“We are taking Arthur to a place of safety, to care for him and give him rest.”
“Where? We would like to honor him. We will bring tribute to his grave.”
The old woman shook her head sadly. “You do not understand. Arthur will never die. When he is needed, he will return. We will care for him until then.”
Parcival indicated the battlefield around him. “He is needed now! If you have the power to heal him, please send him back soon.”
“Your need is not yet great enough,” she said.
“Not great enough? Britain is in ruins. Camelot is no more. When will we be in greater need?”
Fire glinted in her eyes and an unaccountable thrill of fear struck Parcival. He shuddered but stood his ground. If there was a chance Arthur could be returned to them, his life was a small price to pay.
“Your land will see great wars, Parcival. Each will have its heroes. Arthur will return when he is most needed, have no fear.”
Now fast-forward 2.000 years . . .