Interlude 4: Gates and Fates

They were standing in front of Camelot's gateway, peering at the town and castle behind it.

"Woah," Gareth whispered. "My brothers weren't kidding when they said it was beautiful - look at this!" She had broken into a broad grin, euphoric to finally have reached her destination.

Her two companions glanced at each other, unsure. They could feel the magic working through the gate and town, and they were wary. "This is a city made by the fair folk; one built by magicians and our neighbors - we even heard-!"

"Hush, you two." Gareth glanced at them.

The second tried as well. "There is a bounded field around the premise, milady. Everyone who sets foot under the archway will be announcing their presence to the wizard."

"I felt it myself, thank you." She had her mother's blood flowing through her veins - of course she noticed the powerful field. Even further, Morgan employed the same tactic for her lair (not that her companions had to know). The dwarf snorted beside her, his gaze not leaving the gateway.

And what a gateway it was: its keystone was adorned with the image of the Lady of the Lake, waves rippling around her and in the stonework, her dress seemingly flowing as she held sword and censer in hand, centerpiece to the twelve great battles Arthur had done; aligned six to her left and six to her right, topped by the Three Queens at topmost, as if overlooking everything.

Runes and symbols of both human and other origin were weaved around the scene; the dragon-bought and elvish emblems curling, and Gareth had to blink after staring at it for too long, because the images seemed to shift. She glanced to the dwarf, question at the tip of her tongue - were dwarves not master craftsmiths? - when her senses started flaring.

She turned around, back to the gate, where a man stood, dressed in robes of purple and white. "Who might you be," he questioned, hood obscuring his face.

Gareth answered, eyes narrowing. "We are nothing but mere travelers from the north, journeying to Camelot." The man seemed to chuckle, flowers blooming around him. His very presence set the hairs on her neck on edge. He was a very powerful, probably old, mage, to not even bother masking his presence at all. She was unable to determine if he was friend or foe, as her own meagre magecraft was unable to latch onto him.

"I see, how nice." He patted the gate fondly, and Gareth could make out a hint of purple under the hood. Powerful indeed.

"Yes, however; my companions seem to doubt entering town will be safe, as they believe this place to be not entirely human."

The man laughed, finally letting his hood fall back to reveal a youth with white hair and soft features. The squirrel-like creature that had followed him stared, turning heels at his feet and scurrying away. "There are tales that the fey have gathered together, coming from their forests and swaps and moors, to lay the foundation of the chalk castle of Camelot; and that amongst those, many have stayed to build the halls and walls of it, helping the humans hand-in-hand. That the Faerie Queenes and Kings have come to dine at the King's table, and that some of their otherworldly magecraft has bled into the town. That some even reside in the castle, working as maids and manservants to the King and Queen.

"Who knows," he smirked, "mayhap even the King himself is nothing more but a changeling - he has the blood of the dragon, after all." It was finished with a wink in her direction.

Gareth stared at him.

She stared for a second longer.

She still stared.

"Are you mocking me?!"