#arthurania

"Where-" a gasp for breath, "- where are we going?" Arthur had been doing farmwork since he was old enough to hold the tools, but the path they're taking has been an endurance course. He hauls himself over the most recent boulder, wiping the sweat from his eyes.

Merlin, 10 feet away and looking as though this whole trip has been a mild walk to the market, looks up from the faded page he's been examining.

"I told you. We are finding an item that will help secure your claim."

Arthur sighed, undoing his long since frayed ponytail to re-tie it. It's not as if he had forgotten. It would be hard to; the nice old man teaching you magic turning out to be the king's wizard and announcing that you were the rightful heir to the throne is hard to forget.

Arthur knew of Uther. Everyone did. The conquerer king of Britain, the fearsome general who struck terror into the hearts of any who dared challenge him. His death had been a surprise to many. He had hidden his ailing health carefully. But all his strength and secrecy meant nothing when he died and left no heir to the throne. Many of the nobles he had brought under him began staking their claims, and a civil war broke out. Things were, to put simply, a bit of a mess.

All of this was the reason he had spent the past twelve hours tracking through thick woods and steep highlands after Merlin. He was apparently Uther's son and, as Merlin had insisted, the best fit for the throne.

In truth, Arthur didn't want to be king. He was completely unfamiliar with the politics and life of court, and the responsibility that came with ruling. The entire notion was, frankly, terrifying.

But. He had seen the the chaos that was already gripping his little hometown, as their local noble had made his own stake for the throne. There were already widows. And Gawain, he had yet to hear back from him. He insisted on going to Camelot to try and smooth things out.

So when Merlin glanced at the sky and turned to move, Arthur sighed, and began trudging after Merlin once again.

-

"Ah, there we are." They had emerged, at last, into a little hollow surrounded by arching stones, a gnarled, broken tree standing alone at its center. As they approached, Arthur could make out something glinting along the dried bark.

"Is that a sword?"

Merlin looked pleased as he approached the tree. There was some gnarled lump at it's roots where the sword stuck out, and as he drew closer, he realized the source of it was a rusted anvil, halfway subsumed by the tree The sword in question stood proudly upright, untouched by the roots, in excellent condition compared to its current sheath.

"Indeed it is. This is Excalibur, a blade made by a fey craftsman ages ago as a gift to the then king. A powerful blade, imbued with fey magic."

Merlin reached over and gave the blade an experimental tug. It remained solidly in the anvil.

"Of course, there was a bit of trouble. You see, that king's brother decided to overthrow him, and succeeded. That old fey, upset that their favored king had been deposed and killed, made the blade kill i's new master, then sealed it away here." He flapped his hands in the sword's general direction. "All a touch dramatic, if you ask me."

Arthur choked back a laugh at that.

"But, it does give us an excellent opportunity. You see, they enchanted the blade so that it would only be freed by a true king. So-"

He looks back at Arthur, gesturing for him to pick up his line of thought.

"-So, if I could pull it free, I would be the king?"

"More or less," Merlin hummed, but he looked pleased. "The legend is a touch old, but some of the more traditional nobles should be won over if you show them the sword. From there, things will be a touch easier."

Merlin then stepped back, bowing to Arthur. "Shall we?"

Arthur stepped forward, nervously wringing his hands before reaching out for the sword. He didn't know which he feared more, the blade staying stuck in place, or it coming free. His future rested on this moment. He secured his grip around the handle, surprised at the warmth of the leather hilt wrappings. He breathed out and pulled, and the sword came free cleanly, almost eagerly.

He stared at the blade, glowing in the sunlight, as Merlin clapped behind him

.