“Let us show Camelot to your father and the world once again.” Trystan guided Marc over to the stone.
The humans and elves surrounding them looked on as Trystan held the Sword of Kings in front of him, above the stone, with the blade pointing down. Marc reached out and grasped the hilt of Excalibur so that both of them held it. Gazes locked on each other, they plunged the sword into the stone once again.
As was before, the magic within it easily absorbed the blade into the rock, however, this time, only a bright glow emitted from the convergence of the sword and the stone.
A low rumble shook the ground once again as the earth beneath their feet continued its earlier transformation. Stone pathways appeared where there had only been grass or dirt. Wooden planks and stone tiles materialized under foot.
Beneath the royal couple’s feet, what once was grass with bits of rubble transformed into a beautiful mosaic of various stones, including quartz, granite, and obsidian. Walls of stone, glass, and wood grew around them as the castle itself and its surrounding buildings, including a magnificent sanctum, emerged from under the veil of magic that had protected it all these years. The entire hill and lands immediately surrounding it rose upward, high above the rest of the land as streets and buildings and trees grew and spread down the slopes and onto the grassy plains below. From what was a vacant hilltop arose a sprawling, colossal, and stunning fortress.
Tree filled gardens with bronze and stone fountains and statues appeared throughout the entire city. Bronze roofs and stained glass windows decorated the palace keep and sanctum.
At the base of the newly formed, two-tiered hill, a water-filled moat formed, fed by a shimmering waterfall that cascaded from the top of the castle down a series waterways made of granite and quartz. A winding, stone pathway twisted its way through the city, up to the castle courtyard from the plains below.
As the magic spread, it healed the injured and the bodies of those who gave their lives turned to dust. They became a part of the city they had courageously fought to protect as Camelot released their souls into the heavens.
The entire castle glistened in the late afternoon sunlight. It was truly a breathtaking sight to see. One that had not been seen in over a thousand years. The vision of Camelot was beyond anything anyone could have dreamed of, except Emrys, who was overjoyed to see the city once again restored to its former glory.
King Locryn, still clinging to life at Emrys’ side, was now at peace in his heart. His oath had been fulfilled, the lost heir restored, a great battle won, and the realm secured. His son would soon be king consort to Trystan, the one true king of Camelot and son of the legendary Arthur, as his husband and mate.
And with those thoughts in his heart, Locryn let his eyes slip closed and took his leave from the world.
As his hand fell limp, King Locryn’s body turned to ash and dissipated into the air. A long silence hovered over all of them.
Marc took hold of Trystan’s hand and held his gaze. Brilliant blue eyes filled with love and hope gave him strength.
“My father was a great king and fearless warrior. He fought bravely for his beliefs, our people, and this realm. His lifelong desire was to restore the lost heir of King Arthur, and so he did. Today he gave his life for him.” Marc paused and glanced at Trystan. His voice softened. “Trystan, son of Arthur and Guinevere, has brought all of us the promise of redemption. We have answered the call and now, we humbly stand here. Ready to serve the one true king. In this magnificent place. This legendary city of Camelot.”
He paused and looked across at all the faces staring back.
“And so, my father’s death shall not be in vain. For we shall preserve and protect everything he and our fellow soldiers died for. Long live Camelot! Long live King Trystan!”
When Marc stopped speaking, there was a momentary pause followed by a resounding cheer of approval and a few callouts of “long live Camelot” and “long live King Trystan.” Marc looked back over his shoulder at Emrys, who smiled and gave a nod.
Camelot was restored and the man to whom Emrys had sworn his life—the man with whom he’d fallen in love so many years ago—bore the crown and the sword. Emrys had fulfilled his promise.
But fate was a fickle thing, and what was set in motion thousands of years ago had recently changed its course. A father died before his time, killed by the brother of the one sworn to protect his son, and now, a darkness shadowed the horizon.
***
“I can save you.”
The soft whisper of a woman’s voice disrupted the ringing in Îarik’s ears. It sounded so far away. His vision faltered as he tried to focus on the voice. The blurred image of a familiar face flashed before his eyes. Then ringing again, intermixed with the distant sound of men cheering. Victory. The enemy’s victory. His expression hardened.
The gut-wrenching shame and anger of defeat, combined with the sickly odor of burnt flesh and smoky ash hanging in the air, caused his stomach to churn. Darkened blood oozed from the deep gashes in his chest and torso left by the imbued silver arrows, slowly draining the life from his body.
“Îarik,” she whispered again. The sweet melody of her tone drifted in the air between them. “Serve me, unconditionally, and I will save you from this fate.”
The voice was gentle and soothing. Filled with promise. The sweet sound alone would have been enough. It washed over him. Called to him. Lured him.
But something held him back. Incoherent thoughts swept his mind. He saw himself. Dying. Again. Dizziness clouded his mind, forcing out the images of a grim and uncertain future.
Leaning against the tree, gasping for shallow breaths of air, he tried again to focus his eyes as he felt death drawing near. The world closed in around him.
Golden irises set against shimmering, pale gray skin flashed before him. He caught a brief glimpse of the intensity of her gaze.
“I know your face. Y-your voice,” he whispered. “Who are you?”
“An old friend,” the woman replied.
