by GR Griffin
Arthur’s eyes drifted from the sword swiftly.
“Do you want to make me look like a fool?” he hissed bleakly to Merlin, unable to tear his gaze away from the hundreds of loyal People that had come to witness his apparent act of valour today. At these words, at this accusation, Merlin glowered and snapped back with ferocity.
“No. I’m going to make you see that William was wrong,” he lowered his voice. “You are special and you alone can draw out that sword.”
Time made no movement to press on, allowing the pair a moment to slip out of the present and into an endless stretch of seconds. Merlin’s eyes radiated everything Arthur was too afraid to, their electric stare set the forest ablaze. Everything was burning blue and crimson red. Arthur felt the will, the desire Merlin had for him to succeed in this. But it was more than that; Merlin was so certain that this could be done. He loved him, trusted him. However, this desperate, selfless sensation to see Arthur become all he could be – it was overpowering, to think somebody could love him that much. Merlin did. A newfound swell of courage spread through his veins. Merlin was right, they’d faced many things together and pulling a sword out of a rock was by far not the most compromising or life-threatening. Time chose this moment to spring them back into the present.
It happened before Arthur could think about it. His hands reached for the blade, wrapping around the hilt tightly. He stared intensely at the sword, then at the stone, deciphering how he could somehow pull it out. At first he tried brute strength and tried to literally heave the blade from the stone. Clasping the sword tighter, he rested one foot against the stone, using his entire body to pull and pull with all the strength he could muster. A few seconds in and he was panting, sweat dripping down his forehead. He didn’t give up. He continued pulling, frantically trying to do what it seemed only he could do. Only right now, he couldn’t do it. The doubts flickered in his mind and after one tug too many, his body unexpectedly gave way. Falling to the ground, Arthur winced at the singe of pain. His muscles burned, his heart was racing. His breath was ragged and uneven.
Nobody said a word. Gwen cupped her mouth with her hands; Morgana gritted her teeth, fiery eyes locked on her brother.
“You have to believe Arthur,” Merlin whispered as Arthur got back onto his feet and slowly made his way towards the sword. “You are destined for this.”
He put both his hands on the hilt once more, clutching it desperately. He had to do this. If he didn’t pull this sword out now, the People would never follow him into battle. They all believed he could do it. Merlin’s voice lulled his worries, and he loosened his grip on the sword.
“Nothing not even this stone can stand in your way.”
Releasing the sword, Arthur eyed it pensively, Merlin’s words running through his head. This time, he raised one hand tentatively to the hilt. Inhaling a deep breath he clasped his eyes shut. Everything depended on this moment, this was the turning point for Albion, for himself. Taking a step forwards, Merlin swallowed-hard, watching the scene.
“Have faith.”
Arthur did. He had more faith than ever before, crashing down upon him all at once. He could feel the faith of every Druid here rushing towards him. He could feel Aithusa, Kilgarrah, he could even feel Albion. It was in his heart, the dragon heart. His magic coursed through his veins, warming his skin. There it was, he could feel it, that name. He was the Once and Future. Right now, in this moment, he was never surer of anything in his life. He was the Once and Future. He was going to pull this sword out and stop his father. He was going to save Albion. With one motion he pulled upwards, and the sound of metal against stone sounded through his ears. Opening his eyes slowly, he watched as the sword slipped out of the stone, rising into air, in his hand. Determinedly he held it there, gazing out at the silent crowd before him.
Blinking back tears, Merlin gaped as the blade effortlessly came free from the stone, plunging triumphantly in the air. Arthur had done it. He had freed Excalibur from the stone. A broad smile swept over his face, the tears now inescapable and frequent. His Arthur, he had finally proven to himself what everybody else already knew. Aithusa let out a strident roar, blue flames spurting into the air, followed by Kilgarrah and with that the Druids began chanting, singing, screaming. All cheering for Arthur. He felt his lips betray him a wobbly smile etch over his face, revealing his teeth. He gazed over to Morgana who was beaming, Gwaine was grinning and Leon was staring at Arthur in complete awe. Zelina practically melted into a mush of angst and unrequited love (or lust- it was hard to tell). It was William’s reaction that stunned Arthur, he was…smiling. The Druid that hated his guts was smiling? Confidence renewed, Arthur thrust the sword higher in the air, the cheering grew louder and more dominant, echoing across Iaonem.
