Chapter Text
In a land of myth and a time of magic, there was once a great kingdom that would be known by name ages after its time: the kingdom of Camelot. Ruled by a great king, the kingdom knew peace and prosperity.
(…Most of the time. Unless war couldn’t be avoided. Which was pretty often. But I digress.)
The kingdom knew peace and prosperity; its king was wise and strong, helped by a queen fair, just and kind. She guided and supported him, helped him be the powerful king he needed to be while reminding him of the kindness he should exude. In those times, their kind of union was a rare one; for beyond mere convenience, the king and queen were in love.
There was but one problem. They needed a child. An heir who could be raised and trained to be the future king or queen, once their father no longer could. And they tried. For both necessity and love, for want as much as need of a child, they tried. And yet, for reasons unknown, the queen could not conceive.
Desperate, both as husband and as monarch, the king turned to his court sorceress for counsel. For help. She told him magic could be of assistance. That it could overcome whatever issue there was, could give him and his queen that which they both desired. She also told him there would be a price. That balance needed to be maintained. Magic had its own rules, and those rules were not always kind and forgiving.
The king did not heed these warnings. He merely heard that magic could give him what he could not seem to obtain otherwise. His choice was near-instant. He requested the court sorceress’s help. And he received it.
The queen was with child. His child. His heir apparent or heir presumptive, it did not matter. The queen was with child. The whole kingdom rejoiced.
It did not last. For a price had to be paid, even if the king chose not to acknowledge it. The child was born. And once it was, the queen passed on. Magic had its own rules. Rules which were not always kind. Balance needed to be preserved. For a life to be given, a life must be taken.
The king had not known of this, or so he said. He’d not been told, he said. The witch had tricked him, he said. Magic had stolen his queen from him, he said. He’d trusted his court sorceress and he’d been betrayed, he said.
The sorceress left. The king had wanted to make her pay for her treachery after he threw her from his court, but she left, fled like the coward the king believed her to be. Yet she was not the only one with magic. Not the only one with power that could corrupt them, could turn them against king and kingdom. Because, the king said, that was what magic did. That was why his court sorceress tricked him, took his queen from him. Because she could. Because she had the power to.
Mad with grief, the king swore vengeance. Not just on the sorceress who betrayed him, but on all of magic. He proclaimed it the source of all evil, a curse in and of itself, bound to corrupt even the purest of souls until it was unrecognizable, the user a monster without scruples who would stop at nothing to get what they wanted. Just as the sorceress had done by getting rid of the queen, an innocent woman who had but wished for motherhood, for an heir for her king and a child for herself.
Magic was evil and so it was banned, its knowledge burned until not one book was left, and its use forbidden on pain of death.
And thus began The Great Purge. It would last for years to come, until magic was all but extinct. Such were the king’s orders.
The banquet was as exquisite as any other Arthur had attended. Or been forced to attend. Admittedly, he hadn’t seen that many yet, despite being all of four years old already. But even so, he knew this one was special. It was that one banquet in the year that was different from all the others. Because this one was in his honour, to commemorate his birthday. His fourth one!
It was one of the reasons he had to sit there and couldn’t leave early. He usually could if he pretended to be sleepy. His nanny would take him away and, if he played his cards right, might even agree to play with him a little, in secret, before tucking him into bed. But not on his birthday. It was a feast for him, so it wouldn’t do to leave early.
It wasn’t like he didn’t enjoy himself. He did. It was fun. The food was good and the jesters were funny and there were so many people gathered just for him.
It was also a little boring, though. He wanted to get off his high chair at the head table and play. Maybe look for someone his age to play with them, though he knew that wasn’t likely to happen. There weren’t any children his age in the castle and Father didn’t allow him to go out by himself to play with his peers outside the gates They were ‘below his station’, whatever that meant. Arthur wasn’t entirely sure. He was four already, though. He was a big boy, so he should know and Father expected him to.
So he pretended to know and to agree. He hardly had the time to go play with anyone anyway.
Still, it was boring. There was nothing to do and no one to talk to. Except for all the adults, but they were busy talking amongst themselves or with his father about things that didn’t sound even remotely interesting to Arthur. No one seemed to pay him any mind. He almost felt like he could sneak out of the room to go play somewhere and no one would notice. Almost. He knew better, though. He’d tried that once and had been caught immediately. His father had been sure to lecture him thoroughly afterwards about how it wasn’t how a prince should act. Because Arthur was a prince and he had to act like one. His being a prince was important. He wasn’t entirely sure why, but it was.
He was a prince, so he had to act like a prince. That meant no sneaking off feasts, much less feasts thrown in celebration of his birthday, no matter how dull they were.
