Chapter 20: Chapter Nineteen

Gavin paced back and forth across the uneven floor, the soft thud of his boots creating a restless rhythm. Excalibur hung at his hip, the sword's weight a constant reminder of everything pressing down on him: the throne, the kingdom, the expectations of a king he wasn't sure he could become. In his hand, he clutched the worn royal summons from King Hector, the creases so deep they'd practically worn through the parchment.

"I saw her in the forest," Gavin said, stopping near Merlin's cluttered table. "Lady Guinevere. She wasn't like anyone I've met before. It was... strange, but familiar, like I was meant to find her." He exhaled, running a hand through his hair. "Hector thinks marrying her is the key to securing my place on the throne."

Merlin, sat on a chair behind the table with a thick book open in front of him, and stroked his beard thoughtfully. The firelight reflected off his eyes, which seemed to hold a wisdom that spanned centuries. "Perhaps fate did place her in your path," Merlin said, his voice measured. "But fate isn't as kind or simple as it appears."

Gavin frowned. "What do you mean by that?"

Without answering directly, Merlin stood and made his way to a large oak bookshelf on the far wall, his fingers skimming over the spines of ancient books. Finally, he pulled out a leather-bound tome, its cover cracked with age. Dust puffed into the air as he set it down on the table and flipped through its fragile pages, pausing when he found the one he sought.

"This," Merlin said, tapping the page with a gnarled finger, "is an ancient prophecy tied to Camelot's fate. It's one that even I hoped wouldn't resurface—but here we are."

Gavin leaned over the table, narrowing his eyes at the intricate script written in a language older than Camelot itself. "What does it say?"

Merlin's gaze didn't waver. "It speaks of a king who will rise with Excalibur at his side, destined to unite the kingdom. But the prophecy comes with a warning: this king will face a choice. Marry for power, and Camelot will grow strong—but only for a time. The kingdom will fracture from within, and its end will come not from an enemy outside its walls, but from betrayal within."

Gavin's heart pounded. He didn't need to be a scholar to understand the implication. "Guinevere and Sir Lancelot," he said softly.

Merlin nodded grimly. "The legends you know from your world tell of their betrayal. The stories have endured for a reason. Guinevere's role in Camelot's fall has echoed through time, but what they don't tell you is this: the prophecy isn't set in stone."

Gavin's brow furrowed. "You're saying I can change it?"

Merlin's gaze softened. "That's the hope. But changing fate comes at a cost. If you marry for love instead of political gain, the road ahead will be harder—filled with opposition, doubt, and trials even Excalibur can't protect you from. But if you succeed, Camelot could become stronger than it's ever been."

Gavin gripped the back of a chair, his knuckles turning white. "And if I choose the easier path? If I marry Guinevere like Hector wants me to?"

Merlin closed the book gently, as if the weight of its knowledge could somehow crush them both. "Then Camelot will shine brightly, but briefly. It will grow strong, yes, but like a fire burning too hot, it will consume itself. There will be betrayal. A kingdom divided. War, perhaps."

The words hit Gavin like a blow, and he staggered back, running a hand through his hair as he tried to process it. He thought of Guinevere in the forest, the way her gaze had held him captive, the way the air had seemed to hum with destiny when they met. Was it real, or was he just a puppet dancing on fate's strings?

Merlin stepped closer, his tone gentler now. "I know this isn't easy, Gavin. You've carried the weight of this destiny since the day you pulled Excalibur from the stone. But remember this: fate doesn't have to be your master. It can be your guide—but only if you learn to bend it to your will."

Gavin lifted his gaze, meeting Merlin's eyes. "But what if I make the wrong choice?"

Merlin smiled faintly, the kind of smile that held more sadness than comfort. "That's the burden of kings, Gavin. There's rarely a right or wrong choice—only the one you can live with."

The fire crackled, casting shadows that flickered across the walls like specters of the past. Silence stretched between them, broken only by the distant hoot of an owl outside the window. Gavin's thoughts raced, his mind a tangle of conflicting desires.

Finally, he asked, "What if Guinevere isn't the one who betrays me? What if I'm wrong to doubt her?"

"That's the gamble," Merlin replied. "Perhaps she won't betray you—but fate often tests us in unexpected ways. The question isn't whether Guinevere is capable of betrayal. The question is, if it happens, will you be able to hold the kingdom together?"

Gavin lowered his gaze, the weight of the question pressing down on him like a stone. His thoughts flickered to Felicity—her unwavering loyalty, the way she'd stood by him through every challenge without question. Her touch, her laugh, the way she could silence his doubts with just a glance. Was it her love that could save him from this prophecy?

Or would chasing that love doom them all?

Merlin placed a hand on Gavin's shoulder, his grip firm but comforting. "Think carefully, Prince Arthur. Destiny isn't just about swords and crowns. It's about the choices you make, and the people you choose to stand beside you."

Gavin exhaled, nodding slowly. "I need time."

Merlin stepped back, his expression thoughtful. "Take it. But don't wait too long. Fate may be flexible, but it's never patient."

As Gavin turned to leave the study, the flickering firelight followed him, casting his long shadow across the walls like a warning of the trials yet to come.

Outside the door, as the cool night air brushed against his skin, only one thought filled his mind: Who do I trust to stand beside me?