Arthur took this moment to look back at Merlin, bursting into a stream of laughter emanating pure glee and victory. The Druid was crying, a broad smile on his face. Eyes flashing gold, Merlin outstretched his palm and Excalibur and Arthur for that matter began to glow in the sunlight, appearing otherworldly almost. Arthur raised his eyebrows at Merlin in disapproval who shrugged innocently, unable to stop smiling. He didn’t care that he was probably embarrassing the blonde man more than necessary. Everything was coming into place, the final surge of hope spread over the people.
Arthur had pulled out the legendary Excalibur from the ancient stone.
Arthur had risen to the test of the old rulers.
Arthur Pendragon was the Once and Future.
And for the first time, Arthur believed it.
♦☼♦
“You did it then.” The voice detached Arthur from his training session. He lowered the beautiful Excalibur, gazing over to the man in shock. For a moment he remained silent, unsure what to say to the man. Beneath those words was a confession; he could hear it, even if Will was too stubborn to admit it. What this confession meant however was another matter entirely. Offering a weak smile, Arthur walked towards him.
“You’re not the only one who was surprised.” He admitted with a breathy laugh, gazing down at the blade in his hands in awe. He had pulled this sword out of solid stone, alone. How he had done it still baffled him. But it didn’t matter because he had done it to his own astonishment. The brown haired man took a step closer, swallowing-hard. Raising his eyebrows, Arthur decided to make things easier for Will.
“Come on then, aren’t you going to tell me you still don’t trust me, or that pulling out this sword means nothing?” a small smirk slid over his lips. He was too exhilarated with the success of the day to take heart to anything Will had to say. Feeling the tension dribble from his skin, the blonde continued for good measure with a hint of sarcasm. “Alongside summoning the White Dragon and freeing your people from Camelot, of course it’s all a wicked ploy.”
Of course; he was certain Merlin would have scolded him for his teasing by now. But Merlin wasn’t here and who said a little verbal onslaught (subtle at that) was harmful? William had dealt enough lashings of his sharp tongue in the past six months after all. It was at this moment that Arthur established the man hadn’t replied. Funny. William never seemed reluctant to snap back at him. He seemed reserved, posture straight and lips parted slightly. As no response came, Arthur decided rather than standing there waiting for a reply he would put his time to good use. He went back to hauling his sword against the tree trunk, silk blue cloak swinging behind him enigmatically. After four slashes, Will finally spoke. His next words caught Arthur completely off-guard.
“I wasn’t surprised.”
Arthur nearly dropped his sword as he stumbled forwards. Stunned at the lack of assault and insults thrown his way, Arthur gazed at Will, as if seeing him for the first time. They met eyes across the clearing hesitantly. Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to weed out the true motives behind these nice words, because Will had never been nice to him just to be nice. To his confusion, he found nothing but sincerity, a very well masked sincerity at that. Will averted his eyes almost reservedly, backing a
way from Arthur. Dumbfounded, Arthur watched the man fade into the bustle of Iaonem. What on earth had just happened? Was this a strange gesture of acceptance or withdrawal? Whatever it was, it led to Arthur’s – totally involuntarily – smiling into the amber sunlight.
♦☼♦
The moment Arthur pulled the sword from the stone was the moment Morgana was certain that Uther could not win this battle. Albion was strong, she was invincible. Morgana had watched, infinitely proud, tears spewing from her eyes as her brother unsheathed the mighty weapon from its resting place. The sun had shone down upon him, depicting him as a reverent angel, bringing transcendence and joy to the People. The moment had been perfect, and she would never forget what he had done. Arthur, her brother. He had found the White Dragon, he had freed the people, and he had claimed Excalibur. He was a hero, a legend, a myth and a reality. A sad smile dusted her lips. She half-expected Leon to be dancing around like a mindless child, completely enamored by the legends and magical history.