“Bored, Your Highness?” a voice asked suddenly to his right and he jumped slightly in his seat before turning his head. A woman stood at his side, probably a servant given the plate of food she was holding, although the red dress she was wearing wasn’t very servant-like. Still, she’d snuck up on him. Only servants moved that quietly. It was their job to not be noticed, after all, and he hadn’t noticed her at all until she’d spoken, so she had to be a servant. She smiled at him and he blinked. “Don’t worry. Things are about to get more interesting here, I promise you that,” she added in a low tone before he could answer her. He blinked again before smiling.
“Really?” he couldn’t help but ask, excitement already leaking into his voice. “How do you know? What’s going to happen? Does Father have some surprise pla—” he cut off when the serving girl put a finger to his lips, her other hand – now free of the food she’d been carrying – rising to mimic the gesture on her own lips.
“Shshsh. Not so loud, young prince. We wouldn’t want to spoil the surprise now, would we?” she murmured, her gaze moving past him for a brief moment to look at someone else before it returned to him. She straightened and picked her tray up again, smiling when he shook his head.
“Are there more performances planned?” Arthur whispered, unable to quell his excitement. There was another surprise for him! He couldn’t wait to see what it was.
“You will have to wait and see, Your Highness,” the serving girl replied with another smile, this one looking oddly shy. Then she turned and disappeared in the crowd. He wasn’t sure how she did that. There were a lot of people in the banquet hall of course, but most of them were seated. Only the servants moved around and there weren’t that many of them by comparison to the nobles at the tables. And yet no matter where Arthur looked, he couldn’t find her again. Like she disappeared into thin air. As if… as if she’d used magic.
The idea should frighten him. Magic was evil, or so he was taught, and anyone who used it only wished to harm others. But Arthur was a child and all he could see was that the people who used magic – or who he was told used magic – looked the same as him or his father. It was difficult to be scared of anyone who looked so… normal. As far as he could tell, there was nothing monstrous about them. Except maybe the magic, but he’d never seen that in action, either, so he didn’t know. He was curious, though. Despite his father’s warnings, despite what all his tutors told him, rather than afraid, Arthur was curious. Besides, he was a big boy. And he would be a knight soon. The Crown Prince, his father’s heir. The future king. He should be brave, unafraid of anything. There was no reason for magic to be different. So he wasn’t afraid. But since he’d never seen it, he was also curious.
“Settle down, Arthur,” his father spoke up suddenly when Arthur tried to twist in his chair to see if maybe the serving girl had hidden behind it. A hand fell on his shoulder, warm and welcome, but heavy and forcing him to follow its push back into his seat. He looked up at his father’s stern gaze. “You are the prince. Princes do not fidget or wriggle in their seat.”
“Sorry, Father,” Arthur replied quietly, gaze falling as he corrected his posture like he’d been taught to. Straight and tall, like his father. Like a prince. The hand squeezed his shoulder briefly before letting go, but then after a moment, Arthur felt that same hand on his head. Blinking, he turned to meet his father’s eyes, careful not to dislodge the touch. It felt nice. Odd and unfamiliar, but nice. His father’s expression was much the same, the warm light in his eyes and the small smile a bit odd on his features. Arthur thought it was a shame. He wanted to see that expression on his father’s face more often, to have his hand pat his head like this so it would just feel nice, not nice and foreign at the same time.
“Are you enjoying yourself?” his father asked and Arthur nodded, the movement slight and barely there so as to not make his father retract his hand just yet. The king did so anyway. Arthur pouted.
“The jesters were funny,” he murmured, disappointment leaking into his voice before he could stop it (though his father didn’t seem to notice) and his gaze falling back into the middle of the hall where no tables stood and where the performers had shown their tricks. It was empty now, but if the serving girl was right, maybe the troupe would come back again in a bit. Or maybe there was another group of jesters Arthur didn’t know about. He hoped so. “Is there another performance planned?”
“I’m afraid not,” his father said and Arthur’s pout turned sulky, his bottom lip jutting out just a little bit. “It will soon be time for you to retire either way. It’s late,” his father continued as he turned his head away, clearly not noticing Arthur’s mood. The young prince turned to look at his father, big, blue eyes silently coercing for a change of mind in that innocent way only children could accomplish.
“But I’m not tired,” he said. He did not whine. He was a prince, after all, and princes did not whine.
Before his father could respond, the doors to the banquet hall banged open and then shut, as if someone had entered brusquely. Except no one was there and only an eerie wind swept through the hall. All conversation ceased. Everyone’s head turned towards the door and then towards each other, bewilderment on every face Arthur could see.
