Arthur mentally rolled his eyes as he noticed Merlin acting rather queasy around the dead stag. This was common—his manservant always had a knack for acting like a girl—but the sudden movement of green out of the corner of his eye was rather odd. He initially filed this under the regular sights of the forest, because the forest was, in fact, quite green. However, when he then felt a sudden, inexplicable pull towards the border of Essetir, he got to his feet and looked toward said border with conviction. Just there, in a clearing, was man-sized hole that lead into a cave. After only a moment's hesitation, he left the bag of stag parts by his feet and headed towards the cave without looking back.

When he arrived at the mouth of the cave, he unsheathed his sword. Making it to the cave had been an easy feat, but what would lie inside might not be. The opening was large enough for him to fit through, and there seemed to be only one path. There was a curious pale blue light—the only source of light in the cave—at the end of the tunnel he found himself travelling, which seemed to be origin of the pull. He let his hand trail along the rocky walls as he blindly made his way past the uneven terrain of the cave towards the centre.

The cave opened up into a perfectly circular room. Arthur could now see that the ethereal light came from the crystalline stone that was placed in the centre of the cave. He studied the smooth stone closer. The blonde pulled off his hunting gloves and hastily shoved them in his pocket after sheathing his sword.

There were words—symbols really—that marked the stone all the way around, highlighted in a teal blue that was the glowing of the large crystal itself. Magic, thought Arthur, the Old Religion, it must be. Against his better judgment, he felt an urge to run his bare fingers across the symbols, and so he did. A woman's voice spoke to him, void of body, beautiful in tone and ethereal:

「I am cause of no man's ire,

I shall give you your heart's desire.

A wish will be fulfilled. 」

As her voice ingrained itself into his memory, he realised: he had one wish. He didn't know what compelled him to think so seriously on this. It was magic! It was certainly a hoax—a cruel trick.

He couldn't have his heart's desire.

Even so, 'a wish will be fulfilled.' He couldn't explain his conviction, deep in his heart, that this was real. Should he choose to believe this fantasy, it wouldn't hurt to hope... to wish.

One wish.

He was allowed any one wish—what ever his heart desired. He no longer questioned how this was possible. His eyes fluttered closed as his fingers brushed against the smooth, cool surface of the neatly carved crystalline stone once more, as his thoughts swam.

Mother, his eyes snapped open as a bright flash of light met his pale irises and a sensation washed over him of winged creatures being launched from fiery catapults in his stomach.

Words formed in his mind before he had even realised what he wanted.

I wish my mother hadn't died in child birth.

He felt tendrils of unconsciousness pulling at him until he drifted off into a world of blissful oblivion as the white torrent of magic engulfed him.

「And so it shall be done. 」

-x-

When his pale blue eyes met with the same darkness whether open or closed, Arthur wondered where he was. He sat up easily, reached out in front of him, and brushed against smooth crystal and engravings with fingers calloused from years of training with the knights. No longer was the stone glowing with ethereal light as it had before; there was nothing but darkness at the shallow heart of this cave.

What was all that? Was just I hallucinating? Carefully getting to his feet, he let the wall brace him in case he did something incredibly Merlin-like and tripped—which was quite impossible for him, mind you.

He walked carefully over the uneven terrain once more, a hand still casually resting on the side of the walls—not that he would lose his footing—to the exit of the cave. The sunlight outside shone with tell-tale signs of imminent sunset. Once out of the cave, he looked around himself, wary of an ambush. Those always seemed to happen around the border of Essetir—anywhere in the forests of Camelot, really.

Speaking of the other Kingdom, he crossed into the boundaries to get to the cave, hadn't he? That could mean trouble. He didn't want to be the cause of any tension, as the Peace Treaty between Camelot and Essetir was worn thin already, thanks to all the invasions that were waged against his country under Cenred's rule. His father hadn't really bothered getting acquainted with the new king—Lot was his name, he was fairly certain—afterwards, making it difficult for Arthur to tell what kind of man he was.

Hopefully a forgiving one, Arthur thought, seeing a man patrolling the border of Camelot and Essetir nearby. He thought of ducking out of the way, but of course the other man would have already seen him. Arthur's attire stuck out like a bloody rose in a forest of uniform green.