* * * *

The Willowmere Forest, shrouded in mist under the light of a full moon. The trees stood tall and silent, their ancient branches twisting overhead like watchful sentinels. The cool air is damp, heavy with the earthy scent of moss and wet leaves. A faint breeze stirred the underbrush, carrying the distant hoot of an owl and the sound of Felicity's hurried footsteps as she navigated the dark forest.

The forest felt different at night. Its beauty—so welcoming in the daylight—had given way to an eerie, suffocating stillness. The moon, normally a comforting presence, seemed cold and distant, casting pale beams of light that filtered through the thick canopy.

Mist curled along the forest floor, swirling around Felicity's boots as she pushed forward, her breath hitching with each step. She wasn't entirely sure where she was going, but her heart had guided her into the forest, and she trusted it would take her where she needed to be.

Her thoughts were a storm, crashing waves of fear and doubt echoing inside her. Gavin's words from earlier replayed in her head—his admiration for Guinevere, his belief that marrying her could secure the throne. He had seemed so certain, as if fate itself had placed Guinevere in his path.

But where did that leave her?

Felicity's hand brushed the silver chain hanging around her neck, a gift from Merlin long ago. The cool metal pressed against her skin, grounding her as she stopped to catch her breath. She closed her eyes, tilting her head upward as if the stars above could offer her answers. But only silence greeted her, punctuated by the rustle of leaves and the distant murmur of a stream.

"Please," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "If fate is real—if there's still time to change this—show me."

The wind stirred suddenly, rustling the trees as if the forest itself had heard her plea. The mist thickened, swirling faster, wrapping around the trunks of the trees like ghostly tendrils. The breeze carried a soft, haunting melody—a song she had heard before, but didn't know from where it came.

Felicity's eyes snapped open, her breath catching in her throat as the forest around her began to shift. The ground beneath her feet felt unsteady, and the trees seemed to bend and twist as if they were alive, their branches reaching toward her. The mist rose higher, swirling around her waist and pulling her forward like invisible hands guiding her toward the unknown.

Her heart raced, but she didn't resist. She let the forest lead her.

Suddenly, the mist parted, revealing a clearing bathed in a strange silvery glow. The air shimmered as if filled with magic, and at the center of the clearing stood a large stone altar covered in ancient carvings. The air buzzed with energy, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end.

Felicity stepped forward, her boots crunching softly against the dewy grass. As she reached the altar, the ground beneath her trembled, and the mist thickened once more, swirling faster and faster until it enveloped her completely.

She wanted to scream... to cry out for someone to help her, but the words froze in her mouth and her throat refused to work.

Then, her mind opened and she saw the mist part, revealing the majestic towers of Camelot standing against a blood-red sky. The once-proud city was in ruins. Flames engulfed the castle walls, smoke curling into the air like serpents. The streets were littered with broken shields, shattered swords, and the bodies of knights who had fallen in battle.

Felicity's breath hitched as she turned, her gaze falling on the throne room. The grand hall, once filled with light and laughter, was now a battlefield. Guinevere stood near the throne, her gown torn, her eyes wide with despair as she clung to Sir Lancelot. His arms wrapped protectively around her, and their expressions spoke of regret, betrayal, and something far worse—defeat.

At the center of the room, Gavin knelt on the cold stone floor, Excalibur lying at his feet. His armor was dented, blood staining his tunic as he clutched his side. His head was bowed, his shoulders trembling as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him. Felicity could feel his pain—his heartbreak—as if it were her own.

"No," she whispered, tears streaming down her face. "This cannot be real."

The vision shifted, and she saw the noble houses turning against each other, their alliances shattered. War erupted across the kingdom, brother fighting against brother as Camelot tore itself apart from within. The rivers ran red with blood, and the once-vibrant lands of the kingdom withered under the weight of the chaos.

The final image seared itself into her mind: the throne of Camelot, empty and broken, its crown lying discarded on the floor.

The vision dissolved, the mist swirling around her once more as Felicity fell to her knees, gasping for breath. Her body trembled, her fingers digging into the damp earth as she fought to steady herself.

"No," she choked out, her voice shaking. "This isn't the future. It doesn't have to be."

A soft breeze brushed against her cheek, and a familiar voice whispered through the trees. It was Merlin.

"Fate isn't set in stone, Felicity," the voice said, gentle but firm. "It bends to those brave enough to shape it."

Felicity lifted her head, tears streaking her face as she stared into the mist. "But how? How do I change this?"

"By acting before the choice is made," the voice replied. "By standing firm when others bend. He is not lost yet, but if you hesitate, the future will be as you have seen."

The wind stilled, and the forest fell silent once more. Felicity sat there, the weight of the vision pressing down on her like a boulder on her chest. But even in her fear, a spark of determination ignited within her.

She stood, wiping her tears away as she clenched her fists. If fate wanted to tear Camelot apart, it would have to fight her first. She wouldn't let Gavin choose a path that led to ruin—not if she could help it.

With one final glance at the clearing, she turned and sprinted back through the forest, her heart pounding. She didn't know how she would convince Gavin, but she had to try. If love could rewrite legends, then hers would burn bright enough to rewrite fate itself.

The moonlight guided her back to Merlin's cottage, but this time, the forest no longer felt like a place of fear. It was a battlefield—and Felicity was ready to fight.