When winds blow from East to West, the Black star shines bright and lightning strikes twice, beware, he comes… - circa B.C. 1517 prophet unknown.

Arthur, using a short length of string, tied his shoulder-length hair into a ponytail. He pulled his coat sleeves down and gazed upon himself in the mirror. He nodded to himself in approval and left his bedroom though the simple wooden door.

Down in the kitchen his old gran baked muffins. Arthur took a deep lungful of the sweet smelling air. Gran’s sister who worked as a chief cook in the palace had sent some exotic fruit for the festival. Banana it was called. It was yellow and tasted as sweet as honey. Just the thought of it made Arthur's mouth water.

His sheathed sword cluttered against the railings as he took the bend around the bottom of the stairs. He wasn't used to carrying one even though he had it for years. He found it when he was little in the abandoned ruins by the lake. It was stuck in stone and then the seven-year-old Arthur pulled it out and brought it home. Gran took it away and hid it in the closet for the day when Arthur would turn sixteen earning the right to carry a sword and be named a man. This day was yesterday, and he had no practice with using one. That will come later when his formal training starts at the palace during the winter months.

Gran looked up at the sound and smiled at seeing her small boy, well no longer small but raising him since he was left in her care by her sister. Tiny in a wicker basket small feet and hands kicking in the air making small cooing noises was how she always saw him.

"Hi Gran!" Arthur said and gave her a peck on the cheek. "Can I have one?" He asked, indicating the muffins.

She looked him up and down, taking in the slim figure with the broad shoulders.

"I thought you wanted to look fit and dashing for the midsummer's festival?"

"You can't be serious? Do you really expect me to resist the temptation of your goodies?" He asked with feigned incredulity. "Besides, your muffins keep me in shape. All those walnuts and such. They can be bad for me." He added.

She swatted him on the shoulder. "Keeping in shape is not about the muffins you eat. It's about the muffins you don't eat." She said with a fond smile while handing him one.

Arthur’s face lit up as he smiled. He took a bite and kept his eyes closed so that sensations other than flavor did not intrude this moment.
"I heard that Gwendolen will tie the ribbon tonight." Gran said with a feigned casualness while carefully taking note of his facial expression.
Arthur choked on the muffin and started to cough, crumbs flying everywhere. Gran only laughed and reached for the cup of milk sitting on the counter.

"So?" Arthur asked with a shrug.

"Son, don't be daft. Everyone knows you have a crush on that girl.”

“No, I don’t.” He said, leaning against the counter.

Gran gave him a stare, a stare that said Don’t try to fool me boy, I’ve been fooled by better foolers than you and you don’t hold a candle next to the best foolers of the world.

“You bloodied Robin's nose just the other day. Apparently, he made approaches to the girl.” She said.

"Damn! Does everyone know?" He asked, chagrined.

Gran threw a rag at him which he deftly caught and wiped his hands.

"No swearing in my house. Now, go help the men with preparations."

"Gran, I am a man now." He said pleadingly and completely missing whine in his own voice.

"Good. That means that you can help more. Now go help the 'other' man."

Arthur, knowing when to retreat from an enemy with higher ground, executed a perfect court bow and strolled out of the house. The swagger was only slightly spoiled by the sword hitting the door frame.

He will look down upon the mortal realm and his eyes will flash with terrible light and all will cower in fear… - Circa B.C. 738. Found on a clay tablet near ruins of an unknown city.

"Tighter!" Gwendolen croaked as her sister pulled the strings tighter. "Again." She said a moment later and her two younger sisters pulled once more.

"Good."

The strings were tied tight on the corset cinching her waist.

"Ooh, Gwen. You look so beautiful." The youngest sister said, raising her hands to her mouth.

Gwendolen sat down and started to apply a powder on her pale cheeks, cheeks which were even paler now when the blood flow and breathing was restricted by the death trap that was the corset.

"I have to, don't I? To snag a husband now that my fifteenth naming day has passed and midsummer is here." She answered.

"So it's true. You are going to tie the ribbon?" The second sister said. "I did not believe when Margaret told me. Do you even know who you want?" She added with disapproval.

"Of course I do." Gwendolen snapped.

She pursed her lips and moved her head from left to right and back again. Her golden locks bounced up and down in the image looking back at her from the mirror. 'Perfect.' She thought.

