Cafell remembered after it was all over that the vision was the most vivid one she ever had.
She was in Camelot's lower town. Nestled by overgrown buildings and young trees was the sword in the stone or what was left of it, forgotten in the minds of everyday men, the sword lived on in the tales of children and as an afterthought to scholars.
Except for this time, the sword was missing.
Then she saw a blazing throne. Two silhouettes were in the scene. They were in vivid color, but she couldn't see their blurred faces.
The silhouette seated on the celestial throne held the sword in the left hand, olive branches in the right.
What she felt most poignantly in the scene was the magic. The silhouette on the right-hand side of the ruler was magic incarnate.
A hollow voice whispered, "The Druid, Emrys, is coming upon your people."
She was then in the spot she spent a lot of time in her childhood. Where the brook babbled and where her brother strewn the leaves trying to capture the likeness of anything that moved.
The once old Roman fort that loomed in the distance was rebuilt. Its walls were not crumbling, and golden light surrounded it.
The last thing she saw before the trumpets of war rang out, was the fort's banner: white with a red cross. Purity and blood. Albion.
The fort was engulfed in flames, the bloodied banner of Uther's Camelot rode with the invading army.
Albion was rising, but its very existence was threatened.
—
Cafell woke up, gasping for air. For a moment, she still believed she was in the smoke flooded plain, running in vain to the fort.
She quickly grabbed a wool shawl from the small organized pile of smocks, shawls, and stockings in her tent. She had little but made do.
With a sense of urgency, the young woman rushed out into the humid spring air. It was a week after Ostara, and still, the druid camp held the air of renewal. Despite this, Cafell only felt foreboding, her magic steered her towards Idris's tent towards the center of the field. She must tell him what she saw.
Before she could make her presence known, Idris's voice interrupted her racing thoughts,"Cafell, what disturbs you during this time of rebirth?" He slowly opened his tent flap and led her to the dying embers of the evening's campfire.
"I—I saw—Albion is rising," she blurted out. Idris's eyes widened as she told him every detail of her vision.
"But it makes no sense. Why would the King persecute the creation of Albion? He is a friend to magic, he has a court sorceress, he…" Idris's voice couldn't drown out her racing thoughts.
Cafell found herself writhing her hands. There was a chance of Albion never unifying, and its destroyer was in the present.
Idris wrapped a supportive arm around her shoulder and stoked the fire with a whispering of words, "The future is not set in stone. You may have seen one of the many different paths. Why would the King turn on magic after embracing it for two decades on the throne?"
"I—I don't know."
Despite his attempts at reassurance, Idris was less confident then he seemed. Cafell was blessed with a gift of every few generations. She was an oracle. Seers could be trained, but Oracles derived the future in dreams with a talent that was innate and strengthened in time.
Idris could only hope her young age meant she may be wrong, perhaps more training would either confirm or deny the dream's meaning. Cafell may have also misinterpreted the ending. Why would Uther turn on magic? Nimueh, his court sorceress, was not only that but a high priestess.
But, Idris knew if Cafell was right, then Emys and the Once and Future King were coming: it was only a matter of time.
Before he could tell Cafell to go get some sleep, he was distracted by the distant sounds of horse hooves. Cafell turned towards him with wide eyes.
"It's Uther," she whispered, "there's too many of them to be just travelers or bandits."
Idris then suddenly heard the rallying cry he so often heard when an enemy was about to face the might of Camelot.
"For the love of Camelot!"
The cry screeched across the camp as Idris saw other druids begin to slowly walk out of their tents, confused.
"Cafell, ring the warning bell," Idris said, pulling her up roughly. She nodded, and he began to rally and awake his sleep dazed people.
That was when the first fiery arrow shot down a man trying to collapse his tent. Then another, then another. Again another. The camp was on fire.
Smoke clogged his mouth and nose, horses filled his vision thundered across the trampled meadow, and the screaming sound of fury rang in his ears.
Idris began to grab anyone he could and began to chant a teleportation spell to an old campsite. One teleportation trip at a time, he took more and more half-dead survivors. It was after the fifth trip, he promptly collapsed in their new marooned spot.
—
Idris woke up to the touch of warm cloth to his forehead. He forced himself to open his eyes and saw Cafell. He sighed in relief. She must have gotten to the warning bell.
"It's been a few hours, Idris. You need to get some rest. Teleportation spells are straining," she said.