As Arthur studied the man, he recognised him almost immediately. Is that... Lancelot? He has given up wanting to be a knight of Camelot to be, Arthur almost snorted, in Essetir's service? He would be so much better training alongside me, in Camelot. If only father would allow such a thing.

In front of him did stand Lancelot, clad in royal blue knight's gear which vaguely resembled what King Cenred's knights should have worn—were they not all mercenaries, or worse, undead. Arthur idly wondered of the knights of Essetir were still as full of shite as they were before. As he further noted the detail of Lancelot's attire, he thought, No, they must be serious now. Certainly King Lot is a different man than Cenred; else he wouldn't bother with a uniform as such. Where a crude symbol of a snake once rested, an appropriately intricate crest of a white dragon now proudly displayed. Its tail looped and curved in what were either Celtic knots or Druid symbols; possibly both. This confused him further.

"Oi, you there," the man began, trotting closer to the blonde prince, looking as young as he was when Arthur had first laid eyes on him in the training grounds a few years back.

This was odd. Arthur knew it had been at least a good year since he had seen the other—he must have aged since then. Arthur to ran a hand up over his face and into his hair; he didn't notice it before, but there was a difference up there too. Before he could check again, Lancelot was beside him. The blonde noticed he was shorter than Lancelot, more than he remembered. Arthur was sure he had gotten taller in his years of puberty.

The taller man brushed his fringe out of his eyes before continuing with his earlier statement, "What are you doing near these parts? You shouldn't be—oh." Lancelot paused a moment to observe the other young man's regal posture and crimson raiment emblazoned with a gold dragon crest. "You must be Prince Arthur!" Lancelot smiled and executed a respectful bow. Arthur hid his surprise that Lancelot showed no recognition whatsoever towards him behind a pompous snort. "The Lady Morgana had told me you like to wonder off without the knights. Said she, you feel like a hound on a leash, yeah?"

Arthur let his eyes wander to Lancelot's face, before answering, "She said that, did she?" Arthur almost winced at how boyish he sounded. That, most definitely, was not a voice of a man well through puberty. No, it was the voice of a boy—young man at best. Maybe he hadn't hallucinated after all in that cave. Wait... why would he be younger? Arthur carefully masked his discomfiture at his reverted voice, clearing his throat and addressing the knight with his trademark I'm-a-Royal tone, "You oughtn't to listen to her; she doesn't know a thing of what I feel."

The Lady Morgana—could it be that she was... back to her old self now? His Lady Morgana, the sweet, empathic, do-what's-right-and-damn-the-consequences, sisterly—in heart and in reality!—girl whom he had missed... was back? He mentally frowned. In the last few months, she had grown cold and distant towards him, always feeding him father forced smiles. He let a smile touch his lips at the thought of his sister being back to the way he had known her, but the taller must had mistaken it for a smirk, as Lancelot did nothing to hide a snort.

"She was also careful to warn me, when I did meet you, to be wary of 'The most arrogant two-arsed nobleman you'll ever meet.' Ah, her words, not mine."

At this, Arthur raised a noble brow, drawling, "Right then." Yes, this was definitely the old Morgana. He had nearly forgotten the cheeky, teasing, beloved and utterly annoying side of her.

Lancelot cleared his throat awkwardly and let his chocolate eyes wander to the cave that Arthur had so recently exited. "As I was saying, you shouldn't be here; this cave is held sacred to Druid practices." Lancelot scanned the skies as he continued speaking. "There were also tales of a rampant griffin near the border to Camelot. I would advise caution when travelling this area for the time being."

The griffin—wasn't that the reason he and Lancelot had met in the first place? Lancelot had been tracking a griffin, and Merlin was almost eaten by the—heaven help him, where was Merlin?!

He furtively but frantically cast his eyes around the forest, looking for any sign of Merlin; usually the gangly manservant-turned-friend was within arms reach of him. Ever since he had set foot in the cave, he had forgotten everything else, all his focus on the curiosity pulling him to the centre of the cave full of ethereal lights. Forgetting Merlin—how could he forget Merlin? The idiot couldn't keep himself upright on a normal day, much less a day where he had left him bare in the bandit infested woods, alone! Where was he, here? Where was here exactly, anyway?