Then the sound of footsteps. Shoes clicking on the stone floor as the serving girl Arthur had been looking for stepped right into the middle of the hall, all attention now on her. She had a cloak on now covering her shoulders, though Arthur could have sworn she hadn’t been wearing one before. She smiled, but it was colder than the smile she’d directed at Arthur earlier. Her eyes didn’t so much as stray to him, either. Instead, she was looking at his father. At the king.
“My my, such a splendid banquet. You spare no expenses, I see. Nothing but the best to commemorate the birth of your son. Pity it commemorates something much more tragic as well. Something I’m realizing you’re too much of a hypocrite to officially end. Your cruelty knows no bounds, does it? Not even to those you once called friends. Not even to those you once swore to protect,” she said in an amused tone, yet there was also something chilly about the way she said it. Arthur swallowed and looked slowly between the serving girl – though she didn’t look much like a servant anymore – and his father with wide eyes. Beside him, the king surged to his feet and pointed a finger at the woman.
“Seize her!” he called, his voice echoing in the silent hall. Knights surged to heed their King’s order, hands on their swords, the sound of steel sliding against leather following their movements as they unsheathed their swords. The woman didn’t seem fazed. She merely raised an eyebrow, then an arm. She said something, something incomprehensible Arthur couldn’t even begin to pick apart. Her eyes glowed gold and the wind picked up once more, swirling unnaturally in the hall, circling around a wide area encompassing the woman, the king and Arthur himself. On the other side, one knight charged with a mighty yell, only for the wind to knock him back. The woman lowered her arm, the gold fading from her eyes; the wind remained, sheltering them from the rest of the hall. Yet despite how fast it had to be to throw grown men back the way it had, it made almost no sound. Arthur stared, mesmerized.
“You didn’t really think I’d be caught that easily, did you? Did you forget who I am, Uther? What I’m capable of? A High Priestess is far beyond what your pitiful knights can hope to handle,” the woman said, once again giving that oddly shy-yet-not smile that Arthur didn’t really know the meaning of. Right then, however, he also didn’t really care. He was too busy twisting this way and that, looking around and staring with wide eyes at the unnatural wind surrounding them.
“You have magic!” he cried out in wonder and excitement. “It’s magic, isn’t it?” He reached out a hand in the direction of the circling wind, wondering if it felt like wind still or maybe more like water, since it seemed to distort what was on the other side with how fast it was moving. He never got to touch it, however, as his father grabbed him by his other arm and yanked him back none too gently. Arthur cried out at the unexpectedly harsh treatment, but his father didn’t react, only pushed him firmly behind himself.
“You will not harm my son, witch,” he said harshly, as authoritative as Arthur had ever heard him. The young prince blinked, looking up at his father in confusion from where he was now hidden behind his legs. Harm him? Why would the woman harm him? She hadn’t done anything, not even when she’d walked up to him before.
She seemed to think similarly to Arthur himself if her laugh was anything to go by.
“Worry not, Uther. I have no quarrel with your son. So long as you do as I ask, that is. If you do not, well.”
“You will not harm him,” the king repeated, but the woman (witch?) wasn’t intimidated.
“That all depends on you,” she answered, her tone now colder and firmer, matching the king’s as if she were on the same standing as him. But that couldn’t be true. Arthur’s father was King. No one, or at least no mortal, was above the king. And yet this woman acted like she was. “End the persecution, Uther. Your insane purge has already eradicated most of my kin. Enough is enough. Stop killing innocent people. Then, maybe, the Goddess will yet have mercy on you.”
“Never!” the king cried, moving as if to unsheathe a sword he did not have at his side.
“Why?” the woman demanded, raising her chin in defiance. “Because magic is evil? Because those who use it are evil? You’re the evil one, turning on innocent people. Your people as much as my own. You are their King. Your duty is to protect them, not massacre them!”
“Sorcerers are no people of mine. They do not and will never belong in Camelot! And I will not rest until each and every one of them is gone, until every last bit of the evil that is magic is stamped out. You will not fool me again, Nimueh!” the king declared, standing proud and tall in front of the sorceress, one hand keeping Arthur firmly behind him still. The young prince peeked out from behind his father’s legs, eyes wide in confusion and slowly mounting fear as he looked between the two. He didn’t understand what was going on. But he didn’t like it.
“Father?” he asked in a small voice, but the king never got the chance to reply. A hollow sound of a staff’s end meeting the stone floor drew his attention. The sorceress drew her other arm from beneath her cloak, a wooden staff in her hand. Its top looked a little bit like a tree, Arthur thought.
