand up again with the mud sliding under my feet, the tears that started to fall down my cheeks – and then I remember a cool, soft hand lifting my chin up to look into steel-grey eyes.

"There's no need to be afraid," Morgaine said to me. "We aren't going hurt you. It's all right, little one, it's all right. Nobody's going to hurt you."

I would spend years listening to her say that mantra, or one of much the same nature, and it always had the same mollifying effect on me. To this day, I'll often hear her voice in my ear when my panic gets the better of me. I've never been sure if the voice is an echo of an old memory or if Morgaine sends it to me via telepathy, though.

Regardless, my child self calmed at her words, and she helped me stand and get some of the mud off my shift. Morgaine spoke to me and stroked my hair until my eyes dried and I relaxed.

"Where is your family, little one?" Morgaine said.

A family? What was that? I had no idea; I understood that the usually nice people I ran into when I went into villages usually lived in these groups where everyone lived in a house and laughed and kissed each other and threw toys at one-another's heads, but I didn't realize there was a word for these people. It was so far beyond my understanding that I had no response. Fortunately, the silver-haired woman did.

"He doesn't have one," she said. "This boy has never had a family." Again, she looked out over the lake, but this time there was only a brief pause before she said, "You must take him with you to Camelot."

"What? Why?" Morgaine said.

"He needs to learn how to interact with his people. And he needs to be looked after."

"But why Camelot? Why not just –" Morgaine's eyes widened. "Does this have something to do with Arthur?"

"Not exactly. In a way it does, but in the grand scheme of things, this child won't have much to do with your brother."

"What do you mean, Nyneve?"

The silver-haired woman – Nyneve – placed a hand on Morgaine's shoulder and gave her a small smile. "The truth will be revealed when the time is right, my child. For now, take him to your brother's court in Camelot. Do you understand?"

Morgaine opened her mouth to protest, but, as she told me later, she realized she was not going to win, and nodded.

"Very good. Now, we should be off. This fog won't last much longer." She was right about that; the fog was much thinner than it was when I had first come upon them. Nyneve started walking towards the dock, gesturing for us to follow.

Morgaine knelt beside me. "Are you afraid of boats, little one?" I shook my head. I had never been on a boat, so I couldn't be afraid of one. "Good, because we're going to be taking a long ride in one, all right?" I nodded. "Then we best get on. Come along now." Morgaine started after Nyneve and I followed, toddling after her with my still-slippery feet.

The boat's rocking felt a bit strange, but I wasn't bothered by it. In fact, I thought it felt quite comfortable, once you got used to it. I sat next to Morgaine while Nyneve went to the prow of the boat and pulled out a long oar, which she used to row us away from the dock and into Llyn Llydaw.

As we went along, the fog lifted, and I saw the sky for the first time since evening fell. The stars seemed so very small against the black expanse of sky and that the moon was very close to being full. It was bright enough for me to see little triangles pointing towards the sky that must have been the tops of trees, the moon's rippling reflection on the water, and the distant peak that would later be called Sowdon.

I don't know how long it took, but the late hour and the boat's rocking had a somnolent effect on me, and it wasn't long before I was yawning and rubbing my eyes. Morgaine, of course, noticed.

"Are you tired?" she said. I nodded. "Would you like to lie down?" Again, I nodded.

Morgaine unfastened her cloak and wrapped it around me, claiming the chill didn't bother her. Then she let me lie down on the bench with my head in her lap. I looked towards the sky and waited to fall asleep. Just as exhaustion was about to claim me, however, I saw something in the heavens above me. It lasted for only a second, but I could have sworn I saw a line appear in the stars and then vanish just as suddenly as it had appeared.

"Did you see that?" Morgaine said.

"Yes," said Nyneve. "A falling star."

Morgaine looked down at me with a smile. "Make a wish, little one. Wish on a falling star and it will come true."

I stared up at the sky the star had fallen from. I remember wondering if the star had fallen by accident and if it was hurt by its fall and wanted to return back to the sky with the other stars. I decided that if I was going to wish on a star that wanted to be with other stars, than I would bloody well use that wish to put the star back in the sky were it belonged.

"I wish…" I said, my voice faint from disuse and fatigue.

"You wish?" Morgaine said. But she didn't find out what I wished for that day, because at that moment, exhaustion enveloped me. I felt my eyes close and I fell into a deep, dreamless slumber.