"—sire?" Arthur jolted out of his reverie when Lancelot's querying tone finally reached him.

"Excuse me?"

"I said, shall we go, sire?"

Arthur's gaze fell upon Lancelot once more, and waited. His pride would not allow him to do anything which may cause him to appear foolish, such as asking, 'Go where?'

Lancelot wisely ignored the prince's confusion and spoke with deference, "I had suggested that we should travel to the closest Druid encampment for the night, and set out for the castle walls by morning. You know how your father and my King are; thick as thieves, I say. I would also like to question the druid chieftain about the whereabouts of the griffin before we make it to the feast."

Arthur refused to let confusion show on his face and simply gave an affirmative grunt.

"It's close by, not a long walk at all. Come, let us go," Lancelot looked to Arthur and nodded once, before setting off. Arthur followed closely behind.

We were willingly seeking out the Druids for shelter for the night? But seeking out the druids as well as my father and the king of Essetir being as—as thick as thieves? This is more than odd, this has to be insane! Feasts were common courtesy for one royal family visiting another, but for what reason would Uther ever want to visit Lot? It must be a different ruler here. Arthur knew the ban on magic didn't have such a strong hold on Essetir as it did Camelot, thanks to Cenred, but he didn't think magic would be accepted easily so close to the border of his homeland. Was there a ban on magic at all?

I wish my mother hadn't died in child birth.

And so it shall be done.

That had happened. The pain of his mother's death had caused Uther to instate the ban on magic. The High Priestess Nimueh had traded his mother's life in order to give birth to an heir: to him. A life for a life, she had said.

After meeting Morgause and discovering the truth about his birth, he had spent some time digging in Camelot's vaults, curious about the members of the court before The Purge. He discovered that Nimueh, along with many others of varying magical natures, had been part of the court's advisers. She had even been a close friend of his mother's, from what he had overheard from Gaius from the elder's tales of his younger years. At that time, Gaius was still court physician—using herbs and magic—and adviser regarding magical creatures, but he was considered something of Camelot's second court sorcerer… the first being Nimueh herself.

Uther was no fool, he was warned that a life would be taken—but he didn't want to believe it would be his lovely wife. He let his despair blind him to the truth. He blamed Nimueh and he blamed magic itself.

Morgause had told the truth about his birth. Arthur had realised this after... he had nearly killed his father because of it. The sympathetic looks that Gaius sent his way, and the way Merlin hid his emotions from him a week or so thereafter didn't help his suspicions.

If not my mother, then… who—who?!—died for me in this time? Had anyone died for my birth at all? I feel as if I am off my trolley, I must be dreaming. There is no way this is real—magic caused it. There isn't any plausible way my mother could be alive simply because I wished it so. The only explanation is, I blacked out after the crystal in the cave spoke—no, it didn't speak, I was merely hallucinating—and Lancelot, after being banned from Camelot, was knighted in Essetir. It was far too obvious that Essetir had no regard for who fought their battles. Cenred's army was, in fact, made of nothing but mercenaries—soldiers who fought for gold and not glory or honour. A man without noble blood wouldn't faze them at all.

"Up ahead, sire," Lancelot's voice sounded from in front of him.

Arthur grimaced with distaste. I'm not going to get used to him being so formal with me. Has he truly not met me yet—or, uh, here—in this dream?

The two men approached the edge of the forest, which opened onto a large clearing. They now walked upon a well-worn dirt path, no paved roads to disturb the natural flow. Looking further into the clearing, Arthur spied an enormous structure. He wondered why he hadn't noticed it before; he must have been too deep in thought. A fort, of sorts, took up the area formerly occupied where he knew a sprawling, colourful array of tents would have been. Logs from different sorts of trees, their tops sharpened to points, jutted vertically from the soft ground of the clearing, packed side by side. As he got closer, he noticed more runes on the gate of the encampment, not unlike the ones he had seen in the cave.

