Sword of the Rightful King - Part 2
The coronation is a blur for Arthur when he looks back on it. Full of speeches, and ceremony that has the ring of tradition.
What he remembers is this: Geoffrey settling the crown on his bent head and feeling the weight of responsibility settle on him. Looking up from where he kneels before his throne to see Merlin, standing at his position behind the throne, watching him with such unguarded pride that he feels his heart swell in response, and he cannot help but give his manservant and friend a private grin that is instantly returned. Turning around to face his people. His people. Morgana who is smiling happier than he can ever remember. Gwen watching with tears in her eyes as she claps and cheers.
Then, in the crowd, in the midst of a sea of faces, he sees a man, tall and dark-haired, with weathered skin. Arthur frowns a moment, sure that something is familiar before he realizes. “Lancelot,” he calls, finally recognizing him, even through the changes the hard years have wrought. Lancelot looks up at his name. His eyes widen as he realizes it’s Arthur calling him, and he approaches. The crowd quiets, pulling back to watch.
Lancelot stops in front of Arthur, unsheathing his sword before sinking to his knees before him. “My king,” he says respectfully, offering his sword up hilt first.
Arthur looks at him a long moment, before grasping the sword, and raising his most loyal servant. “Sir Lancelot,” he addresses as he returns the sword, hiding a smirk as he sees his friend’s eyes widen. “Welcome home.”
With Lancelot’s return, and Morgana and Gwen back, Arthur crowned, and Excalibur waiting, Merlin feels like all the pieces are sliding into place. Destiny is fast approaching.
Yet, destiny is not quite there. They stand on the brink of a new world, but it hasn’t truly begun. They are waiting, but for what, none of them know.
In the early weeks following the coronation, Camelot seems revived. There is a new king on the throne, one that the people have watched grow from a young boy into a beloved prince, and now into a king. They are ready to follow him anywhere.
In the high of his crowning, Arthur begins setting his long-awaited plans into motion. Chief among those is reform of magical policy.
It’s nothing that Merlin didn’t expect precisely - Arthur lifting the ban magic was always sort of a given out there in the hazy future of ‘some day’.
Still, when the day comes that Arthur stands once more on the balcony (in an ironic parallel to his father’s opposite proclamation all those years ago) and decrees that magic is once more legal in Camelot, Merlin can’t believe it.
He’s there out of sight, just inside, waiting on Arthur like a proper manservant, when out of nowhere Arthur springs this on not only Merlin but the entire kingdom as well.
Of course the bastard hasn’t warned him at all that maybe possibly in the very near future, he won’t have to fear for his life on a day to day basis as a traitor to Camelot, Merlin thinks dizzily as the implications of what all this means start to hit him. Of course not. When was ever Arthur a kind, considerate person?
Arthur finds him standing there after he’s finished his decree and left the stunned people in a whirl of red cloak.
He grins at him, so smug that Merlin knows he planned this all along.
“What, nothing to say, Merlin?” Arthur pokes, all innocence.
Merlin’s mouth opens and closes several times before he finally manages, “You - you bastard! You absolute bastard! How long have you been plotting this? You didn’t say a word! And then you just go, and spring this, out of nowhere…” He shakes his head, words failing him.
Arthur just smirks and steps closer in front of him. “Now Merlin, is that any way to talk to your king?”
Merlin starts to retort, but Arthur holds up a hand to stop him.
“I was also thinking. No one in Camelot really has any true experience of magic anymore, and we can’t have ourselves defenseless." Arthur looks down, as if suddenly nervous.
"I want you to become my Adviser." he says, looking back up at him.
Merlin freezes, taken aback.
"Arthur, what?" he asks when it becomes apparent that yes, this is serious.
Arthur looks him in the eye earnestly. "Be my adviser. On magic, if you like."
Merlin just stares. "But...What...I-"
Arthur shakes his head, cutting him off. "You are the only person in this court who really understands magic. Well, except perhaps Gaius," he amends. "But you're the only powerful sorcerer we have. Magic - I don't understand," he says, and Merlin can see how much it costs him to admit this, and frowns, starting to intervene, but Arthur ignores him. "No, it's true. I don't know magic. You do. I need to know how to deal with magical people and to protect my kingdom from magical enemies. I will not make the same mistakes my father did."
"And, I trust you," Arthur says simply, looking Merlin straight in the eye. Merlin's protests die unvoiced, burned to ashes in the light of that raw, unguarded look.
He nods, the words not coming for a long moment. "Yes. I - yes," Merlin says hoarsely.
Arthur nods decisively, and swallows, face betraying his discomfort now that his speech is delivered. "Well, and besides, I'll get to have a decent manservant now," he says, trying to lighten the mood.
That makes Merlin pause. He hasn't even gotten that far in his processing. "Oh. Right."
It's stupid, but he finds the idea leaving a bad taste in his mouth. What will it be like to not be constantly around Arthur, to not have it be his job to take care of him anymore - to have someone else do all that?
Arthur gives him a look. “Now, don’t pretend you like doing my chores. You never stop complaining when I ask you to polish my sword.”
Merlin chokes on the unintentional innuendo, but can’t help but smirk. “Ask? As if! I feel sorry for the next poor bloke who gets to be ordered about by you!”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Must I always remind you? It’s an honour to serve me, Merlin. An honour.”
He looks at Merlin, and finds him grinning widely back, all white teeth and eyes crinkled at the corners, and then suddenly he finds himself leaning in, their faces so close together and- He pulls back abruptly and turns away.
The abruptness stuns Merlin for a few seconds. They’d been so close to…to what? Nothing can happen between them, that Arthur is making clear.
But in reality, the coronation is a bright spot before the dark takes hold.
The spring rains are simply not coming. It’s a drought, and without them, the crops will likely fail again. Peasants are on their last stores already - they will not survive another year of this.