"Well?" Her sister asked.

"It is going to be Robin, Arthur or John." Gwendolen answered flippantly.

"That is disgusting." Nancy growled. "How can you not know?"

"Don't you dare to take that tone with me." Gwendolen showed a finger in Nancy's face.

"We are destitute. We have no money and no land. Ever since dad died, mother has done all she can but that is not enough. My only option is to get a wealthy husband so that we can live."

“You could actually help your mother and get a job now that you are a woman.” Nancy retorted.
“No. I will never do menial work. Look at these hands.” She said holding her hands for Nancy to see. “Do these look like they were made for work?”

"Calm down Gwen. Don't be mean." The youngest sister said while pulling on Gwendolen's extended arms. "Tell me about them. Is Robin really so handsome as they say?" She asked.

Just for good measure and to get her point across, Gwendolen gave Nancy a scorching glare. Nancy huffed and left the room, slamming the door behind her.

Gwendolen sat down and took both hands of the younger sibling.

"Robin is handsome like the dawn itself. With striking red hair and bronze skin. He is the son of the most trusted king's officer.
Arthur is no less handsome. He has shoulder-length hair, soldier’s build and the deepest blue eyes that I have ever seen. His Grandmother owns the bakery and has connections in the castle.

John is the blacksmith's son. He is so big and strong..."

Dreams are portals to other realms. Beware, when you gaze at him in your dreams, he looks right back… - Circa B.C 430. Scroll of a Priest of the Loftly.

John finished pounding the last metal band around the casket and put down the smiths hammer. He wiped his brow and took off the heavy work coat. He hung it on the nail by the door, right next to his sword and stepped out of the smithy into the sunshine of the mid-morning. John turned eastwards, against the blowing wind and took a moment to enjoy the cooling touch of the breeze and simultaneous warmth from the sun on his back. His untucked shirt flapped against his thighs in the sudden gust of wind. Some clouds started to gather in the west but the day was still sunny and rain was not likely. It rarely rained on Midsummers.

John saw a familiar figure walking in the distance. "Hey! Hey Arthur!" He called out.

Arthur stopped and looked over. At the wave from John, he jogged over and clasped hands with the smiths apprentice.

John eyed Arthur's sword hanging at his side. He stopped himself from embarrassing Arthur with an eyeroll. Just in time, he remembered that only yesterday Arthur earned the right to carry one. John looked back at the time when he himself earned the right of man. He remembered the pride he felt by being able to call himself a man and carried the sword as a reminder for everyone else. The novelty however soon wore off and after the first few weeks he felt foolish and lost the need to point out his status to other men. Now the sword hung on a nail by the door.

“What are you up to?” He asked Arthur

"Helping the other men to chop and gather wood. How about you?" Arthur said.

"I had a bad dream last night. I woke up drenched in sweat well before dawn and could not get back to sleep. I figured since I can’t sleep, might as well get some work done. Finished all the orders for wine caskets." John said with pride.

"Well, you can help me wrap up the rest of the wood cutting and tell me about the dream. I heard somewhere that dreams contain a sliver of truth. If you tell me about it, maybe we can find it."

John nodded and walked into the smithy to grab his wood chopping axe. After a second's hesitation he buckled his own sword around his waist. This should prevent Arthur from being mocked by the oldsters like John was on his first day.

An hour later they sat on the grassy slope of the nearby hill, sharing a cider and taking a well deserved break. The clouds had rolled in and covered the once blue sky. These were still fluffy, white and pretty high up. Not what you would call rain clouds.

"In this dream, I was falling from great heights. " John said.

"That's pretty common."

"Yeah, but it was like I was falling towards the sky. It was weird, I was looking up but it felt like I was looking down. " John explained.
"And then the clouds formed a face, with the sun glowing where it's eyes should be." Arthur said in a whisper.

"And then it opened its mouth and I started falling towards it." John continued.

"And right before you reached it, you woke up." Arthur concluded, his forearms covered in goosebumps.

John did not say anything. Just stared at the clouds overhead.

"What does that mean, both of us having the same nightmare?" Arthur asked eventually.

"I don't know, but it worries me." John replied.

"We could go ask the old Pastor. He knows about dreams and such." Arthur said.

