English, no my language so Im sorry about the mistakes.

Brochvael's, Powys king's sleep was restless. He dreamed of an endless struggle that blazed all over Albion. He saw his friends and allies to die one after the other. He saw the destruction of their castle and lands. His empire collapsed. He saw his wife and children beheaded, their heads hanging from the highest tower. Eventually, he was alone, alone without hope, the blood-stained sword in his hand and he raised it to end his own life. But when he impaled himself and fell to the ground, his heart rate didn't stopped. He followed how the ravens ate the corpses front of him, and how death overtook him, without touching his bruised body. Endless life, endless horror. Brochvael woke up screaming in horror, sweating and trembling.

It took a long time before he calmed down before he got asserted himself that all was a dream. Just a nightmare, albeit a very life-like living nightmare, and he knew that he would never forget the feeling that came over him when he looked at the destruction of all the loved ones around him. He leaned his head back into the pillow, and lay motionless, until he came upon a vague feeling that someone looked at him. Tiredly he moved his bed curtains, and looked around. No one. He was pressing back under the blankets, when the shadows moved of a lonely candlelight. The king startled.

"Who's there?"

His voice was a hoarse whisper in the darkness.

"Is that you who captured the king of Camelot?"

Brochvael popped up from a shocked awareness that someone was really in his chamber.

"Who are you?" He asked again, and the shadow stepped forward to reveal a man who had a blue jacket, with twists and turns were decorated with silverembroideries dragons. He was tall, skinny, sharp feature and dark hair. Brochvael desperately tried to remember where he had seen this man before.

"Who are you? How dare you enter my room? Guards! "The king raised his sword.

"They can not hear you. Answer me. " Although the man's voice was muffled, the exuding sense of coldness made the king hesitate. He noticed that his hands were shaking.

"Answer." The man demanded and although his voice still not elevated, Brochvael gasped.

"Yes. Arthur is in prison here." He tried to sound proud, but front of this man his voice voice betrayed him. The man's eyes flashed golden.

"Warlock ..."

"You show me the way to where he is." The warlock stepped forward and Brochvael instinctively retreated, stumbling upon a bed post.

"Nobody, nobody, not even the warlock will tell me what I ..."

The golden flash. Candle flames rose high, and overarched toward the bed from the ceiling, setting it on the fire. It bursts into flames, and the king leaped forward in terror.

"Take me to him."

No longer daring to say a word, the king opened the door and stepped into the corridor. The guards looked at him in wonder.

"Your Majesty?" One of them asked, puzzled, when the king retreated ever further from the door.

"Shut up!" The command didn't, however, came at the king but on the mysterious man who followed him. His voice's power made the guards back off. His eyes sparkle golden.

I say this only once. Whoever wants to save his skin, flee now. I only give one chance, although I think that even that is a bit too much. His words echoed in their minds and anxious Brochvael scrambled away.

"But you, you show me the way." A man's face flashes a grin that resembled a wolf.

They walked through the corridors, the king glancing terrified over his shoulder the warlock who followed him heartlessly. Each of the guard, which they passed, heard the same warning. And every one of them escaped.

So they walked down down to the deepest parts of the fortress, the darkest places.

"There, there he is." The king finally revealed one of these doors that hasn't even been locked from the outside. The man's whole being exuded strength and anger. His voice was a mere whisper of sheer rage and detained. He didn't turned his gaze away from the door toward the retreating king.

"Today, I'm in gentle mood and allow you to leave. Flee, and flee far as my arm is long. And when you think that you are safe, flee more, because there is nothing to stop me from chasing you all over the world if he is dead. Escape and the hope that the nightmare will be the only remembrance of me. "

Brochvael turned around and not stopped from running for a long time.