Merlin investigates as much as he can to see if there’s anything he can do. As far as he can tell there’s no evil magic at work here. It’s simply nature’s course and it’s far too widespread for him to just magically fix.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
People begin to whisper of a curse, a sign of the loss of favor with heaven. They question Arthur as king and, as much as Merlin doesn’t want to think about it, Arthur’s legalization of magic hasn’t helped at all.
Uther’s fear took its toll on Camelot’s citizens, and everywhere people distrust magic. No royal decree is simply going to fix that. How are they to know their king isn’t under some curse?
The portends of doom are discussed in hushed voices in streets and taverns, even the corridors of the palace itself, as day after day passes without rain and worse and worse news from the borders.
If Arthur is to become the king he was born to be, the people must believe in him.
How are they to believe?
“My people hate me,” Arthur says bluntly when he senses Merlin come up behind him. He’s on the wall again, looking out over the town and surrounding lands.
He hears a heavy sigh and watches Merlin lean against the wall from the corner of his eye. This, more than anything, speaks to how much things have changed since his father sickened. A year ago Merlin would have immediately violently protested. Now responsibility weighs heavily on them all - besides, he knew he spoke the truth.
“They don’t hate you,” Merlin says tiredly.
Arthur raises a brow. “Really? Funny how they seem to cower when I pass and stare silently from behind. Funny how they’ve stopped greeting me in the streets.” He tries to be detached, objective about it, but even he can hear the bitterness creeping into his voice. “I’ve heard the gossip going round. They judge my ruling so terrible they believe I’m cursed.” He folds his arms and stares out into the distance instead of at Merlin, because maybe if he doesn’t look, he can pretend this isn’t slowly ripping him apart.
He suspects he isn’t doing a very good job when he sees the frustrated look Merlin’s sending him.
“Your people don’t hate you, Arthur,” Merlin tells him. “Things have just been bad lately. It’s hardly your fault the weather’s been contrary or that your father’s death came when border tensions were high. It’s not your fault you haven’t been able to perfectly fix everything. It’d be ridiculous to expect that of you!” his eyes flash at the suggestion.
Arthur gives a half smile -perhaps Merlin hasn’t changed so much after all, but shakes his head. “What kind of king can’t protect his own people?” he demands lowly.
Merlin’s passion seems to leave him then, and says nothing for a long while, and Arthur nearly thinks he’s won this- whatever this is, but then, softly comes, “You can’t always protect everyone.”
Arthur pretends not to hear, and simply bows his head. Merlin doesn’t understand. Merlin can’t understand. A king’s duty is to keep his people safe and his kingdom prosperous. He can’t even feed his own city, let alone defend his borders.
He’s startled out of his thoughts by a less than gentle elbow to the ribs. “Besides, if you wanted to save people, you’d saved me from all those chores,” Merlin teases.
Despite himself, Arthur snorts. “I gave you those chores to save people from your idiocy.”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh a princely sacrifice was it? Having me polish your armour and run after you carrying things.”
“Yes, exactly,” Arthur replies. “It was great trial to endure, but I couldn’t unleash you on the populous.”
Merlin laughs. “See, clearly you are a great protector of a king.”
That sobers Arthur fast, and reminds him of exactly what he’d been thinking before. The smile drops off Merlin’s face as he realizes what he brought up.
“Your people do love you,” Merlin says, deadly serious once more. “They’re just afraid. But they just need to be reminded of why they love you so much.”
Then Merlin is looking at him so desperately earnest that Arthur has no choice but to dip his head in acknowledgment before he pulls away. Maybe, just maybe, as he climbs down those flights of stairs to the ground, a little flame flares up in a corner of his heart and he starts to believe.
Merlin watches Arthur leave, and stands at the wall awhile longer. The people - they mean so much to Arthur, and he feels his heart breaking as he sees their distrust weigh heavily on their king, breaking him slowly at the thing which matters most to him.
They aren’t to blame, Merlin knows. Simply, the people need hope. They need something more than a mere man. They need a sign.
He pauses, mind racing. He thinks of the wrapped metal lying under his bed gathering dust. A slow grin spreads across his face.
Well, a sign he will give them.
A peasant boy stumbles across it first. He returns from the woods babbling excitedly to his master. The hostler frowns, uncertain, but dismisses it as idle fantasies. Still, he repeats the story to the head cook and his friend in the castle guard. A kitchen maid comes upon it next, gathering flowers. She tells her friends excitedly, gossiping in the storeroom. The whispers spread and it isn’t long before they reach the ears of the council and the king. The Sword in the Stone. Already it has a name.
Who so pulleth me out doth be the rightful king.
What can it mean? They wonder. What shall be done?
At his post on Arthur’s right, Merlin hides a smile.
At dinner, everyone is talking about the sword in the stone. Merlin sees Morgana watching him periodically throughout. She’s covering a smirk. Merlin gulps.
She corners him later, as he’s heading to Arthur’s room. It’s become a bit of a tradition - Merlin might not be Arthur’s manservant anymore, but he still meets him in Arthur’s chambers every evening, to discuss the day, and talk over their plans.
“Merlin,” Morgana greets him pleasantly, stepping out of an alcove in front of him.
“Morgana,” he says, looking for an escape. She’s smirking at him again.
“A sword in a stone?” she asks him, “Really, Merlin?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he tries, but then, he’s always been a terrible liar (except maybe about his magic, but only then because he’s had so many years of practice, and really, mortal terror was a great motivator).
She rolls her eyes. “Come now, Merlin. I know. Really, did you think I wouldn’t see it?”
Merlin’s forced to admit, she has a point. He sighs.
She laughs. “Don’t worry, I approve. Though perhaps you could’ve chosen something a little more interesting than a stone,” she teases.
“I was on a short timeframe, okay?” he complains. “And besides. I think ‘The Sword in the Stone’ has a nice ring to it.”
She laughs some more, eyes sparkling. A smile reluctantly tugs at Merlin’s lips. He gives in and grins.
“Well, don’t let me keep you - I just wanted to tell you I know,” Morgana says. “I’m sure you’ve got business with Arthur.”
