After her declaration to the Wizarding World Vivian began the arduous task of restoring the throne room to its former glory. Using a long forgotten spell to summon visages of the dead she wandered the room looking for familiar features among the litany of spirits. As she wandered she began banishing the remains of the assailants to the labyrinth beneath the keep. In accordance to tradition the bones of their enemies would be used to fortify the foundations as a show of strength and power. Enemies of the family were undeserving of a peaceful journey into the afterlife. No, they would remain here evermore to pay for their transgressions to the crown of Camelot.

In contrast, the remains of their steadfast companions would be given the highest honor the crown could offer. Those with mundane heritage would rest peacefully knowing that their decedents would be cared for by the crown. By the crowns grace they would join the court and be given a stipend and quarters within the palace to use if they desired. Those of magical heritage would likewise receive their counterparts gifts; however, they would also be given the opportunity to study the secrets of Avalon should they be deemed worthy by the Goddess.

Gazing upon those spirts which remained, Vivian conjured marble ten marble slabs in two rows before the throne. Carefully levitating their companions' remains to rest upon the cool marble, she conjured heavy white drapes to cover the bodies.

"revela natura tua" she intoned, watching as house crests were gently lifted from the remains. She looked on, surveying those whom had paid the ultimate price in service to her family. Le Fey, Dagsworth, Lovegood, Windsor, Prewitt, Evanston, du Lac, Emrys, Delacour, and Grindelwald. All powerful families in their own right though not all were warriors. She found it worrisome… some of these families were among the greatest scholars in Camelot. Why would they be involved in this battle?

Those thought only served to fortify her earlier thoughts, this was no mere battle. Nay, what occurred here was a massacre. The question now was how. There was no safer place in Camelot than here in this room - the physical fortifications alone were immense, factoring in the magical protections woven into the very foundations of the palace… invasion was inconceivable.

Vivian whirled and strode confidently from the room. She needed answers. Following her senses and allowing her magic to guide her Vivian made her way through the darkened corridors until she came to a stop before an ornate door made of bronze. Beyond this door were the quarters belonging to the High Priestess.

Easing the door open Vivian felt the wards wash over her, judging at first. The sensation was prickly but not unwelcome however it quickly changed to resemble a mother's embrace. The Goddess had protected these quarters from the ravishes of time. Accepting this gift for what it was, she made her way across the lavish room to the alter that was nestled in the corner.

Kneeling upon the bearskin rug, Vivian inspected the items upon the alter. Candles, scrying orbs, and notes - she was shocked that she Grimour of Avalon appeared to be missing. If the High Priestess had warded this room for the Goddess, why not secure the Grimour here? Shifting through the papers Vivian quickly located a letter.

Breaking the wax seal, she read.

Vivian,

My dear aunt, although we may never have the chance to meet I feel as though I have known you through the Goddess for many seasons.

I fear that this letter does not hold good tidings. Camelot is at war Vivian and I fear that we may not survive this time.

It is time you knew. Long ago a prophecy was spoken, none know whom the Seer was, only that they were of the summer isles. The prophecy spoke of a daughter of the Royal line, born to Prince Rhodri and Margaret of Ireland. This daughter was special, for she would unite the peoples of isle under one rule.

Under this rule Camelot would flourish, nurturing all magical and mundane races. Or she would fail. Plunging the world into chaos until a new heir accomplished what she could not. You are this daughter, Vivian.

I will offer you what resources I can to support your endeavors. I have commissioned the Goblin Nation to protect the Pendragon fortune and see it grow so that you may have all that you require to see Camelot and our companions flourish. Visit them; but be careful. This world is not that which you left. People have changed, alliances have shifted.

May the Goddess be with you, aunt.

Liliana Pendragon

So… Vivian mused. She was correct, there was a traitor in their midst. With her mind set Vivian began making preparations to visit the Goblin Nation. Perhaps they could shed more light on this shrouded mystery.

--

Vivian made her way through Diagon Alley, fiery red hair gleaming in the afternoon sun. What a strange little place, she thought. Back in her time there was no need for the magical and mundane population to be separated. In fact, both populations relied on each other to succeed.

None could rival a Dwarves abilities for stonework. Goblins were equally renown for their knowledge of the earths raw minerals and their ability to shape them to their will. As for the mundane, there was no contest for a race which could innovate and push themselves and their communities into the future. The advances they could make within one century were truly astonishing.

Vivian watched as children ran back and forth between shops, parents smiling along indulgently as they strolled through the alleyway. Seeing this Vivian felt her heart swell with hope. Maybe all was not as it seemed… maybe things had progressed into a time of peace and her focus could be solely on rebuilding the nation.

Arriving at the end of the alley Vivian bowed to the heavily armed Goblin Warriors guarding the door, baring her throat in submission as was their custom.

"Greetings from Camelot, Guardian of the Nation. I, Vivian Pendragon, humbly request an audience with your king."

The warriors eyed her speculatively, who was this woman who claimed to be from the lost kingdom? That spoke their native tongue? Inspecting her closely, Ironclaw merely raised a brow and beckoned her to follow. Should her claim be true this would be a most profitable endeavor, should it not… Well. The dragon always liked a fresh meal.

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