Whispers from the Source
“Hoo-”
The fervor of the wedding had finally died down, and reports arrived from various regions detailing the commencement of the first winter patrols and training exercises. Along with them came plans yesterday for the inaugural large-scale reconnaissance operations to the west and north. From the border regions where the 1st Legion, 2nd Legion, and the 3rd Legion—practically a reserve force—would rotate duties every month, these documents signified that a full winter had truly settled over our Britannia.
The season of pure white. Not in a metaphorical sense, but literally: once deep winter gripped the land, it remained blanketed in snow without respite. Why did beasts like bears and wolves charge into managed roadsides, knowing it meant death? Why did wild animals and even barbarians grow so restless in autumn? All to survive the winter. This land's winters were so brutal that even with every preparation made, beasts and people still perished in droves. Starved or frozen. And this winter would be no different. For everyone in Britannia except us. The barbarians and untamed beasts would face the harsh season head-on. We were ready.
Years of bountiful harvests in the southeastern breadbasket around Londinium-Avalonia-Camulodunum had filled granaries across Romano-Britannia before last year's surpluses were even fully distributed. Securing the southern grazing lands from Dubris Fortress to Isca Dumnoniorum allowed us to unleash the precious wool stocks that Vortigern had hoarded away. With food and clothing secured, all that remained was shelter under roofs. Fortunately, before winter fully arrived, we completed the urgent makeshift settlements for the refugees below the wall and the new folk I'd taken in from north of it.
Crude as actual houses, yet substantial enough to call villages rather than camps, these settlements would now serve admirably as rear bases supporting the wall. I secretly hoped as much. Merlinus grumbled that they were just money pits for now, but absorbing over ten thousand refugees at once with no major issues showed Romano-Britannia could handle more. The locals and administrators I'd appointed would turn pale and beg otherwise.
One perk of being nominally Magister militum—and de facto king of Britannia without the crown—was that NIMBYism held no sway over me. I issued orders based on terrain, economy, growth potential, and military threats, and my subordinates had no choice but to comply. Thus, we built watchtowers aplenty, fortresses and barracks galore, and baths to my exact tastes, laying the foundation for the security and hygiene of the nation I envisioned.
Beyond that, Merlinus pushed to mint coins with my face immediately, but I talked him down to issuing silver pieces with a water drop symbolizing Avalonia's lake on one side and the mint date and my name on the reverse. We'd also taken on external requests. This coinage, in particular, came at the behest of the Frankish prince—now at an unofficial alliance level—who visited this autumn.
According to him, my rising fame in the east had boosted trust in Britannian goods. That led to questions about why we lacked our own currency, and Merlinus ranted about staring at fake Emperor Constantinus's face on gold coins or Honorius's forever. I held firm: too soon. If Britannian coin was needed, start simple with my name and Avalonia's symbol on silver.
Merlinus argued mountain folk recognize their lord by coin, and Prince Merowig said it promoted our trade goods. Fair points, but minting gold and silver emblazoned with my mug from Londinium's facilities would scream "new emperor in Britannia"—who knew how many we'd had already.
...Wait. On second thought, maybe that's exactly what Merlinus and Merowig aimed for. These radical Roman and half-barbarian. Merlinus never hid his independence leanings, and Merowig, straddling Roman and barbarian worlds, might welcome Britannia clashing with the Roman heartland—forcing closer Frankish ties. Constantinus in Gaul already feuded with Italy's Honorius, dodging "barbarian emperor" slurs.
Someday, perhaps. But not now, with all those burdens. Keep Italy at arm's length: merchants trading freely, no severed flows, eyeing each other like strange dogs. That distance suited us. Once Constantinus or Honorius crumbled and southern Gaul and Hispania's fates clarified, we'd reassess. Until then, this worked. Nothing left to hide: Britannia was mine. And perhaps the northern Gallic coast around Rotomagus too.
Thus, borders secure, cities like Londinium buzzing toward the nearing solar festival, roads maintained, supplies tallied. Insiders and spies alike nodded at Romano-Britannia's transformation in a mere year. And yet here I was, sleepless, slipping from bed to sit perched on its edge.
