Arthurian Cultivation

Lance sat across from her mother, surrounded by candles. She may never want to be a witch, to truly tap into the powers of an oracle, but that did not mean she was foolish enough to reject the gift outright. She'd learned enough to understand the glamour.

Her mother though had been a prodigy. Lance had heard it many times, how she'd grown up in her Coven being lavished with attention, she was pushed too far, asked to use her powers to darker purposes. Her mother refused and had been driven out, forced to leave lest she find herself silenced. That same skill was on full display now. The pair of them working together to pull on the Dream Weave, the name oracles gave to the collection of dream glamour that formed at the back of everyone's minds.

Oracles didn't foretell the future, they pulled on the thousands of threads of dream glamour from the sleeping minds of humans, fae beasts, and if they were unlucky the fae themselves. This massed collection could be read by those talented in the skill, it could be asked questions and used to search for people, or by high-level cultivators was a tool to invade and influence the dreams of others.

Lance was not at that level, nor did she ever expect to be, she'd always wanted to be a knight. Her skill with a blade was second to none at her age. It felt right, her body came alive with a sword in her hand. But her gifts meant that those around her were creeping past her. Dream was useless for Levity, and could do little to the waking mind. The one thing she'd managed to do was spy on her opponent's skills before a battle, that was the very limit of her skills, and that only worked when enough people had seen them fight.

The collected memories of those moments of battle gathered in hazy images she could try and glean insights from. It was barely worth the headaches it caused, but she needed every edge.

With her limited gifts, the only other thing she could half do was guard herself against others, reducing her imprint in the weave.

The one thing she was good at was helping her mother. Together they dipped into the weave, appearing as they often did at her mother's dream space.

They sat in a stone room from her coven days, opposite sides of a huge cast iron cauldron filled with liquid silver.

“Now you remember the questions we agreed upon?” Her mother stressed the point. 'Mum' isn't what you call a woman draped in dreams and shadows.

“Yes, I remember them.”

“Keep them clear in your mind, these are the kinds of questions others will be watching for. We also stray near breaking our oath to the Bard, which is a poor way to repay his generosity and violate our role as host.” Her Mother was a witch at her core, and they took rules of hospitality and oaths extremely seriously.

“I mean are we sure he's not lying to us?”

“Banish that thought from your mind lest it cloud our work here. Your father and I are sure, that is enough.” Lance was quiet. Her mother was stricter than her dad and would brook no discussion on this. The strange cultivator had barged into their lives and sent everything spinning. She'd felt crippled not knowing what her glamour was, and now felt paralysed after learning she might not be able to use it for fear of the attention it would bring. It grated on her would, now she knew what it was the prickling sensation to pull upon, the temptation to use it, had grown tenfold.

People had already started whispering that she was one of those who had only a single gift, one twice as powerful as others, a rare and celebrated occurrence. It made sense to them, explaining why she was in such a foul mood, and why the Lady in Peach was interested in her. They thought she was an Oracle playing around with a sword, her future to be locked away and protected as an asset to a House, Coven or Order.

“Focus Lancelot, we must ask the first question.” Her mother was lost in shadows, dressed in the blacks and faded grey of the witches. She was in her training gear, it manifested around her, outside her control, shaped by her thoughts. She focused on the whistling harvest method, she imagined her lips breathing in, aiming to pull in only the threads of glamour that responded to the question.

Dad would jump. He sat guarding them as he must, he said that even after years of experience the way they both started to whistle in their sleep set his teeth on edge. How she hated being a dream-gifted, seriously who else had to be asleep to cultivate properly?

“Our first question this night. Does the attention of Albion and its allies rest on our home?” The question was carefully crafted, most powers of Euross had defences prepared against dream cultivators, naming the power directly or even worse a specific person could trigger a backlash.

She let her lips pull in the tendrils of glamour that felt alive, that twitched in regards to her question. She had her mother to help filter out the mess, and between them, they gathered a fair bit of glamour. The pair breathed that out over the liquid silver, the mirror rippling as if a storm crossed it.