Adnewyn, the camp's healer, was now speaking. He too looked like he emerged from the fight worse from wear with the frazzled hair and bloodied face
"Cafell, Adewyn, was it our king?" Idris asked. It was the last test of Cafell's vision.
"We sent out scouts afterward. Uther's banner has been planted next to the destroyed main altar," Adenwyn explained quietly while adjusting the cold compress on Idris's forehead, "Not only that, but Ffrwd was passing through Camelot for supplies at the time. Uther had made a proclamation against the evils of magic. Druid and sorcerer alike are to be burned if caught."
"Where is Ffrwd, we need the entire report. Was it possible that Uther was enchanted or—"
"Uther burned Ffrwd at the stake after torturing him for the location of the camp. He was only able to speak to me on the stake itself when he didn't have iron shackles on."
Cafell, who had been quiet, spoke: "What will we do now?"
Idris said only what he felt he could say: "Albion is rising. If Uther opposes this, then we cannot let her fall. You were given this vision for a reason, Cafell. We have to change something pertaining to Uther, or all is lost," Idris said. A new conviction was behind his words.
Adewyn raised an eyebrow in curiosity, though it was clear he wasn't feeling the same confidence.
—
It was only when the camp had calmed down, treated their injured, counted their dead, and assembled the living did the fledgling Druid outcasts learn about Cafell's vision.
Idris saw the surprised expressions of the Druid elders. The destiny of the Druid Emrys and the Once and Future King being passed down for the last millennia. They knew the ancient prophecy as etched on cave walls and as an oral tale, but never manifesting itself as a prophetic vision to a once in generation oracle.
Idris started to rise after Cafell finished.
"Cafell is an Oracle, she has already seen part of their vision begin to pass with Uther's crusade against magic. We must take action to change something concerning the King. He is the threat against Albion." Idris said with all eyes turned towards him.
"What will we do with the King? We are a peaceful people, Idris," said one of the elders.
Idris nodded, having already given that thought.
"Cafell wouldn't have been given this vision to us if we were to be violent. I think we don't have enough information about Uther to know what to do yet," he said.
"Could it be that Uther is the Once and Future King?" One of the younger men in the crowd had spoken up.
" I dreamed of Uther only destroying symbols of Albion. It may be someone of relation to Uther, though. The Once and Future King is foretold to be royalty, right?" Cafell had ended her answer directed to the Elders.
"Uther is descended from the Fisher King. Though the Fisher King's existence is up to speculation," a gravelly voice answered her, " The writings of Ynys Manaw foretell the Once and Future King will be a direct descendant of The Fisher King through his only surviving son Alexander."
It was Hanes who answered her. He was the oldest of the camp and frequently delved into the lore of Emrys and the Once and Future King.
Then the groundbreaking sound of hooves thundered through the air. Though before a defensive magical outburst could happen, the straggling group recognized the rider as one of their scouts who was sent to report back on Camelot.
Barely a moment after she had dismounted, she reported her findings.
"I met with the court physician, Gaius, under the guise of illness. The queen has died in childbirth. Uther blames magic for her death, and promptly issued a proclamation against magic a half an hour after Igraine's death."
She stopped to take a breath, but Idris was starting to connect the dots.
"The child, a prince, is healthy, but Uther has barely spared him a thought," she continued.
Idris felt a tug of destiny on his mind. The dream of Albion, the connection with Uther, and the bloodline all indicated something.
The Once and Future King has been born as the son of Albion's doom.
—
After hours of debate, the camp had elected to take the Prince from the castle away from Uther in hopes that he wouldn't be corrupted and twisted away from his destiny.
Idris, Adewyn, the scout who was called Alis, and Ivor, the surviving camp's top hunter, were, four days later, were sneaking into Camelot's crowning castle.
Idris's stomach was twisting in his stomach. He was torn on his decision to kidnap the young Prince so he could complete his destiny. Was he taking away or creating the choice for the Prince to be his person at almost a week old.
The Prince would have the highest quality of life if he called off the mission. Palaces with servants and an education to marvel at. He'd be well trained to be a king, practically living the part since birth.
But Idris knew a good king was more than where he grew up or how well he could recite the Livy's annals of Rome. A good king put the people before himself, he was their protector. Uther had broken his sacred vow to his people the moment he attacked the weak and exiled families to a life of superstition, fear, and dread.
Cafell's vision had been so clear the Uther was Albion's bane, but his son was her light.