John thought for a moment and replied, "Yeah, let's ask him. But only after the fest. I heard that Gwendolen is tying the ribbon today. I don't want to spoil it with devil talk from the Pastor."

Arthur let out a moan as a reply. All thoughts of odd dreams forgotten.

"What? " John frowned. "Not you too. I had to thrash Robin the peacock to explain where things stand."

"Well, I'm no peacock." Arthur replied angrily.

"Both of us have our swords right here. Let’s have it out." John said standing up knowing fully that Arthur will never take the challenge.
Arthur looked at the muscular figure in front of him and despite being angry, kept his emotions in check.

"John, we have been friends forever. I have never called you Little John or any other names. We are brothers in all but name. Don't let a woman get between us." He tried to calm John.

It worked and John sheathed his blade. "You are right. But it leaves us no options. I think I'm in love. Truly in love, Arthur. I've never felt this way." He sat down and continued, "Honestly, it still feels too good to be true. I mean, one look at her and you know she is way above you." He shook his head. "I was hammering horseshoes and looked up as she walked by. And then she smiled at me and I practically dropped my hammer on my foot."The hammers John swung about had some serious weight and could easily crush a man's foot.

"Damn it, John." Arthur swore. Somewhere in an alternative universe, in one smooth motion, Arthur pulled out his sword and rammed it through John. But not in this universe. In this one, Arthur loved John like a brother. To Arthur, John's happiness was more important than his own.

"Right. First I will tell her that I'm no longer interested. Then I'll go and get very drunk. This should give you an opening."

"You would really do that for me?" John asked.

"Only because it's you who's asking." Arthur said resignedly. "Now let's go finish off the preparations.” He stood up and started towards the village green. In a thoughtful mood, John followed in his wake.

One wife, you’re happy, two and they’ll hate each other, three and they’ll hate you… Circa A.D. 34. A Persian man of renown.

The sun had set and due to the clouds overhead, it was darker than usual at this time of day and the celebrations were in full swing. Bonfires surrounding the village green gave sufficient light for the festival. Dripping fat sizzled on coals below the rotating spits holding whole pigs. In seemingly endless supply, beer and cider ran in rivers and no mug remained empty for long. Men and women, old and young danced to the wild music teased out of the various instruments villagers possessed. Couples as young as seven and as old as seven and seventy performed the obligatory jumps over the central fire accompanied by wild cheers from the onlookers. Occasionally one or another couple would go off into the nearby woods and when younger celebrants asked their older companions, the latter replied that they went on to look for blooming ferns and when challenged on the fact that ferns don’t bloom got a knowing smile and explanation that on midsummers, they do bloom but that you should not look alone.

The young ladies including Gwen tied little white ribbons to the center post and danced around it holding tightly to one end of the ribbon. Soon the pole was covered in mesmerizing and varying patterns of white lace, contrasting the blackened wood underneath. The tying of the ribbon was an old tradition, as old as the festival itself. It meant that the lass tying the ribbon was ready for courting and looking for a husband, indicating that she was ready to start a family.

In addition to Gwendolen, there were three other girls her age dancing lively around the pole. Then there was the widow Farthane. Her husband passed away ten years ago and for the last five she took part in tying. It was an open secret that her eye was set on the Pastor who even now with nose red from the drink, led the crowd in another round of dance.

Her cheeks flushed red from the dance, Gwendolen stood back from the pole and looked up at it. It was beautiful, their combined weaving had achieved something that a single person could not even imagine. She took deep lingfulls of the sweet countryside air and turned around to get a refreshment. Her hand went to her mouth. There by the nearest table stood Robin, John and Arthur. Her heart picked up in tempo, beating twice as fast as the beat of the music.

Arthur nodded to John and took a step forward to approach her. It looked like Robin was about to follow but from a pointed glare from John, stopped in his tracks.

"Gwen," Arthur began. "I am not the man for you. You are as beautiful as a sunrise, smart and kind, but my heart belongs to someone else. We shall not see each other again." He lied smoothly. Then executed a perfect courtly bow and walked away leaving Gwendolen with her mouth open in wonder.

As Arthur walked past the table, he grabbed a beer mug and without looking at John, kept walking in the direction of the lake. John looked at Arthur, then at Gwendolen and back again. He let out a deep breath and approached Gwendolen.

“John,” Gwendolen began.