Arthur asked, "What are those then; some kind of weird curses?" His tone was slightly mocking and he was obviously teasing the other knight, but he wouldn't put it past magic users to have put runes on an encampment for the sole purpose of cursing all who entered.

Lancelot smiled, and tapped his fingers over the runes. "Protection charms," the knight corrected, giving a cheeky smile over his shoulder. "I know some kingdoms aren't as magic savvy as we are, but I'd at least expect you to know a simple protection charm when you see one, sire." Backing up a few paces, Lancelot waved at the top of the gate. There must have been someone there because the gate quickly rose, creating a gap big enough for them to enter.

It was then Arthur realised that the only way the gate would have been drawn up so quickly was because of magic. Passing under the gate he noticed that the logs were sharply pointed on both sides—which only added to his nervousness—not that Arthur Pendragon was ever nervous, mind you. Maybe the Druids weren't as peaceful in this time—this dream state he was in. That would be unsettling, as this unreal place was becoming far too surreal for his liking.

Magic is unsettling. Dangerous. Evil. It has to be, there isn't another explanation for this—this cruel joke it's trying to pull. My mother died because of magic—because of me. It was all because my father was a selfish bastard—only wanted an heir, didn't care who lost their life unless it took away from him. But it was still magic that caused the whole ordeal.

Once they entered, his thoughts and view were both blocked by a muscular torso: the man was clad in a sleeveless version of the uniform Lancelot wore. The man's muscles looked like they had been sculpted from granite.

Lancelot cheerfully greeted the torso, "Percival, how have you been?" Arthur's gaze snapped to the sleeveless man's face. It IS Percival! He hid a chuckle, glancing at the modification to the uniform, musing, I should have known.

Arthur had met Percival briefly when they were on the secret—by secret he meant only his father didn't know about it—quest to save Guinevere from her captives, who mistook her for the Lady Morgana. Arthur smiled at the thought and glanced over at Lancelot, remembering how he and Guinevere had gotten on. He wondered if the two had met in this odd place, and if they were attracted to each other here, too. Arthur hid a soft chuckle and looked expectantly at Lancelot, wondering if he was going to introduce him to the sleeveless knight.

"Ah, yes, forgive my manners, sire. This is Percival—he's stationed at the Druid camp for their protection." Lancelot flashed a smile to the prince, "Not that they need it, but the king wouldn't hear of any sort of refusal. Come to think of it—the only reason that Iseldir was open to the idea of having a knight as a guard staying with them was because Percival's family has close ties to the Druids and their customs." Turning to the muscle man, Lancelot added, "Isn't that so?"

Percival gave a nod in affirmation and threw a coy smile in Lancelot's direction before appraising Arthur. Seeming to have found nothing hostile in Arthur's stance, Percival gave an approving nod before stepping out of the young prince's way.

Arthur got his first full view of the camp. Children ran around a bonfire of reds and oranges, and here were the many colourful tents he recalled, scattered around the encampment grounds. The atmosphere seemed to tingle with energy and peace—smiles and laughter rang out from the children at play. To his left lay a well, where a blonde woman was fetching water while simultaneously fussing over a young boy in a teal cloak. He felt a sense of familiarity wash over him while looking at the Druid boy—had he met the boy before? He knew it wasn't from one of the raids his father had ordered. He felt a sense of pride when he looked at the boy, though he couldn't recall why. He wouldn't have felt this pride triggered by a young boy he had been told to kill, surely. He couldn't resolve his blank memory for the life of him; it would most likely bother him for the rest of his stay here.

Lancelot walked ahead, after giving Percival a one armed hug. The dark haired knight turned, noticing that Arthur had stopped following him when they had reached just inside the entrance of the encampment, as the blonde prince was immersed in taking in his surroundings. Lancelot cleared his throat loudly, gaining Arthur's attention with eyebrows raised in question.

"Let us speak with Iseldir about sleeping arrangements," Lancelot said, beckoning Arthur to follow him.