Merlin could swear he sees her wiggle her eyebrows, as she walks away.
Merlin watches as Arthur paces in front of the fire. Back and forth, he wears a trench in the stone.
Finally he pauses to brace himself against the fireplace.
“What am I to make of this?” he asks finally.
“Sorry?” Merlin asks, even though he knows what’s troubling Arthur.
“This-this sword or whatever.” Arthur waves a hand to explain. “How do we know if it’s magic or real or some message from the gods or what? I’m crowned King of Camelot, and now this thing appears, saying it chooses a king. What am I supposed to think?” He sighs frustrated, covering his face with a hand.
Merlin frowns. Oh. This was not what he intended. He bites his lip, and hesitantly reaches out to Arthur, fingertips skimming lightly over the leather jerkin. “Arthur, you were meant to be king,” he says. “This - this doesn’t change that. If the one who pulls out this sword is to be king, then you will pull out the sword.”
Arthur looks up at him, frowning. “How are you so sure?” he asks slowly.
Merlin looks him straight in the eye and says, “I know,” with all the conviction and the inevitability he has felt for all these years.
Arthur looks at him for a long moment, searching for something, and Merlin tries to look back as steady and earnestly as possible, wants to make Arthur understand this belief, this feeling that’s been such a part of who he is for as long as he can remember. It seems that maybe Arthur does find some of that, because he nods, once, decisively.
Arthur issues a royal proclamation about the sword in the stone - the name has stuck.
Anyone is to be allowed to try their hand at freeing the sword - Excalibur - from its rocky sheath, from the poorest peasant to the foreign kings.
It is an instrument of God, word spreads among the streets of Camelot, a way of divinely choosing the true king.
Arthur, for his part, agrees to abide by the sword’s decision. Should another man succeed, he will step down peacefully, he vows. But in condition for trying their hand as well, the other kings and warlords must make the same agreement - their lands must be ceded to the victor.
Not all agree - many return home in a rage at the restriction, but more remain. The cunning and the wise realize what an opportunity this is - divine right is a powerful tool. Then there are those that truly believe - should the sword really choose the best king, they will serve him to the best of their ability. There is no doubt the sword’s choice will be exceptional.
Arthur’s council, however, is none too pleased with his decision.
The older councilors are wary - they still distrust, dislike magic.
“What if this is all a magical trick, one to put a puppet on the throne?” one questions.
Arthur considers him a moment, then nods. “It is something to be wary of, yes,” he acknowledges gravely. “But the finest magicians of the land have examined it and found no ill-intent. Magical sentience, yes, but no malice.”
“And how are we sure they are not a part of this plot? You can’t trust these sorcerers, my lord. They may very well be planning your downfall this very moment,” Lord Gareth argues, carefully avoiding looking at either Merlin or Morgana.
Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur gives a tiny warning shake of his head. Instead he looks icily at Gareth.
“I hope you’re not implying that Lord Merlin, my personal servant, counciller, and long-time friend, or the Lady Morgana, my dear foster-sister, is a traitor to the crown,” Arthur says evenly, staring the man down.
Gareth gulps and looks down.
Arthur looks away, at each of his doubters in turn. “The mages in question have proven their loyalty beyond any doubt many times over. Those who still doubt them would do well to remember that. Such accusations could be considered very slanderous,” he says firmly.
No one wants to meet his eyes.
Morgana speaks up. “My lords, why would the magical community seek to depose Arthur? He is not his father - he bears us no grudge. He has given us freedom and acknowledged us for what we are - people. Why would we wish to harm him,” she says, very reasonably.
Lancelot nods. “The Lady Morgana is right. In my travels, I have met many sorcerers, and I firmly believe that they bear Arthur no ill will. In fact, when I was in the outer woods when word that Arthur was to be crowned came, there was rejoicing in the druid camps.”
“So not the magical peoples, then! This is still madness, my lord!” Lord Geraint bursts out. “A strange stone appears from who knows where by god knows who, and we’re just going to let it choose our king? This is insanity! And when Camelot falls because of this, I want it said that I was against it from the very start!”
Arthur inclines his head. “Consider it noted. But also, consider this: the people’s trust in the crown is failing. If the people do not trust their king, the kingdom will fall. This sword - it’s captured their belief already. If I was to draw the sword, well. I think we can consider rumors of my cursed rule ended.”
The councilors start to protest but Arthur holds up his hand to stop them. “My lords! I know this is a shock, and I know that you are unhappy. But, think over what has been said. This is perhaps the greatest opportunity Camelot has had in a very long time.” With that he stands up, and the others immediately jumps up as protocol demands. “We meet in two days time,” he says finally before he sweeps out, Merlin and Morgana following behind.
The weeks pass and a day is set at last on which Arthur will try the sword.
Merlin watches Arthur through this time, and it is difficult to explain.
Arthur is proud, confident, strong as ever. And yet, as the appointed day approaches, Merlin is more and more likely to find him pensive on the walls alone.
But the thing is - he expected Arthur to be sad, or hurt, or angry, at the possibility of having his kingdom, his people, the things he would die for, taken away from him so cruelly. He did not expect this quiet, inevitable complacency.
It takes him a long while to understand.
It's not that Arthur doesn't care about losing his kingdom, his people, his life.
Arthur is angry, so angry that someone would question his right to rule - he is hurting to think he isn't a good king, hurting as he has been all these months. Merlin sees it, when Arthur thinks no one is watching.
But the thing Merlin's known about Arthur all along is that no matter what, he will do what is right by his people. He will be what they need him to be. Even if that is no longer their king.
And the stone - well. Arthur has been watch things spiral out of his control for so long now. Finally, finally, there is perhaps an end in sight. There is something to do.
The stone is a challenge to him, yes. But when has he ever backed down from any challenge?
Merlin sees this all, and thinks yes. Arthur is finally ready to be the king he was born to be.
Arthur’s knights are somber as they saddle up to ride out with him for the last time.
