The Witch of Camelot

Twenty....documents....

Twenty….

I re-read the short three paragraphs for a second time; they did not seem long enough to dictate the whole future of Camelot and Arthur. I drew back from the table, thoughtful. Arthur remained sitting, he was staring at the parchment, one hand gently resting on the bottom left corner, in a way which seemed almost reverent. He did not speak for some time, his eyes were vacant of emotion, all himself was concentrating on the words repeating them over and over to himself in the privacy of his mind attempting to discover if this changed anything or was simply a confirmation of the news Uther had given him two days before.

                “I am his son then.” he murmured after a time, he paused lost in his thoughts and then added, “And he does intend me to hold the throne after he is gone.”

                “Yes Uther has no other male heirs; this makes it perfectly clear that you will rule one day.”

                “Unless I die young and prior to his own death.” Arthur replied mildly – he and I both knew that would not be.  

                “You will not.” my tone reflected his but simply spoke the words each of us had hovering in the backs of our throats.

                “Yes, I suppose you are right.”

                We were quite for some time again and then Arthur stood up unexpectedly stretching his arms out in front of him to relieve his muscles of the ach they had acquired from remaining still so long. He turned to me and said, “I want to meet my sister.”