“Gwendolen. Nice evening.” He said awkwardly, shuffling his feet and looking down.

“It is but surely -” She began and was cut off by John’s next words.

“You are very lovely and I like you,” He took a deep breath and let it out in a whoosh. “But we have no future.” He finished. After a moment of silence he turned around and walked away, hands in his pockets. He too stopped by the table and picked up a mug before following Arthur.

Gwendolen was angry. Her cheeks were no longer red from the exertion but from pure rage. It was unjust. It was undignified. How dare these country bumkins reject her so! Wasn’t she the most lovely? Wasn’t she the best these idiots will ever get in their entire empty lives?
Thus fuming, she did not notice Robin approaching until he was right in front of her and cleared his throat.

"What do you want?!" She snapped. "Have you come to gloat? You insufferable lout. I could have been princess if only I was born to different parents! Now I'm stuck in this backwater poor and decrepit village!" She yelled.

"Gwen, I… please calm down." Robin said gently.

"I AM CALM!!!" She roared. “GET AWAY FROM ME! YOU.. YOU…” she sputtered in incoherent rage.

Robin turned bright red as several people nearby started to snicker. He swallowed a couple of times and said,"I see." Then turned around and walked away.

Gwendolen's shriek was so loud that the festival stopped to look at her. More angry than ever before, she gathered her skirts and ran away from the village green.

What’s so hard about pulling a sword out of a stone? The real work’s already been done. You ought to make yourself useful and find the man who put the sword in the stone in the first place, eh? - Circa A.D. 500 Author Unknown.

Arthur sat at the shore of the lake with a bitter smile on his face right when he heard the shriek of outrage. He looked up at the odd sky, pensive. The clouds had cleared around the lake and stars shone bright. The reflection in the still water of the lake seemed to be endless. The impression made more real by the sky and the lake meeting in the distance.

The gravel on the lake path crunched. Arthur continued to stare in the distance, not caring who approached.

John sat down, next to Arthur and did not say anything. He seemed to be consumed by his own inner reflections.

"Have you ever wondered what happened to the town that was here before?" Arthur asked eventually.

"Every kid has thought about it. I mean look," he pointed at the partially covered buildings foundation to their left. "It looks like it could have been a tavern. And look there, right by the stone you found your sword, I always imagined that the crumbling wall used to be part of mighty soldiers' barracks." John finished.

"I once asked Pastor about it. He did not know. Well, he said something about the wrath of God and coming of devils, you know how he is, but really he did not know. And he is the oldest villager here." Arthur said.

"Did your Gran warn you about playing among the ruins? Like my old mum did?" John asked.

"Yeah. Fairies would take me away. The Devil would kidnap my soul. You know the usual rubbish." Arthur stood up, still looking at the lake.

"This grown up thing is stupid. Both of us wanted to be with her. -"

"Judging by the shriek, I think we made the best decision." John interrupted.

"Being a man has nothing to do with wearing a sword. It's about choices. When you grow up, your choices matter more, decisions have bigger consequences. I thought that once you become a man, you can do whatever you want, make your own choices. It's not like that is it?" Arthur asked.

"Welcome to the grownup world." John answered.

"And this stupid sword. Makes me look like a peacock. I don't even know how to use it." He said and unbuckled the sword. Then hefted it by the belt and threw it into the water of the lake.

"I want to be a good man. Not a peacock or a fool. I want to make decisions that matter. Decisions that really matter. I will make this world a better place. I swear." He said.

"Arthur," John said, aghast.

"What?"

"Wasn’t that the sword you kept for the last nine years? The one that never needed cleaning or sharpening? The one you pulled out of a stone?." He asked.

“It’s just a sword. Swords don’t win arguments or support decision making.” Arthur replied with a shrug.

“True, but they lend weight to an argument.”

Their conversation was interrupted by a glow coming off of the surface of the lake.

Arthur turned around. The lake was glowing with an inner light. The stars, one by one turned black in the night sky and wind picked up in speed and ferocity, blowing from East to West trying to rip Arthurs clothing away.

Nearby crack of thunder and flash of lightning made Arthur jump. The air suddenly stilled and all grew silent. Arthur looked up at the sky and the clouds had made a face with eyes that seemed to glow.

The face opened its mouth and thundered, “Arthur!” it said. “You will be king....