They move slowly, weighed down by what is coming. Silence fills the courtyard, broken only by the jingle of buckles being fitted on saddles and the clank of armor as they move.
It’s Sir Leon who finally breaks it.
“This is, this is just not right!” he bursts out finally. “Famine or not, sire, you are our king, no matter what some sword says. And I for one am loyal to you alone, until I die.” He gazes at Arthur fiercely, as if daring him to argue.
Lancelot steps up beside him. “As am I,” he seconds, face determined.
Arthur looks at him, then Leon, and then at each of his other knights in turn. He finds Leon’s same fierce devotion mirrored on theirs.
He sighs. “You honor me with your loyalty, Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot,” he says, and watches the men before him light up with hope.
“But,” he continues. “I have sworn to abide by this trial, and I will keep my word. More, I believe the sword has appeared now for a reason. I am grateful for your trust, but now you must trust me once more.”
He looks around at all the grim, anguished faces watching him intently. “If you truly are loyal to me, you will serve the next king with the same devotion, whether that is me or not,” he says gravely, realizing this may be the most important thing he ever tells them. “No matter what happens, Camelot must not fall into ruin. It does not matter who is king, in light of that.” He looks each of them in the eye, making sure they understand. He will not be responsible for a civil war.
At last he looks back to Leon and Lancelot, who have been quiet for a long moment. Finally, Leon nods, though Arthur can tell it pains him.
Lancelot searches his face for a long moment, and then sighs and nods as well. “As you wish, Sire,” he says. “But know this - you will always be the king of our hearts.”
The others nod, and despite himself, Arthur feels his chest swell with pride. He has, at least, earned the loyalty of these men, and that - that is something.
“Mount up,” he orders crisply, swinging up onto his mare. It is time to greet destiny.
Arthur rides slowly down the main road of Camelot through the city.
The people line the streets to watch somberly as he passes, knowing this might be the last time Arthur Pendragon is hailed as king.
He’s just reached the outer gates when suddenly a woman breaks free of the crowd and runs toward him. His knights instantly move to protect him, but Arthur, studying her, holds up his hand to stop them. The crowd becomes even more deadly silent to watch.
The woman comes closer and it is seen she is older, starting to bend with age. She stops beside Arthur’s horse and studies his face for a long moment, before nodding.
“You will always be our king, Arthur Pendragon,” she says gravely, looking straight into his eyes, then kneels to touch the ground below him before straightening and moving back some.
“Arthur Pendragon, King!” someone in the crowd cries. Then another takes it up and then another, and soon the entire populace of the city is shouting his name. It spreads like wildfire, and as the people chant his name, Arthur watches as they seem to come alive. It’s hard to define, but the people stand straighter, taller, with eyes clear once more.
It has taken losing their king for them to remember their pride.
Merlin watches as Arthur’s hand closes around the sword.
It’s stupid - there’s no reason for him to be nervous. He set this whole thing up after all, and he’ll make sure Arthur is able to pull the bloody thing free. Yet he can’t stop fidgeting where he stands, even though Morgana’s sending him warning looks, and his palms are sweaty and his eyes are glued on Arthur with the rest of the crowd.
He’s just as caught in the anticipation as everyone else, when Arthur locks eyes with him.
But then Arthur pulls, and the sword slides free without even a word form Merlin and Arthur’s holding Excalibur aloft. It catches the sun, gleaming golden, and Arthur, too, is awash with gold light, and someone shouts from the crowd, “All hail, Arthur Pendragon, King!” and the entire mass of people - peasants to kings - sink to their knees.
>Merlin goes down too, feeling Arthur's eyes still on him. He may have started this, but Excalibur ended it.
This is the moment he’s been waiting for.
The return to the city - Arthur can’t even explain it.
Every where people are shouting his name, wishing him long life, pledging him their allegiance. It's heady, and brilliant, and really he can't believe this is all happening. His kingdom - it's still his. He has been chosen above all others, and he has proved himself worthy.
But, he realizes, he could not have done this alone. He looks to Morgana, laughing on his left, Gwen, smiling as she walks along beside her lady's horse. He finds Lancelot, staring at Gwen fixedly, Leon who shoots him a smug look when he notices him watching.
And Merlin. Except Merlin is nowhere to be found.
Arthur searches the crowed, with increasing desperation. He needs to see Merlin right now. He is happy, so happy. This is his greatest victory. But, he comes to the realization, it means nothing if Merlin isn’t there to share it with.
As soon as he can, he slips away from everyone. It isn't easy - he is the man of the hour - but he catches Gwen's eyes, and she must be able to read something of what he so desperately wants, because she abruptly starts a big commotion nearby that draws everyone's attention, and he is able to leave unnoticed, except by Morgana, who he sure he sees giving him a knowing smirk as he walks out.
He doesn't really know where he's going - where would Merlin be? - but when his feet lead him to his old chambers, now unused, he knows it's the right answer.
He pushes open the door, and sure enough, there's Merlin, leaning on the window sill that was Arthur's favorite thinking spot for years.
He walks quietly forward, his courage faltering now that he's actually here.
Merlin's voice comes wonderingly. "It seems so long since these were your rooms and I was your manservant, but it hasn't even been a year," he marvels.
Arthur swallows, not sure what to say.
Merlin turns around and grins at him. "Congratulations, my king." He puts his usual teasing emphasis on the words. "I told you you'd pull the sword."
And Arthur just looks at him, at his ridiculous ears, and his wide grin and his damned cheekbones. He knows what he wants now. And today, anything is possible.
He squares his shoulders, takes the three steps forward, and kisses Merlin firmly on the mouth.
Merlin is frozen against him for a long moment, and in that moment, Arthur knows what it truly feels like to die.
But then Merlin’s hands come up around him, to fist his shirt and tangle in his hair, and when his mouth opens under Arthur’s, it’s like the glorious rising of the sun.
Yes. This.