“So be it, then,” the woman, Nimueh, said. “If that is your choice, you shall live with the consequences. Magic gave you what you wanted, following the rules it had to follow. If that is how you repay it, how you repay me for merely granting your wish, then it is only fair the gift magic gave you pay the price of your own actions,” she stated. The King tensed and pushed Arthur further behind him. Or at least he tried to. But then Nimueh raised her staff and let it fall against the floor again and the wind shifted. Next thing Arthur knew, his father was pulled away and a wind that should not be there was pushing at his back. He stumbled, almost fell, then was lifted over the table and deposited back on the ground, then pushed again until he was standing in front of the sorceress. She looked down at him. He looked up at her. Her expression softened from the cold fury she directed at his father earlier. Then her other hand moved. Hovered over his head. But she did not touch him.
“Arthur!” That was the king’s voice. His father’s voice. But it sounded far-off and oddly distant. Arthur didn’t look at him. His eyes remained fixed on the sorceress before him. She was speaking now, though he didn’t understand a word she said. Her eyes were glowing again, molten gold shining beautifully. It was captivating. Mesmerizing. And not scary at all.
Arthur should probably be scared, or at least some part of him thought so. But he wasn’t. The glow in Nimueh’s eyes was warm and pretty. Her expression wasn’t cold or angry. She didn’t look like someone he might need to fear.
“Arthur!”
There was something shifting around him. It felt… odd. Soft. Like a blanket. Except there was nothing on or around him, he was sure. But he could feel it. A warm feeling. A gentle feeling. It brushed against his skin, then started sinking beneath it, as if it was trying to burrow into him, become a part of him. But it didn’t hurt. It felt warm. It felt trustworthy.
Nimueh lowered her arm. The gold faded from her eyes. Arthur blinked and looked down at himself, but nothing seemed to have changed. The sorceress had done magic and yet nothing had happened.
Then the staff hit the floor again and the sudden sound made Arthur jump, head snapping up to look at Nimueh once more. He gasped then and stumbled back. Her expression had changed. It was cold and angry and now, Arthur was scared. He shouldn’t be. He was a prince. But he was scared.
“Arthur!” his father’s voice rang out again, a far-off shout that may have as well been Arthur’s imagination. Nimueh’s eyes flashed gold a third time.
“Lǣt hine fredan wærcsár.”
The gold faded. Arthur blinked, his eyelids suddenly feeling heavy. The warm feeling from before, the one that settled under his skin, flared to life briefly, then faded again as if it was never there. Just like the gold in the sorceress’s eyes as she stepped away. Arthur blinked again, then shook his head as the drowsiness faded.
“What did you just do? What did you say? It sounded like complete gibberish,” he said, curious and excited, fear once again forgotten as Nimueh’s expression smoothed over. She reached out a hand to pet him on the head once, as if to silently command him on being a good, brave boy like his nanny did. Then she stepped away, head held high as she looked back towards the king. The King, his father, whom Arthur could no longer hear.
The young prince spun on his heel, but before he could try to find his father with his eyes, all hell seemed to break loose as the wind howled and changed course. It twisted suddenly, converged, slipped right past Arthur and seemed to encircle only Nimueh, the rest of the hall now free to approach the prince again.
“Your Highness!” Someone (one of the knights, probably) was suddenly at his side, yanking him back once more. Arthur let them, only stumbling a little as he watched the wind envelop the sorceress, unsure whether he was afraid of the display or in awe. He felt it might be a bit of both.
“Hear my warning, Uther Pendragon!” Nimueh’s voice came from within the vortex, distorted by the howling wind, but understandable. “There is but one way, and one way only, to free your son from the enchantment I cast. You need a magic user to cast a counter spell. But do not forget. Not just any magic user will do. What you need is someone who would be willing to cast the spell for one reason, and one reason only.” There was a pause and despite the wind still howling as it swirled around, the hall stood perfectly still. “Because they care for the prince and wish to free him from it.”
Arthur blinked. So… there was a spell on him? And only someone who wanted to remove it because they cared about him could do so?
That didn’t sound so bad. It couldn’t be that hard to find someone like that, could it? His father’s people loved him. Loved them both. Surely somewhere among them would be a magic user willing to help. Although Arthur wasn’t even sure he wanted the spell removed. He wanted to at least know what it did first!
“No other reason will do. No order may be given nor any deal made. Only because they care for the prince himself,” Nimueh’s voice spoke again from beyond the wind and somehow, though he could barely see her, Arthur had a feeling she was looking at him now. “Remember this well, young prince. Remember this, if nothing else.”