With his resolve strengthened, Idris and the group skirted along the citadel's towering walls. The guards either failed to hear them or felt the strongest suggestion to sleep in their life.
It took over an hour, but the group made it to a small side door undetected. They continued with the plan once they made it through the back exit for the servant's quarters. Idris and Alis would secure the Prince. Adewyn and Ivor would disable the warning bell.
Idris was shocked at the state of the castle since the last time he had been inside of it ten years ago. Gone were the beautiful tapestries and gilded torch holders. In their place was black mourning tapestries only illuminated by dripping, dim candles. It provides a warm glow of gloom.
The guards were easy enough, sleep suggestions, and the occasional spell which would make a sword weighs two or three times its normal weight made sure the pair moved through the castle safely. They carefully snaked through the long halls of the third floor when they noticed one lone candle stand stood outside a door with three guards posted.
Soon though, the imposing guards were asleep beside their posts.
Alis placed her palm on the rosewood door, and it slowly swung open. Idris found himself holding his breath. The anticipation of Albion and the mission's seemingly success was starting to catch up to him.
The room was filled with a golden light. Near the slit windows was an elaborately carved crib, and in that crib was a silent child with a heavy looming destiny.
Alis slowly scooped him up, he barely shifted in her grasp, and she let a smile loose. She was drawn to an oversized pendant tucked in between the blankets with a small hand holding on to it. The pendragon crest was made of gold, with small emeralds for eyes.
The peaceful moment was interrupted by the shrills of the warning bell. Idris, furrowing his brow, began to lead the way out of the room into a larger area for a transportation spell. Traveling with a newborn meant extra precaution needed to be taken with magical travel.
Luck wasn't on their side though, as they left the child's room, they were pinned on both sides by a throng of guards. The King, himself, made his way to them with his sword drawn.
"Arthur—" Uther spoke before thinking, letting his emotions seep through his usual emotionless wall.
"Give him to me," commanded Uther, then using the voice of an almighty king. His sword was leveled a meter from Alis. Idris knows the only reason he hasn't run both of them through was that they had his only son.
"Uther Pendragon, you have trampled your allies. You are a man blinded by hatred, and you are the bane of Albion. I will not allow you to continue destroying," Idris said. His hood was covering his face, but he was staring at the man in the eye.
You- how dare you take my son!" Uther shouted. The moonlight showered his pale parlor. His eyes had a cold glint, one of an authoritative man bent by none.
But, Idris saw something else in Uther that day besides rage and hatred, and a gleaming cold glint, something akin to how a father loves his son, but what was written and seen had come to pass.
"Prophecies long before you and I were even born have been in motion, Uther Pendragon, you know so very little about what you have destroyed and will destroy.
Uther raised his sword high, charging the short distance between him and Idris before Alis' transportation spell whisked them away from the stabs of swords.
—
The large open field which always guarded the camp was now one of holes. Each five feet deep dug by the grieved who felt the hole would also fit them well.
One by one, the camp buried and struggled to say goodbye to the ones who never got to reply. Idris found himself looking out across it as the small group galloped past it towards the border of Camelot. The holes were now small mounds of displaced earth.
The light cries of a baby from the horse behind him reminded him of his impending task: Prince Arthur and his future. Some called for the Prince to be raised as a Druid. Others said to return him to Uther in hopes for an end to the purge.
Idris knew Arthur, to be the Once and Future King, could not be a druid. If a union of man and magic were to happen to have two men come from a background of magic would upset the balance.
However, giving Arthur back to Uther threatened to destroy the prophecy entirely—with that, Albion was destroyed, and the purge would continue.
The only other option, the option the council itself approved, was the Prince be sent to Sir Ector, a minor noble. His impoverished fief was on the border of Escetir, close to the camp. Not only that, Arthur would receive an education needed for kingship and introduction to the culture surrounding Camelot.
And so, the group arrived at Sir Ector's fief in the dead of night a week later. The small estate and surrounding village were settled in a valley with the ridge of Ascetir looming in the background. A few struggling wheat fields filled in the empty spaces between mountain and man.
The group left the Prince at the doorsteps of the mild manor house. His life and the fate of Albion forever altered.
A/N | Edited on 26 November 2019
Hello all, and welcome to my first serious story on this site!
(Please ignore the garbage anime fanfiction lingering on this account.)
I'm super excited about this story, and the reviews have really helped.
As always, constructive criticism is always welcome.
Thank you for your support!