THE END
End Notes: Because of time constraints, there were a few scenes and extra storylines that had to get axed. I'm thinking I might be up for some deleted scenes, if anyone else is
What he remembers is this: Geoffrey settling the crown on his bent head and feeling the weight of responsibility settle on him. Looking up from where he kneels before his throne to see Merlin, standing at his position behind the throne, watching him with such unguarded pride that he feels his heart swell in response, and he cannot help but give his manservant and friend a private grin that is instantly returned. Turning around to face his people. His people. Morgana who is smiling happier than he can ever remember. Gwen watching with tears in her eyes as she claps and cheers.
Then, in the crowd, in the midst of a sea of faces, he sees a man, tall and dark-haired, with weathered skin. Arthur frowns a moment, sure that something is familiar before he realizes. “Lancelot,” he calls, finally recognizing him, even through the changes the hard years have wrought. Lancelot looks up at his name. His eyes widen as he realizes it’s Arthur calling him, and he approaches. The crowd quiets, pulling back to watch.
Lancelot stops in front of Arthur, unsheathing his sword before sinking to his knees before him. “My king,” he says respectfully, offering his sword up hilt first.
Arthur looks at him a long moment, before grasping the sword, and raising his most loyal servant. “Sir Lancelot,” he addresses as he returns the sword, hiding a smirk as he sees his friend’s eyes widen. “Welcome home.”
With Lancelot’s return, and Morgana and Gwen back, Arthur crowned, and Excalibur waiting, Merlin feels like all the pieces are sliding into place. Destiny is fast approaching.
Yet, destiny is not quite there. They stand on the brink of a new world, but it hasn’t truly begun. They are waiting, but for what, none of them know.
In the early weeks following the coronation, Camelot seems revived. There is a new king on the throne, one that the people have watched grow from a young boy into a beloved prince, and now into a king. They are ready to follow him anywhere.
In the high of his crowning, Arthur begins setting his long-awaited plans into motion. Chief among those is reform of magical policy.
It’s nothing that Merlin didn’t expect precisely - Arthur lifting the ban magic was always sort of a given out there in the hazy future of ‘some day’.
Still, when the day comes that Arthur stands once more on the balcony (in an ironic parallel to his father’s opposite proclamation all those years ago) and decrees that magic is once more legal in Camelot, Merlin can’t believe it.
He’s there out of sight, just inside, waiting on Arthur like a proper manservant, when out of nowhere Arthur springs this on not only Merlin but the entire kingdom as well.
Of course the bastard hasn’t warned him at all that maybe possibly in the very near future, he won’t have to fear for his life on a day to day basis as a traitor to Camelot, Merlin thinks dizzily as the implications of what all this means start to hit him. Of course not. When was ever Arthur a kind, considerate person?
Arthur finds him standing there after he’s finished his decree and left the stunned people in a whirl of red cloak.
He grins at him, so smug that Merlin knows he planned this all along.
“What, nothing to say, Merlin?” Arthur pokes, all innocence.
Merlin’s mouth opens and closes several times before he finally manages, “You - you bastard! You absolute bastard! How long have you been plotting this? You didn’t say a word! And then you just go, and spring this, out of nowhere…” He shakes his head, words failing him.
Arthur just smirks and steps closer in front of him. “Now Merlin, is that any way to talk to your king?”
Merlin starts to retort, but Arthur holds up a hand to stop him.
“I was also thinking. No one in Camelot really has any true experience of magic anymore, and we can’t have ourselves defenseless." Arthur looks down, as if suddenly nervous.
"I want you to become my Adviser." he says, looking back up at him.
Merlin freezes, taken aback.
"Arthur, what?" he asks when it becomes apparent that yes, this is serious.
Arthur looks him in the eye earnestly. "Be my adviser. On magic, if you like."
Merlin just stares. "But...What...I-"
Arthur shakes his head, cutting him off. "You are the only person in this court who really understands magic. Well, except perhaps Gaius," he amends. "But you're the only powerful sorcerer we have. Magic - I don't understand," he says, and Merlin can see how much it costs him to admit this, and frowns, starting to intervene, but Arthur ignores him. "No, it's true. I don't know magic. You do. I need to know how to deal with magical people and to protect my kingdom from magical enemies. I will not make the same mistakes my father did."
"And, I trust you," Arthur says simply, looking Merlin straight in the eye. Merlin's protests die unvoiced, burned to ashes in the light of that raw, unguarded look.
He nods, the words not coming for a long moment. "Yes. I - yes," Merlin says hoarsely.
Arthur nods decisively, and swallows, face betraying his discomfort now that his speech is delivered. "Well, and besides, I'll get to have a decent manservant now," he says, trying to lighten the mood.
That makes Merlin pause. He hasn't even gotten that far in his processing. "Oh. Right."
It's stupid, but he finds the idea leaving a bad taste in his mouth. What will it be like to not be constantly around Arthur, to not have it be his job to take care of him anymore - to have someone else do all that?
Arthur gives him a look. “Now, don’t pretend you like doing my chores. You never stop complaining when I ask you to polish my sword.”
Merlin chokes on the unintentional innuendo, but can’t help but smirk. “Ask? As if! I feel sorry for the next poor bloke who gets to be ordered about by you!”
Arthur rolls his eyes. “Must I always remind you? It’s an honour to serve me, Merlin. An honour.”
He looks at Merlin, and finds him grinning widely back, all white teeth and eyes crinkled at the corners, and then suddenly he finds himself leaning in, their faces so close together and- He pulls back abruptly and turns away.
The abruptness stuns Merlin for a few seconds. They’d been so close to…to what? Nothing can happen between them, that Arthur is making clear.
But in reality, the coronation is a bright spot before the dark takes hold.
The spring rains are simply not coming. It’s a drought, and without them, the crops will likely fail again. Peasants are on their last stores already - they will not survive another year of this.
Merlin investigates as much as he can to see if there’s anything he can do. As far as he can tell there’s no evil magic at work here. It’s simply nature’s course and it’s far too widespread for him to just magically fix.
The timing couldn’t be worse.