He wasn’t, to say the least.
In fact, he was sat pensively, hands in his lap, staring out across Iaonem. Morgana had a feeling this wouldn’t bode well, for Leon had always been a noble, generous man. He would not sit back and watch the People prepare for battle, unless something grave was troubling him. She feared she knew exactly what it was only she didn’t want to admit it to herself. They had barely spoken since her…public admission of her gifts, which was less of an admission and more of a surprise to most. Looking back, she figured declaring she’d had an important vision loudly in the middle of Iaonem wasn’t the best way to tell him. Nonetheless, the vision was important and she had needed Merlin’s guidance. Not that Leon was unimportant. But they were going to war. Feelings and sentiments clouded judgement, got in the way. It would have to be cast aside and forgotten for a moment.
After days of meticulously dancing around him, avoiding his eyes like a plague and yet watching his every move, Morgana decided it was probably time to talk to him. Her hands were clammy, eyes wide. It would have helped if she knew what on earth she was going to say. Raking a hand through her untamed black hair, she sighed. A voice from behind caused her to jump, eyes flashing gold in warning momentarily. Her shock faded when she met the amused expression on Arthur’s face. He was leaning against his sword, the tip pressed into the ground.
“You should speak to him, he hasn’t been himself lately.” He admitted, gesturing over towards Leon knowingly. For a moment she let her guard slip, allowing Arthur to witness the worry that flashed through her eyes. Satisfied at her reaction, he leant over his sword, lips tugging upwards.
“You mustn’t be afraid to show that you care for him Morg.”
This only received a snort and a snide remark in return.
“Are you trying to counsel me dear brother?” Morgana tilted her head coyly, a grin slipping over her mouth.
Arthur’s eyes lit up in glee, sparing with his sister was just too much fun and so hard to resist. She seemed to forget in heated moments like this that he knew her better than anyone in the world. They’d spent their lives together, grown up together. She was the closest family he had left in the world. Fondly, he leant closer over the sword, gazing into her eyes.
“Don’t be so defensive,” he goaded her ego lightly, pulling what he hoped would be his amiable charm. A second later his expression darkened, voice low and full of honesty. “I’m trying to help you. All you’ve done the past few days is wear yourself out with your gifts.”
Morgana smiled weakly, understanding his concern. She had been working endlessly to control her visions under the guidance of Taliesin. It wasn’t easy and was time-consuming. But it was necessary, beneficial to the good of Albion, to save it. Yes she hadn’t slept well for days, or managed to appreciate the company of good friends. Once this was all over, she would. Arthur seemed to have guessed what she was thinking effortlessly and continued.
“You’ve been spending all your time forecasting the future and whilst that’s brilliant and helpful, you’re forgetting something.” Pause. “The present.”
A laugh escaped her lips, startling the blonde. All at once the release of tension, the fatigue overbearing her system poured from her skin. A genuine smile cast over her face, eyes twinkling with mirth and the passion they always retained. Raising his eyebrows inquisitively, he gestured for her to explain her peculiar reaction to his words. Nonetheless, he was relieved to see his sister happy again.
“Merlin warned me this would happen.”
Arthur was too blissfully aware of her smile to notice the dark undertone to her words, the severity embedded beneath the light delicacy. Pressing a hand against her shoulder comfortingly, Arthur smiled.
“He’s right. You should heed his words, he’s a wise man.” Immediately he gazed around the clearing and poked a finger in his sister’s face. “But you didn’t hear that from me.”
“Oh gods forbid Merlin knowing you’ve given him a complement.” She said humourously.
