Legends of Avalon: The Chosen One

Beside the stone he silent stood, A peasant born of humble blood. The lords did laugh, the crowd did jeer, “What hope hath he? What brings him here?”

Yet in his breast the fire burned bright, He dreamt of halls and silver light. And still the words of Merlin’s tongue Did in his soul like echoes rung:

“He that draweth Caliburn bright, Shall be crown’d with royal right; King o’er land and lord o’er hall, Camelot shall heed his call.”

The boy stretched forth a trembling hand, And grasped the hilt as fate had planned. The stone did groan, the heavens sighed, A light like dawn did break the sky.

The sword leapt forth, the steel did sing, The peasants gasped, the knights did ring. And in that moment, all were still, As awe did mount o’er vale and hill.

The boy stood tall, his gaze serene, No longer lowly, meek, unseen. And Merlin’s voice rang clear and true: “Behold the one the fates did hew!”

The crowd did part, the world did claim, The name of him who rose to fame: Arthur—child of earth and stone, The Chosen One, the king full-grown.

Yet though the sword was now his own, And destiny’s first seed was sown, The winds did whisper, clouds did part, Of quests and trials yet to start.

No crown nor hall could yet confine The paths that fate would yet design. So Arthur stood, both known and free, Awaiting all his world to see.