People begin to whisper of a curse, a sign of the loss of favor with heaven. They question Arthur as king and, as much as Merlin doesn’t want to think about it, Arthur’s legalization of magic hasn’t helped at all.
Uther’s fear took its toll on Camelot’s citizens, and everywhere people distrust magic. No royal decree is simply going to fix that. How are they to know their king isn’t under some curse?
The portends of doom are discussed in hushed voices in streets and taverns, even the corridors of the palace itself, as day after day passes without rain and worse and worse news from the borders.
If Arthur is to become the king he was born to be, the people must believe in him.
How are they to believe?
“My people hate me,” Arthur says bluntly when he senses Merlin come up behind him. He’s on the wall again, looking out over the town and surrounding lands.
He hears a heavy sigh and watches Merlin lean against the wall from the corner of his eye. This, more than anything, speaks to how much things have changed since his father sickened. A year ago Merlin would have immediately violently protested. Now responsibility weighs heavily on them all - besides, he knew he spoke the truth.
“They don’t hate you,” Merlin says tiredly.
Arthur raises a brow. “Really? Funny how they seem to cower when I pass and stare silently from behind. Funny how they’ve stopped greeting me in the streets.” He tries to be detached, objective about it, but even he can hear the bitterness creeping into his voice. “I’ve heard the gossip going round. They judge my ruling so terrible they believe I’m cursed.” He folds his arms and stares out into the distance instead of at Merlin, because maybe if he doesn’t look, he can pretend this isn’t slowly ripping him apart.
He suspects he isn’t doing a very good job when he sees the frustrated look Merlin’s sending him.
“Your people don’t hate you, Arthur,” Merlin tells him. “Things have just been bad lately. It’s hardly your fault the weather’s been contrary or that your father’s death came when border tensions were high. It’s not your fault you haven’t been able to perfectly fix everything. It’d be ridiculous to expect that of you!” his eyes flash at the suggestion.
Arthur gives a half smile -perhaps Merlin hasn’t changed so much after all, but shakes his head. “What kind of king can’t protect his own people?” he demands lowly.
Merlin’s passion seems to leave him then, and says nothing for a long while, and Arthur nearly thinks he’s won this- whatever this is, but then, softly comes, “You can’t always protect everyone.”
Arthur pretends not to hear, and simply bows his head. Merlin doesn’t understand. Merlin can’t understand. A king’s duty is to keep his people safe and his kingdom prosperous. He can’t even feed his own city, let alone defend his borders.
He’s startled out of his thoughts by a less than gentle elbow to the ribs. “Besides, if you wanted to save people, you’d saved me from all those chores,” Merlin teases.
Despite himself, Arthur snorts. “I gave you those chores to save people from your idiocy.”
Merlin rolls his eyes. “Oh a princely sacrifice was it? Having me polish your armour and run after you carrying things.”
“Yes, exactly,” Arthur replies. “It was great trial to endure, but I couldn’t unleash you on the populous.”
Merlin laughs. “See, clearly you are a great protector of a king.”
That sobers Arthur fast, and reminds him of exactly what he’d been thinking before. The smile drops off Merlin’s face as he realizes what he brought up.
“Your people do love you,” Merlin says, deadly serious once more. “They’re just afraid. But they just need to be reminded of why they love you so much.”
Then Merlin is looking at him so desperately earnest that Arthur has no choice but to dip his head in acknowledgment before he pulls away. Maybe, just maybe, as he climbs down those flights of stairs to the ground, a little flame flares up in a corner of his heart and he starts to believe.
Merlin watches Arthur leave, and stands at the wall awhile longer. The people - they mean so much to Arthur, and he feels his heart breaking as he sees their distrust weigh heavily on their king, breaking him slowly at the thing which matters most to him.
They aren’t to blame, Merlin knows. Simply, the people need hope. They need something more than a mere man. They need a sign.
He pauses, mind racing. He thinks of the wrapped metal lying under his bed gathering dust. A slow grin spreads across his face.
Well, a sign he will give them.
A peasant boy stumbles across it first. He returns from the woods babbling excitedly to his master. The hostler frowns, uncertain, but dismisses it as idle fantasies. Still, he repeats the story to the head cook and his friend in the castle guard. A kitchen maid comes upon it next, gathering flowers. She tells her friends excitedly, gossiping in the storeroom. The whispers spread and it isn’t long before they reach the ears of the council and the king. The Sword in the Stone. Already it has a name.
Who so pulleth me out doth be the rightful king.
What can it mean? They wonder. What shall be done?
At his post on Arthur’s right, Merlin hides a smile.
At dinner, everyone is talking about the sword in the stone. Merlin sees Morgana watching him periodically throughout. She’s covering a smirk. Merlin gulps.
She corners him later, as he’s heading to Arthur’s room. It’s become a bit of a tradition - Merlin might not be Arthur’s manservant anymore, but he still meets him in Arthur’s chambers every evening, to discuss the day, and talk over their plans.
“Merlin,” Morgana greets him pleasantly, stepping out of an alcove in front of him.
“Morgana,” he says, looking for an escape. She’s smirking at him again.
“A sword in a stone?” she asks him, “Really, Merlin?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about?” he tries, but then, he’s always been a terrible liar (except maybe about his magic, but only then because he’s had so many years of practice, and really, mortal terror was a great motivator).
She rolls her eyes. “Come now, Merlin. I know. Really, did you think I wouldn’t see it?”
Merlin’s forced to admit, she has a point. He sighs.
She laughs. “Don’t worry, I approve. Though perhaps you could’ve chosen something a little more interesting than a stone,” she teases.
“I was on a short timeframe, okay?” he complains. “And besides. I think ‘The Sword in the Stone’ has a nice ring to it.”
She laughs some more, eyes sparkling. A smile reluctantly tugs at Merlin’s lips. He gives in and grins.
“Well, don’t let me keep you - I just wanted to tell you I know,” Morgana says. “I’m sure you’ve got business with Arthur.”
Merlin could swear he sees her wiggle her eyebrows, as she walks away.