Arthur fell into pace behind Lancelot and asked, "Who is Iseldir?" Instead of answering the question, Lancelot stopped walking as he made it to a large forest green tent that was in the centre of the encampment, and gestured towards the opening. Arthur frowned, as his question was not answered, but he pushed through the tent flaps anyway with Lancelot in tow.

"Young Pendragon," a voice greeted him. Arthur looked around in the tent. There was little clutter, and every thing was in its place. There was a bookshelf to one side that held many books and trinkets that he presumed were of a magical nature. To one side of the tent lay a small table in one corner with a neat triskelion carved in the centre, a sleeping mat near the back edge of the tent, and what looked to be an alchemist's table in the other corner. The floor was adorned with expertly woven rugs.

He then noticed a man clad in an oddly familiar pair of dark green robes holding a mortar and pestle and was leaning over the alchemist's table. There were potions and concoctions bubbling happily upon the table and candlelight swayed curiously from the centre of the poles that were stabilizing the tent.

"I am Iseldir, Druid Chieftain." Iseldir gave a knowing smile as Arthur's pale blue eyes met his soft green hue. Iseldir then turned to Lancelot. "You are to ask if you can stay the night, Ser Lancelot, and the answer is always yes, as I have told you before. A friend to Emrys is always welcome here." Iseldir set down the mortar and pestle. "You are heading to the castle in the morning." Arthur thought it was also curious for a question to be said like a statement as Lancelot gave a nod. "Do have the message passed along to Gaius that I greatly appreciate our mutually beneficial exchange of herbs common to each of our lands. I pray he is well," Iseldir told Lancelot, and proceeded to walk out of the tent.

The dark haired knight followed Iseldir, and Arthur figured that was enough invitation to do the same. "There is a well close to the entrance and our training grounds are in a separate section. There are many gates leading into the forest and the rest of the town, but there are mostly tents for the druid community here," Iseldir explained, for Arthur's benefit. The druid chieftain turned to Lancelot, "Please tell Emrys we expect to be visited by him in the near future."

"Of course," Lancelot gave a genuine smile at the mentioned name. Arthur, however, felt lost. Who is Emrys, then? He seems quite the topic of conversation here. Would he be another druid leader?

"Emrys?" Arthur asked, intrigued on the weight of the name when the druid chieftain spoke of it.

Emrys-s-s... A waterfall of whispers rushed by from the Druids as Arthur asked this question. He wasn't sure if the echo and sprinkling of whispers were all in his head or not.

「Emrys…」The name was repeated many more times, as if chanting an important mantra or prayer.

"To the non-magical people of the Kingdom, he is known as the Prince of The Land. To us, he is known as the Lord Emrys," Iseldir explained. The name echoed around the encampment once more, the whispers bouncing off of the few trees in sight. Looking around, Arthur realized that their trio had drawn a small crowd.

Arthur opened his mouth to speak, once more, but a druid girl ran out from the crowd and stumbled into him. She murmured a quick apology towards the blonde prince, but her attention was far from him. She gave an awed smile to her tribe leader and Lancelot. "Mum has told me stories," she began excitedly, "about Emrys." As if on cue, the name was whispered around once more, like a word of power. If by the Druids, Arthur couldn't tell. The swirling soft voices seemed to be coming from the forest itself.

Arthur allowed his gaze roam over the girl. She seemed to be entering early adolescence, with dark wisps of brown hair framing her face and deep brown, doe-like eyes. The young lass had an almost innocent air about her; he knew she must be a very likeable girl by the fond looks she gained from Lancelot, and Percival—who had quietly come to stand beside the dark haired knight.

"Do you want to hear them, Ser?" At this, Arthur realised that the girl was directing her attention towards him, and not Lancelot who stood beside him. Arthur was taken slightly aback, these stories were likely magical—being told by a druid—he wasn't sure if he wanted to hear them.

-x-

I thought it might be best to clear some things up: I have this fic set towards the end of season three.

And, of course, I changed a few things, as Arthur didn't meet Percival so soon, and Lancelot gave Gwen up for Arthur and all of that jazz, as well as Morgana not being fully evil, just mislead. (:

Prepare for a long one next chapter! And thank you for all who have followed and reviewed, you're all so sweet. Cheers!