“In all seriousness,” Arthur snapped, though his eyes still sparkled with mischief. “This could be the last night we are all together…” the gravity of that statement seemed to slow time, allowing a wave of comprehension to crash over them. Until now, Uther’s arrival had been nothing but a whisper among the resistance. But it was happening, and it was coming. “Don’t push away the people you care for Morg, not now with what’s at stake. There’s no telling what will happen out there tomorrow, what we will face-“
“Are you quite finished with your doom and gloom speech?” Morgana asked with a labored sigh glancing over to Leon. She turned back to him quickly, afraid he’d seen. Gripping his sword in his hand, Arthur smirked in amusement. His eyes flickered between her and Leon in the background.
“For now.” He picked his sword up from the ground, slinging it over his shoulder casually. “Come find me after you’ve snogged Leon senseless-”
“-Shut-up Arthur!”
♦☼♦
This was the final speech, the final communal moment together. It was sacred, special. Hunith had insisted on Arthur changing out of his worn shirt and into the new sapphire shirt she had made. It matched his draping cloak perfectly. As did the delicate silver headdress on his head, twisting and coiling as if to replicate woven branches. He felt like more than a leader, almost like…a king. It unnerved him, yet Merlin had insisted. Emrys and the Once and Future needed to look the part, at least when delivering the final affirmation, the final goodbye to those who would fall in the battle, the final declaration for freedom and justice. Arthur gazed over to him, admiring the long staff in his hands and that mesmerising golden headdress that rested on his head. His usual attire had been traded for a crimson jacket, far smarter and graceful. The leaders of the gathered Clans stood behind Merlin and Arthur on the platform, the two Dragons boldly behind them. Arthur studied the Druids, knowing that there were thousands of people listening and waiting.
“Tomorrow,” Merlin called out across the vast crowd of people, hands clenched to his side. “Albion’s great trial begins. We face a great threat; one that believes it can ruin our land, and take everything we hold dear. Seven months ago, Uther Pendragon came to Albion, and cast a shadow over this land. He has captured our friends, family, extracted their magic, murdered innocent lives in the name of Camelot.” A smile slipped over his lips as he turned to Arthur. “We must also remember that seven months ago, Arthur Pendragon also came to Albion, with the intention to lift that shadow. Arthur has undone his father’s dark legacy, freed our people from their nightmares. As the Naiimen used to say: the darkest hour is just before dawn,” Merlin’s voice rose, intensifying with his words. “This is our darkest hour, and I truly believe that the Golden Age of Albion is nearing. Within this time of exile and condemnation, one heart has revealed itself to be a daemon. But another, a Dragon. And I know that in this time of darkness, where man is full of greed and bitterness, that there is a new dawn approaching.” a tumultuous sound of cheering bough
t him to a standstill for a moment. “We must have faith, be brave and never lose sight of that dawn, because it’s coming. We’re going to save Albion and we’re going to do it together.” Pause. “We will create an unparalleled kingdom, a haven for magic and its humble friends. Our time has come, and Albion will rise higher than it has ever done before.”
Merlin smiled over to Arthur warmly who took this as a gesture he should say a few words. Taking a step forwards, Arthur smiled at his people, his family, his friends.
“Remember that we have the homefeild advantage in this battle,” he said. “We know these forests, we know this land, we understand Albion – they don’t. Their weapons may be powerful, but we have the force of nature on our side. Tomorrow my father arrives, and he will show us no mercy. If anyone wishes not to fight we will not condemn you, but this is your final chance to walk away.” Silence. A few heads turned to gaze around the large crowd, wondering if anybody would turn away. Not one person made a sound; the whole of Iaonem was quiet. The gesture touched Arthur, adding newfound resilience and pride to his voice. “You’re not fighting because someone’s ordering you to, you’re fighting for so much more than that. You fight for your family, you fight for your friends,” abruptly his voice rose in volume. “You’re fighting for you very right to survive. FOR ALBION!” Plunging his sword into the air, he watched in awe as the People began to chant ‘for Albion’. Aithusa and Kilgarrah roared, majestically spreading their wings. The Clan Leaders raised their weapons into the air behind them, and Merlin lifted the wooden staff, eyes flashing gold. Magic added an electric atmosphere, bringing the crowd to life. The chanting became rife with passion and determination.