Merlin watches as Arthur paces in front of the fire. Back and forth, he wears a trench in the stone.
Finally he pauses to brace himself against the fireplace.
“What am I to make of this?” he asks finally.
“Sorry?” Merlin asks, even though he knows what’s troubling Arthur.
“This-this sword or whatever.” Arthur waves a hand to explain. “How do we know if it’s magic or real or some message from the gods or what? I’m crowned King of Camelot, and now this thing appears, saying it chooses a king. What am I supposed to think?” He sighs frustrated, covering his face with a hand.
Merlin frowns. Oh. This was not what he intended. He bites his lip, and hesitantly reaches out to Arthur, fingertips skimming lightly over the leather jerkin. “Arthur, you were meant to be king,” he says. “This - this doesn’t change that. If the one who pulls out this sword is to be king, then you will pull out the sword.”
Arthur looks up at him, frowning. “How are you so sure?” he asks slowly.
Merlin looks him straight in the eye and says, “I know,” with all the conviction and the inevitability he has felt for all these years.
Arthur looks at him for a long moment, searching for something, and Merlin tries to look back as steady and earnestly as possible, wants to make Arthur understand this belief, this feeling that’s been such a part of who he is for as long as he can remember. It seems that maybe Arthur does find some of that, because he nods, once, decisively.
Arthur issues a royal proclamation about the sword in the stone - the name has stuck.
Anyone is to be allowed to try their hand at freeing the sword - Excalibur - from its rocky sheath, from the poorest peasant to the foreign kings.
It is an instrument of God, word spreads among the streets of Camelot, a way of divinely choosing the true king.
Arthur, for his part, agrees to abide by the sword’s decision. Should another man succeed, he will step down peacefully, he vows. But in condition for trying their hand as well, the other kings and warlords must make the same agreement - their lands must be ceded to the victor.
Not all agree - many return home in a rage at the restriction, but more remain. The cunning and the wise realize what an opportunity this is - divine right is a powerful tool. Then there are those that truly believe - should the sword really choose the best king, they will serve him to the best of their ability. There is no doubt the sword’s choice will be exceptional.
Arthur’s council, however, is none too pleased with his decision.
The older councilors are wary - they still distrust, dislike magic.
“What if this is all a magical trick, one to put a puppet on the throne?” one questions.
Arthur considers him a moment, then nods. “It is something to be wary of, yes,” he acknowledges gravely. “But the finest magicians of the land have examined it and found no ill-intent. Magical sentience, yes, but no malice.”
“And how are we sure they are not a part of this plot? You can’t trust these sorcerers, my lord. They may very well be planning your downfall this very moment,” Lord Gareth argues, carefully avoiding looking at either Merlin or Morgana.
Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Arthur gives a tiny warning shake of his head. Instead he looks icily at Gareth.
“I hope you’re not implying that Lord Merlin, my personal servant, counciller, and long-time friend, or the Lady Morgana, my dear foster-sister, is a traitor to the crown,” Arthur says evenly, staring the man down.
Gareth gulps and looks down.
Arthur looks away, at each of his doubters in turn. “The mages in question have proven their loyalty beyond any doubt many times over. Those who still doubt them would do well to remember that. Such accusations could be considered very slanderous,” he says firmly.
No one wants to meet his eyes.
Morgana speaks up. “My lords, why would the magical community seek to depose Arthur? He is not his father - he bears us no grudge. He has given us freedom and acknowledged us for what we are - people. Why would we wish to harm him,” she says, very reasonably.
Lancelot nods. “The Lady Morgana is right. In my travels, I have met many sorcerers, and I firmly believe that they bear Arthur no ill will. In fact, when I was in the outer woods when word that Arthur was to be crowned came, there was rejoicing in the druid camps.”
“So not the magical peoples, then! This is still madness, my lord!” Lord Geraint bursts out. “A strange stone appears from who knows where by god knows who, and we’re just going to let it choose our king? This is insanity! And when Camelot falls because of this, I want it said that I was against it from the very start!”
Arthur inclines his head. “Consider it noted. But also, consider this: the people’s trust in the crown is failing. If the people do not trust their king, the kingdom will fall. This sword - it’s captured their belief already. If I was to draw the sword, well. I think we can consider rumors of my cursed rule ended.”
The councilors start to protest but Arthur holds up his hand to stop them. “My lords! I know this is a shock, and I know that you are unhappy. But, think over what has been said. This is perhaps the greatest opportunity Camelot has had in a very long time.” With that he stands up, and the others immediately jumps up as protocol demands. “We meet in two days time,” he says finally before he sweeps out, Merlin and Morgana following behind.
The weeks pass and a day is set at last on which Arthur will try the sword.
Merlin watches Arthur through this time, and it is difficult to explain.
Arthur is proud, confident, strong as ever. And yet, as the appointed day approaches, Merlin is more and more likely to find him pensive on the walls alone.
But the thing is - he expected Arthur to be sad, or hurt, or angry, at the possibility of having his kingdom, his people, the things he would die for, taken away from him so cruelly. He did not expect this quiet, inevitable complacency.
It takes him a long while to understand.
It's not that Arthur doesn't care about losing his kingdom, his people, his life.
Arthur is angry, so angry that someone would question his right to rule - he is hurting to think he isn't a good king, hurting as he has been all these months. Merlin sees it, when Arthur thinks no one is watching.
But the thing Merlin's known about Arthur all along is that no matter what, he will do what is right by his people. He will be what they need him to be. Even if that is no longer their king.
And the stone - well. Arthur has been watch things spiral out of his control for so long now. Finally, finally, there is perhaps an end in sight. There is something to do.
The stone is a challenge to him, yes. But when has he ever backed down from any challenge?
Merlin sees this all, and thinks yes. Arthur is finally ready to be the king he was born to be.
Arthur’s knights are somber as they saddle up to ride out with him for the last time.
They move slowly, weighed down by what is coming. Silence fills the courtyard, broken only by the jingle of buckles being fitted on saddles and the clank of armor as they move.