The ripples lasted long after their breath stilled. The chopping waves included distorted images, bits of pieces of memory and scattered moments, distorted by the dream glamour. All were near incomprehensible to Lance, she dutifully watched them anyway. She got that vaguest sense of an answer from them, a sort of ‘My sources say no’ kind of non-response. Her mother looked to get much more from them, her shoulders slid out of the worried hunch they'd held since she’d lit candles in the waking world.

“We're in luck. Unless carefully hidden, no attention sits on us.” Lance hadn't believed they would know, but it was nice to have the confirmation. Her mother hurried her along, the longer they stayed her the more likely they were to be sensed by other dream cultivators. “Now to the second question, what do people believe Lancelot's gifts are.”

Again the question wording was important, while 'who' Lancelot was provided by their will, they didn't need to be specific as to which Lancelot. That was under their control but if they were specific and said 'second gift' it would miss those who might think her first gift was the Moon, or those who thought she only had one gift.

Equally, if they asked the weave ‘Does anyone know Lance has the moon gift?’ they might draw out those who listened for such questions. Revealing themselves to the very people they were trying to avoid.

The liquid silver was a frothing mess, Lance could just about get a sense with a yes or no question, but this was complete chaos to her eyes. Her mother could read it like a beginners illuminated text, and looked more relieved than before. Their worst worries were banished. “All appears good. The belief you’re twice gifted with dream is strong. ”

“Now onto the last question. Is anyone tailing our guest, do they watch him?” Her mother spoke and Lancelot aided her, doing her utmost best to keep the traitorous part of her brain that wanted to know who he was at bay. She focused on whistling while fuming at her parents for being so cautious.

She was no fool, she didn’t believe her dad’s theory that Taliesin had met the fabled Lady. The Lady was the patron of powerful warriors, kings, and those who would change the world. It made sense that he had seen Moon glamour in action if he was part of their courts, it was enough to meet cultivator royalty, and his mystique did not need Fae royalty added to it.

As she whistled she caught the threads around her, pulling them towards but not into her Hearth. Pulling dream straight into the Hearth was a recipe for a bad end, just like the other gifts like death which contained a great amount of the will of those that generated them. Instead, she worked to move the mana around her hearth, spinning it, binding it, helping what was already there grow. In turn, her hearth imparted a little of her will to the dream glamour.

Pulling in the glamour she was almost done when her breath hitched, the whistle fluttering. She’d caught an indigestible string of mana. She was a fish on a hook, she’d played at fighting her mother, but that felt like a torrent of water trying to force her to obey. Not the absolute command that had her now.

The world around them shimmered, they were no longer in the witch's cottage. She and her mother were on warm grass around a perfectly circular pool, a crescent sliver of moonlight bearing down on them. As before they sat opposite each other. Her mother’s hand was held up, urging her to stay still. Lance hated being a dream-gifted.

“Oh, my. What a surprise.” A gentle voice, a motherly voice. Walking out from the impenetrable gloom was a being of myth and legend. Lance averted her eyes, catching but the hint of the most gorgeous face she’d ever beheld.

“We offer our apologies, we did not mean to intrude.”

“No, no this is my fault. I did not think this through, I should’ve known this might happen. I’m just impressed, my Harlequin has been so efficient. Besides it’s a genuine pleasure to see the echoes of Ban in my presence again.”

“What?” how did she know her dad's name, the fae shouldn't be able to use his name unless the most dire circumstances had come to pass.

“Daughter be silent.” her mother's voice was a whip crack.

“Oh don’t worry, I am seeing out an ancient debt. One I owe to Ban’s father. You are safe in my presence as your father was for a time.” Lance felt her mind reel at that, what did any of that mean? How was the Lady, the greatest of all Fae in debt to anyone let alone this mysterious grandfather? What could it mean that she knew her dad's name? None of this made sense, but her mother was right she should be silent. Also her Harlequin? That had to mean Taliesin, so the Bard did actually know the Lady. Oh by all the seelie they'd asked if anyone was tracking him!

“We thank you for this knowledge oh Lady of the Lake. Tell us what you wish in exchange” Her mother's voice was dry and formal.

“You're not listening I can tell.” She sounded frustrated.

“Oh, Lady let us know how we can appease you.” her mother's voice cracked with the strain.

“The Bard made this much easier. Yes, that's it, I shall get him.” The otherworldly presence shifted, her voice commanding. “Taliesin, I have need of your services.”