“...”
“Phew- P-”
Guinevere's soft breaths. This lovely woman always slept deeply beside me, tensions melted away. I gazed at her, pulling the fur blanket higher to her nape.
Since our wedding night, we slept nude, so last night's exertions must have worn her out. No matter my care, this body was too strong—gratitude and guilt mingled for her.
[Creak-]
I rose carefully, but my weight drew a faint groan from the bed. How long would this one last? The last met its end on our wedding night. Hopefully this endured longer. Calling servants for a broken bed felt embarrassing every time.
[Rustle-]
I draped my fur cloak-overcoat and settled in a dainty chair, filling a glass with water. Staring out the window, I pondered these recent dawn wakings.
“Dreams...”
Dreams. Yes, dreams. I'd never expected this, but nightly visions plagued me. Mostly not my memories—early parts blurry, but endings always closing eyes in some place. A tiny spring. I figured the lake lady sent these signals for a reason. Her will, conveyed not in words but intent, surely meant for me.
Studying maps, I'd pinpointed the spring's location. Problem: if this "Primal Spring," it lay far from our Britannia.
“Here.”
[Thud]
“Aegyptus... where that long river begins. And deep underground caves, long forgotten.”
Caves my ancestors' distant forebears once called home, beyond the river I knew as Egypt's Nile. She kept urging: it's there, upstream and upstream. And what she wanted? A single drop from that deep cave spring. Perhaps a skinful, a gourd? No more. But why? Its meaning eluded me. Who comprehends mysteries in this world? Even I, a reincarnator—a mystery myself—didn't grasp her.
Caliburnus stood proud, reminding me this wasn't mere fancy. Apple trees bore ripe, red fruit every two weeks to a month, even midwinter—not just healthy, but miraculous. Avalonia's specialty: winter apples. Year-round bounty! Folks accepted it now, bundled with the glowing lake, the sword from its depths, and my drawing it—official holy site.
Nightly pilgrims from across Britannia swarmed the lakeside apples or hauled water, taxing Londinium and Avalonia guards patrolling its bounds.
“...Maybe I should pray for real.”
I thought it'd fade with a few nights' sleep, but dreams sharpened. Guinevere, knowing of the lady from me, urged lake prayers for guidance. Too occult, superstitious—unsettling. But if it persisted, I'd try. Besides, wasn't I the epitome of occult here? Reincarnated, no less. Doubting felt absurd. Bottoms up, rip the bull's horn quick.
I donned fur-trimmed leather breeches under the cloak, grabbed Caliburnus, and slipped out. Silent hinges—servants' fine work—let me exit house, garden arches, grand gateway.
My night guards—family now—got shoulder claps of thanks as I strolled to the nearby lakeshore. The still water rippled underfoot, frozen soldiers thawed by my praise. No matter the cold or snow, this lake never froze, nor its surrounds whitened. All about it brimmed mystery.
[Splash-]
I dipped a hand, eyes closed. Inwardly: Lady of the Lake, do you seek me? If so, answer. Artorius is here.
Felt ridiculous mumbling mentally.
"I awoke and beheld thy kingdom, Artorius. Mankind hath grown vigorous yet frail."
“...”
The instant reply jolted my eyes open; I yanked my hand free.
“...”
Staring blankly at my hand, I slowly reimmersed it. The voice resumed.
"Yet thou art another form of mine own. Where thy power reaches, so shall mine. Now my strength is slight, aiding little. But if thou restorest my origin unto me... I shall grant far more to thee and thy children."
Who are you? May I call you Lady of the Lake? What am I to you? What do you offer? Do you know why I was reborn? So many questions. Hear me?
"For now, we are distant echoes. As thou or thy folk draw near the origin, our voices shall converge. I shall watch over thee, Artorius. Artorius."
My words didn't reach. Pausing, she slowly repeated the first line.
"I awoke and beheld thy kingdom, Artorius. Mankind hath-"
Like a looped message, I stared blankly at the lake for a time. So, the Lady of the Lake had given me a quest?