Our pilot guided the ship into the cliff-bound bay, whereupon we made landfall at a stone-built dock and led our horses up the hill to the track. We then proceeded directly across the island to the western coast, passing by bright woods and dark-crested forests, and wide, green, flower-speckled meadows sown through with freshets and brooks, reaching the Fair Folk settlement as the last red-flamed rays of the sun dwindled into the sea.

I saw for the first time the two tall white towers, now glowing red-gold in the setting sun, which rose from a wall-enclosed mound overlooking the sea. Inside the wall, the high-pitched roof of a goodly hall glinted like silver scales, or glass, as the slate caught the light. Sheep grazed on the stronghold mound outside the walls, their white fleeces turned a rosy gold in the light, the grass shining like emerald. A clear stream sang its glistening way around the whole as it plunged to the sea-cliffs beyond. Horses roamed at will, noses sunk in the sweet-scented grass.

The Wise Emrys shouted with joy when he beheld the shining stronghold. He opened his mouth and sang out a hymn of holy praise, and lashed his horse to a gallop so that he might enter the gates all the sooner. I followed as fast as I could, marvelling at the blessed sight before me.

In all, the place seemed to me an Otherworldly paradise, a realm of gods on earth. I was confirmed in this observation when we rode through the narrow, high-arched gates and glimpsed the Fair Folk themselves moving about their tasks – much remained to be done before the fortress would be fully settled.

Tall and many-favoured, they are a handsome race. Fair to look upon, graceful, straight-limbed, firm of flesh, the elder race is greatly to be admired. The Creator's glory is much manifest in them. Yet for all their comeliness and favour they are a melancholy people; their time is not long in this worlds-realm and they regret it bitterly.

We were met by Fair Folk who recognized the Emrys and called him by name as they ran to hold our horses. 'Merlin! Summon the king! Merlin is here!'

Avallach greeted us as we dismounted. A dark mane of curly hair, quick dark eyes, and a dark beard coiled in the manner of eastern kings gave him an ominous, threatening aspect, which his deep, thundering voice did not altogether dispel. The Bear of Britain is a big man, and Myrddin is not small, but the Fisher King stood head and shoulders above both. For all this, he was not awkward or slow in his movements as men of such size often are; the innate grace of his kind was in him. Nevertheless, as he strode towards us I marvelled that the earth did not shake beneath his feet.

The king's dark eyes glinted and white teeth flashed a smile in his dark beard. 'Merlin! I give you good greeting! Welcome home.'

The Emrys embraced the king and then stood off to view the stronghold. 'It is not the palace on the Tor,' he said. I thought I heard a note of sadness in his voice.

'No,' agreed Avallach, 'it is not. Ah, but I was growing weary with the Glass Isle. The good brothers were happy to have the palace and will make excellent use of it – a scriptorium, I believe, and a larger hospice. The sick make pilgrimage to Shrine Hill in ever-increasing numbers. They will find it a peaceful place.' He paused and lifted a hand to the gleaming palace. 'But come, Merlin. My hall has not yet been baptized with song – and now that you are here, that oversight can be corrected. Come, we will lift the guest cup.'

'I would enjoy nothing more,' the Emrys said, 'but I must greet my mother first.'

'Of course!' cried Avallach. 'She is in the grove, directing the planting. Go to her and bring her back. I will await you in the hall. Go!' The Fisher King waved us away.

We hurried from the yard, passed through the gates and made our way along the wall to the west side facing the sea. There, on the sunny slopes above the sheer cliffs, the Lady of the Lake had established her apple grove. The trees were sprigs and saplings brought from the Tor, and she knelt at one of them, pressing the earth around its roots with her hands

At our approach she raised her head, saw her son and smiled. My heart soared. She seemed an earthly goddess such as the Learned Brotherhood revere in their ancient songs. But the derwydd speak in ignorance, for the flesh-and-bone reality far surpasses their bloodless ideal.

She rose to her feet and, brushing dirt from her mantle and her hands, walked quickly towards us. I could not move, or look away. All my life I had heard of the Lady of the Lake and, seeing her, knew the utter worthlessness of words justly to describe what lies beyond their scan. Hair like sunlight on flax, eyes green as forest glades, skin as soft and white as… it was hopeless.

'My mother, Charis,' the Emrys was saying. I came to myself with a start, realizing I had been transfixed by the Lady of the Lake's astonishing beauty.

'I – I am your servant,' I stammered, and blanched at my ineptitude.

Charis honoured me with a smile. She linked arms with her son and they began walking back to the yard together. I was happily, and gratefully, forgotten in their reunion. I was more than content to follow on behind. Fragments of their conversation drifted back to me, and I listened.

'… sorry to leave the Tor,' Charis said, 'but it is for the best… '

'… difficult, I know… much closer… be together more often now… '

'… a blessed place. We will be happy here… the Tor… too many… Avallach could not abide it… so much has changed… '

We reached the gates; Charis halted and embraced her son, holding him for a long moment. 'I am glad you have come; I could not be happier. Arthur has been so good to us. We will do all to repay his trust and generosity.'

'There is no need. I have told you, the High King views Avallach as an ally, and needs a strong hand to hold this island. It is an ancient and holy place – there should be a church here. With you and grandfather here, there will be a church and more: a monastery, a llyfrwy for your books, a hospice for the sick. Your work will flourish here.'

The Lady of the Lake kissed her son, and they walked through the gates. We crossed the yard and entered the king's hall to be greeted with rich cups of silver and horn filled with sweet golden mead. I was offered to drink as well, and did so, but it might have been muddy water in my cup for all I noticed. The hall of the Fisher King stole away my thirst.

High-vaulted the roof and many pillared, the structure could have held three hundred warriors at table with room for the bards, priests, stewards, serving boys, dogs, and all the retinue that went with them. At one end of the long room lay an enormous hearth, at the other a screen of gold-painted ox-hide, with the king's chambers beyond. The floor was of white cut stone, covered with fresh rushes; the pillars were timber, stripped, bound together and carved in upward spiralling grooves.

The king had ordered chairs to be set up, but we did not sit. Instead, we stood sipping the mead and talking – rather, they talked, I simply stared about me at the hall. Hearth and pillars, tessellated floor, and high-pitched roof – it was unlike any I had ever seen. What I saw, of course, was Fair Folk craft, blended with the lively artistry of the Celt.

Later, after our evening meal, the Great Emrys sang in the hall of the Fisher King for his mother and all gathered there. He sang The Dream ofRhonabwy, a tale I did not know and had never heard before. Both beautiful and disturbing, I believe it was a true tale but its truth had not yet taken place in the world of men; much of the song's meaning had to do with future things, I think. Though the High King was not directly mentioned, Arthur was several times implied.

This is what Myrddin sang…

In the first days of Ynys Prydein, when the dew of creation was still fresh on the earth, Manawyddan ap Llyr ruled in the Island of the Mighty, and this is the way of it.