The Witch of Camelot

Twenty-two....dreams....

Twenty-two…

Six weeks passed in mild discomfort - despite never mentioning them aloud I knew his family was not far from Arthurs mind. I did not blame him, who could.  Every child desires to know their family, to find that part of them that is missing. In youth we spend hours concocting imaginative reunions in our minds with those we have lost, it is only when we age that we discover the cold, hard, biting, reality. At nearly ten years old, Arthur had not yet left the world of fantasy. He still dreamed. We both did.

                Over that month and a half April slowly ebbed into June, the sun was bright and the weather warm, too warm. It kept me up at night. More accurately it kept me awake from the early hours after I had woken, sweating with fear from my recurring vision. It came to me at least three times a week, sometimes at night others times during the day, when I would gasp my head and then fall unconscious to the ground, pain erupting through my whole being. This was no ordinary vision however; it was rare in that it returned to me more often than any other – most I only viewed once. This new vision would die away the moment a voice; usually Merlin’s or Arthur’s tore me back to the world of the living. It would slip from my mind as fluidly as wine slipping from a goblet and would disappear easily and readily as wine disappears down the king’s throat. Just like wine it made me light headed, it caused me to vomit, it stopped me thinking clearly. What it showed I did not know. Once drunk and lost wine cannot return to refill the goblet, in this way it seemed my vision would never return to my memory.  This vision would not grace the parchment sheets of my diary for another four years, by which time its meaning would be frighteningly clear and it would be too late.

                August was cooler and with the drop in temperature my insistently returning vision began to fade, its visits dropping so at first they became weekly rather than daily, and slowly, very slowly, they gave way to other, more normal visions which after the terrifying uncertainty of the last few months were almost welcomed, refreshing.

                In that first summer an unbreakable bond was established between Arthur and I. He went to train with Troilus daily; I accompanied him rarely in the height of that summer on account of my vision. Despite this making me feel irritated, angry and lonely it gave Arthur time, time to grow, to become ever more accepting of life as he now knew it. Troilus became as good a friend to Arthur as he was to me. There would only ever be three men in the world I could rely on with the whole of my soul, my uncle of course, Arthur and Troilus. Arthur became used to my visions and the illness that various ones brought on, he knew how to handle them, how to help me as best he could. All this he learnt in that first summer. I learnt to.

                I leant that when he triumphed he did not crow, and boast like other boys, nor smugly survey those who had not so succeeded, he had a good nature and would congratulate those he had bested, he would shrug and murmur, “still room for improvement” whenever I or Merlin or anyone else for that matter congratulated him. He loved to read, just as he had told me that first day. It had been no exaggeration. He devoured books as quickly as time and teaching would allow, but never with such irritating vigour that some had where you could tell they had not truly taken in the words. He would contemplate the meanings of what he had read for hours on end and then would explain it all to me – if I had not already read it. Then a debate would fire up between us and we would bitterly stick to our beliefs until either one of us caved in or Merlin interrupted us for dinner scolding us with a laughing face for, ‘making so much noise over a book just because we disagreed’.  I rarely visited the town that summer, I often kept to my bed in the mornings, drinking the potions Merlin had created for me or hiding in the dark corners of the castle library. When Arthur returned after lunch I would join him for Merlin’s teaching and immerse myself in the ever evolving and interesting world which was our education. Arthur and I still shared a room, no screen had let been brought but it seemed both my guardian and my new roommate had forgotten all about it. Arthur and I become the closest of friends quicker than I thought possible.

It was one day, at the beginning of September that I suddenly realised I had neglected Percy all summer and practically abandoned our friendship. This realisation hit me as, on the first day that I had felt truly well enough in weeks to venture outside without company, I found him sitting alone on the battlements, watching the same direction that he and I had first spotted Arthur. Still feeling a little frail but determined to get some fresh air before the weather began to deteriorate again I made my way up the stone steps and once atop the wall stopped to draw breath and survey the landscape.

“Nimue!” said a surprised voice; I turned to see Percy sitting a little way from me, quiet and completely unnoticeable if he had not called my name.

“Hello.” I grinned walking slowly over to him; a stich had formed in my side.

“Long time no see.” he replied evenly, looking strangely excited but equally unhappy.

“I’ve been ill.” I replied shortly.

“Oh,” he paused, clearly he had suspected otherwise. “What was wrong?” he asked politely.

I shrugged, “A returning vision, made me feel sick constantly, kept collapsing.”

“Oh sorry.” he stopped again, uneasy. “What was it about?”

“I can’t remember.” I replied feeling as if I sounded thoroughly unintelligent.

He made a noise which suggested that was highly unlikely and just a lie before asking, “How’s that cousin of yours?”

“Arthur?” I queried unnecessarily. Percy nodded. “Arthur is well thanks, settling into life here pretty well.”

“Good.” replied my friend in a manner which implied he did not mean it.

As if he had heard his name Arthur chose that moment to appear below us, walking through the gate on his return from his lesson. “Nimue!” He hailed me; I swore I saw Percy roll his eyes.  Within moments, without any other words of meaning passing between Percy and myself Arthur was there.

“Hi, Percy isn’t it?” he asked cheerfully sticking out a hand. The younger boy nodded curtly ignoring the gesture of friendship completely until Arthur finally dropped his hand feeling rather cruelly and unjustifiably disliked.

“Nim, are you on your way home for afternoons lessons? There’s left over pork for lunch, how about we go eat before Merlin forces us into work?” He laughed; nervousness remained in his voice, feeling Percy’s eyes judge his every word, movement and action.

“Of course” I grinned, irritated by Percy’s coolness. I followed Arthur down the stairs waving diffidently the receding figure of my best friend and calling, “I’ll see you later.”

 Arthur and I walked home in silence, he never raised the awkward subject of Percy’s unwelcoming behaviour and I did not see the younger boy for another two weeks.