he sun slowly slipped deeper and deeper in the sky towards the rugged horizon that surrounded Camelot. The shadows quickly grew until they began to dance on the walls from the flicker of the candles that the shopkeepers lit in their stalls. Although the night was approaching, the vendors remained open to take care of the throng of people that still littered the streets. Young Artoros reveled in the crowd, but he had work to do. He had to unite his people.

The young king was distant after the events that transpired over the past few days. He tried to shake his mind free of all confusion, relying on a trick his old mentor, Merlinus, taught him. It was thinking of the events that were to come, and manipulating them in his mind where he could change the outcome of future events. Artoros imagined what would come of the quest and couldn't continue. He was too ashamed. He began to smile and sing instead, to take his mind off it.

Young Artoros shoots through the door of his chambers, still smiling and singing when he sees a familiar figure standing before the fire. Artoros recognizes who it is and he could feel the blood drain from his face.

"Sit!" Merlinus shouts at the young king, to which Artoros, feeling like a wee lad again, dutifully obeys. He looks at the pale blue eyes of the old man, and recognizes the look at once. He speaks of the the perils of Britain, and the return to the old ways.

"Do you not recall how Bran asked to have his head buried there, as a bulwark against the invaders? Do you think that your good right arm, even with the aid of Caliburn, is stronger than the will of the Gods?" Artoros thought about this question as Merlinus surprised Artoros by calling him a name he had not heard in years. Artie.

The noble young Artoros could feel tears begin to swell in his eyes and a lump grow in his throat. It would be much easier to lie to his old mentor had he not used this expression from his past.

Artoros carefully cleared his throat. "But Father Taren says this Christian god, he will die for me." He barely managed to croak out.

Merlinus smiled. "Father Taren is mad! It is the same thing I have heard can-waith*. Y Christos may have died for you, that may be true, but will he protect you?"

"But what good is a head, Athro**" Artoros used the term of respect loosely in the situation as he felt his need to be heard and taken seriously.

Merlinus beamed at Artoros. "What good is a man who will get nailed to a cross to become a god? Would you not do the same? But are you willing to have your head cut off and protect Britain for an enternity?"

"I have a confession." Artoros bashfully brought his eyes to the floor. He focused on a crack in the floor as he gathered his thoughts.

"I already dug up Bran's head. Father Taren said it was the only way. I lied to my knights today, claiming that we will dig him up, but he won't be there. We already dug it up. I took only a small party with me. Only a few trusted men. I dug him up and flung the rotting flesh into the sea. Father Taren said that if I did this, the people will stop believing in the old ways and follow the new way. One God, one way, one man to protect the land." Artoros divulges everything to his former mentor, a man almost like a father to him. He isn't sure why, but a single tear begins to fall down his red cheek.

Ashamed and abashed, Artoros looks up to Merlinus' weather beaten face.

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*can-waith: A hundred times.

**Athro: Teacher.