The Innocents of Camelot

Part 1

My name is Crawley. I am 16 years old. I was born in Camelot to my father who is a tanner and my mother who works in the castle as a chambermaid.

I have magic.

It is not strong magic; not magic that can confound the eyes or defy the laws that chain us to this Earth. I cannot open a door without a key nor break a chain nor stop the headman's axe.

If the King or his men knew, my death would be certain. If they knew.

At first no one suspected my gift; not even me. I cried when others were sad, was made happy by other's happiness. My parents thought simply that I was sensitive and kind. Then one day my father burnt his arm at work and I took his pain away.

It's feelings, you see, emotions. That is my gift.

I see emotions as other see light and colour and form, I hear them as others hear the clack of hooves on the cobblestones or a strong wind or the dull thunk of the execution, I feel them as others feel the warm brush of sunshine on the first true day of spring or the velvety sensation of good food sliding down into a hungry stomach. And I can change them as Gods and Kings change the world they live in to make their lives easier.

See that man over there? The one with black hair and the awkward stride who walks beside his Prince? He is a complex man despite his lowly birth. From him, I see protectiveness and concern, I hear the great weight of responsibility and the determination to be the man he believes he can be and I feel pure joy and happiness at all the good things in his life.

The man who walks beside him? From him, I see duty and loyalty and chivalry, I hear the Knight's code and a genuine love for his people and I feel a growing confusion that the certainties he has been taught from birth are not so certain.

When I look at my mother, I see love despite the hardships of life. From my father, a strange love of his messy work. From my elder brother a strange sick pleasure in the death and pain of others that makes me fear him.

I try to change what I can. I hold my brother's tendencies back, I help my mother feel her love, I assist my father to enjoy a job others would hate.

But my power is not strong, as I have said.

See that man moving confidently across the Courtyard? That is the King. I did try once. I tried to use my one true gift to ease Uther's pain and increase his love for the people in the life worthy of that love. But his suffering screams out of him like a banshee on a wild night and no matter my talents I could not tame it.

And no matter my fear, I cannot hate him. Because we cannot hate what we understand so completely. We can only pity. We can only regret. We can only hope.

That man who walked by earlier? The one with raven hair and a protective heart? From him I also see fear. Fear because of magic. Strong, wild, extraordinary magic.

If he can see the fresh proud hope in the centre of the putrid fruit and work to help that goodness flower, if he can box up hate and fear inside him and use his magic to strive for a better world then so can I.

If I could, I would ease Uther's pain. For myself. For all the other magical beings who suffer under him, for his poor confused son who no longer knows what to feel about anything. But most of all for poor sad Uther himself. Most of all.

I would if I could.

But I cannot.

So I hope.

After all, hope is all we have. In the end.

I hope I can survive another day without discovery.

I hope.