It’s Sir Leon who finally breaks it.
“This is, this is just not right!” he bursts out finally. “Famine or not, sire, you are our king, no matter what some sword says. And I for one am loyal to you alone, until I die.” He gazes at Arthur fiercely, as if daring him to argue.
Lancelot steps up beside him. “As am I,” he seconds, face determined.
Arthur looks at him, then Leon, and then at each of his other knights in turn. He finds Leon’s same fierce devotion mirrored on theirs.
He sighs. “You honor me with your loyalty, Sir Leon, Sir Lancelot,” he says, and watches the men before him light up with hope.
“But,” he continues. “I have sworn to abide by this trial, and I will keep my word. More, I believe the sword has appeared now for a reason. I am grateful for your trust, but now you must trust me once more.”
He looks around at all the grim, anguished faces watching him intently. “If you truly are loyal to me, you will serve the next king with the same devotion, whether that is me or not,” he says gravely, realizing this may be the most important thing he ever tells them. “No matter what happens, Camelot must not fall into ruin. It does not matter who is king, in light of that.” He looks each of them in the eye, making sure they understand. He will not be responsible for a civil war.
At last he looks back to Leon and Lancelot, who have been quiet for a long moment. Finally, Leon nods, though Arthur can tell it pains him.
Lancelot searches his face for a long moment, and then sighs and nods as well. “As you wish, Sire,” he says. “But know this - you will always be the king of our hearts.”
The others nod, and despite himself, Arthur feels his chest swell with pride. He has, at least, earned the loyalty of these men, and that - that is something.
“Mount up,” he orders crisply, swinging up onto his mare. It is time to greet destiny.
Arthur rides slowly down the main road of Camelot through the city.
The people line the streets to watch somberly as he passes, knowing this might be the last time Arthur Pendragon is hailed as king.
He’s just reached the outer gates when suddenly a woman breaks free of the crowd and runs toward him. His knights instantly move to protect him, but Arthur, studying her, holds up his hand to stop them. The crowd becomes even more deadly silent to watch.
The woman comes closer and it is seen she is older, starting to bend with age. She stops beside Arthur’s horse and studies his face for a long moment, before nodding.
“You will always be our king, Arthur Pendragon,” she says gravely, looking straight into his eyes, then kneels to touch the ground below him before straightening and moving back some.
“Arthur Pendragon, King!” someone in the crowd cries. Then another takes it up and then another, and soon the entire populace of the city is shouting his name. It spreads like wildfire, and as the people chant his name, Arthur watches as they seem to come alive. It’s hard to define, but the people stand straighter, taller, with eyes clear once more.
It has taken losing their king for them to remember their pride.
Merlin watches as Arthur’s hand closes around the sword.
It’s stupid - there’s no reason for him to be nervous. He set this whole thing up after all, and he’ll make sure Arthur is able to pull the bloody thing free. Yet he can’t stop fidgeting where he stands, even though Morgana’s sending him warning looks, and his palms are sweaty and his eyes are glued on Arthur with the rest of the crowd.
He’s just as caught in the anticipation as everyone else, when Arthur locks eyes with him.
But then Arthur pulls, and the sword slides free without even a word form Merlin and Arthur’s holding Excalibur aloft. It catches the sun, gleaming golden, and Arthur, too, is awash with gold light, and someone shouts from the crowd, “All hail, Arthur Pendragon, King!” and the entire mass of people - peasants to kings - sink to their knees.
>Merlin goes down too, feeling Arthur's eyes still on him. He may have started this, but Excalibur ended it.
This is the moment he’s been waiting for.
The return to the city - Arthur can’t even explain it.
Every where people are shouting his name, wishing him long life, pledging him their allegiance. It's heady, and brilliant, and really he can't believe this is all happening. His kingdom - it's still his. He has been chosen above all others, and he has proved himself worthy.
But, he realizes, he could not have done this alone. He looks to Morgana, laughing on his left, Gwen, smiling as she walks along beside her lady's horse. He finds Lancelot, staring at Gwen fixedly, Leon who shoots him a smug look when he notices him watching.
And Merlin. Except Merlin is nowhere to be found.
Arthur searches the crowed, with increasing desperation. He needs to see Merlin right now. He is happy, so happy. This is his greatest victory. But, he comes to the realization, it means nothing if Merlin isn’t there to share it with.
As soon as he can, he slips away from everyone. It isn't easy - he is the man of the hour - but he catches Gwen's eyes, and she must be able to read something of what he so desperately wants, because she abruptly starts a big commotion nearby that draws everyone's attention, and he is able to leave unnoticed, except by Morgana, who he sure he sees giving him a knowing smirk as he walks out.
He doesn't really know where he's going - where would Merlin be? - but when his feet lead him to his old chambers, now unused, he knows it's the right answer.
He pushes open the door, and sure enough, there's Merlin, leaning on the window sill that was Arthur's favorite thinking spot for years.
He walks quietly forward, his courage faltering now that he's actually here.
Merlin's voice comes wonderingly. "It seems so long since these were your rooms and I was your manservant, but it hasn't even been a year," he marvels.
Arthur swallows, not sure what to say.
Merlin turns around and grins at him. "Congratulations, my king." He puts his usual teasing emphasis on the words. "I told you you'd pull the sword."
And Arthur just looks at him, at his ridiculous ears, and his wide grin and his damned cheekbones. He knows what he wants now. And today, anything is possible.
He squares his shoulders, takes the three steps forward, and kisses Merlin firmly on the mouth.
Merlin is frozen against him for a long moment, and in that moment, Arthur knows what it truly feels like to die.
But then Merlin’s hands come up around him, to fist his shirt and tangle in his hair, and when his mouth opens under Arthur’s, it’s like the glorious rising of the sun.
Yes. This.
THE END
End Notes: Because of time constraints, there were a few scenes and extra storylines that had to get axed. I'm thinking I might be up for some deleted scenes, if anyone else is