And then the wind swirled again, howled, seemed to converge even more on the sorceress… only to suddenly fade and stop as if nothing had happened. Nimueh was gone and she took the wind with her.
“What did she do to my son?!”
“I’m afraid I do not know, sire.”
“How could you not know? You were there! You heard every word of that wretched curse!”
“It’s not a spell I’ve ever heard before, sire. Even if it was, I’m afraid I’m no longer as knowledgeable about magic as I used to be. I have given it up four years ago, as you are aware. I’m a physician, not a sorcerer.”
Arthur looked between his father and the elderly man as they argued. The court physician, Gaius, made sure to keep his head lowered, but his voice was calm and firm. He was respectful but did not cower. Arthur’s father, on the other hand, was pacing in the physician’s chambers, face drawn in a fierce scowl.
He had been afraid before, Arthur knew, and the knowledge made his stomach churn. He knew because once Nimueh was gone and his father had barked orders that everyone was to disperse, that the banquet was over and the witch was to be found and brought to him, he had focused on Arthur and asked him repeatedly how he was feeling. And he’d held him to his chest like Arthur couldn’t remember his father doing before.
“It’s going to be alright, Arthur,” his father had said. “We’ll figure this out, we’ll get this curse removed before you know it,” he’d said and his voice had been shaking. Arthur’s father had been afraid. But the young prince did not understand of what. He wasn’t sure what happened that was so scary. Nimueh’s magic couldn’t have been it. Sure, there was one moment where Arthur was a little scared, maybe. But she hadn’t done anything bad and whatever spell she’d cast hadn’t felt unpleasant. It had felt nice and warm.
Arthur hadn’t told his father as much. Even at the age of four, he could have already guessed he wouldn’t have been listened to.
“I’m well aware,” his father snapped at Gaius, his tone oddly loud and expression more angry than Arthur thought him capable of. He’d never seen his father like that. That, more than the magic, scared him. His father was angry. Arthur didn’t like it when his father was angry.
“Father?” he asked in a small voice, unsure whether or not he wanted his father’s attention (and ire) to turn on him. He didn’t know whether he was relieved or disappointed when he was ignored, either.
“Can you remove it?” the king asked the physician. Gaius sighed.
“I’m afraid not, sire. I wouldn’t know the necessary counter spell. Even if I did, I doubt I would qualify to Nimueh’s demands.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“That I am not a magic user, sire.”
“You used to practice magic.”
“And I have given it up. I no longer practice it. I no longer use it. I may make an exception if that’s what you ask of me, Uther, but bear in mind it would go against what we’ve been told. It would not make me a magic user and it would not be just because I care for Arthur that I’d do it. And we don’t know what might happen if the wrong person tried to cast a counter spell. It would not be safe to experiment,” the physician said, still calm and monotone, undaunted by the king’s mounting fury. Arthur’s father sighed. Then his shoulder’s dropped. He looked oddly defeated.
“You’re right. Of course you’re right. My apologies, Gaius.”
“None needed, Majesty.”
“Father?” Arthur asked again, his voice still quiet but enough to draw his father’s attention to him this time. The young prince blinked at him, wide, blue eyes staring innocently. “Did something happen?” he asked. He didn’t feel like anything had, despite having been right in the middle of everything. Or at least, he didn’t feel like anything had happened to him. But just to be certain, he decided to ask, “Is something wrong with me?”
His father seemed to think there was. That was why they were here, in Gaius’s chambers so the old physician could look him over. Which he had. But he hadn’t found anything wrong.
“No, Arthur. Nothing’s wrong,” his father said, though his voice was oddly strained and his expression twisted like he’d been forced to eat something he didn’t like. Arthur wasn’t sure he believed him.
“Really?” he asked, tilting his head to the side. His father sighed and came closer, his hand resting on Arthur’s head and ruffling his hair gently.
“Yes, really,” he said, then drew Arthur to his chest again and held him. Without much thought, Arthur’s raised his arms to hold on to his father. This was the second time his father held him like this. It felt nice. Odd, but nice. But strangely worrying, too. Arthur bit his lip and pressed himself closer. His eyes burned. He wasn’t sure why, but his father’s behaviour was starting to scare him.
“Promise?” he asked before he could think better of it. His father’s arms only tightened around him.
“I promise, Arthur. We’ll figure it out. We’ll free you from this, whatever this is. Everything will be alright. Everything is alright. I promise.”
“Ok,” Arthur replied, though his voice was barely audible even to himself. He wasn’t sure he believed his father. But he also wasn’t sure which part exactly it was that he didn’t believe.
“Everything will be alright.”