Author's Note: This is a Merintosh Snow White & the Huntsman AU. I guess this chapter's pace is kinda fast. Also, I know in the show that whoever wasn't worthy of the sword turned to dust. I didn't do that in this story, just made it stay in the stone. Enjoy and thanks for reading.
"And this, children, is the King Macintosh exhibit of the museum," the tour guide announces, waving her hand. Her high heels click as she walks. "It's our most popular exhibit and my personal favorite." She chuckles. "I've even met scholars here to learn more about the legend."
The 3rd Grade class scans the large room. Paintings, sculptures, and other forms of art are dedicated to the undying story. A little girl in particular stops, staring at a white marble sculpture of King Macintosh. His curly locks rest on his shoulders, finely toned body, those famous stripes on his arm, and holding Excalibur high above him.
"Handsome, isn't he?" the guide asks, bending down.
The girl looks at her then returns to the piece of art. "Yeah, I guess." A hint of a smile tugs her lips.
"Are you familar with the story?"
She shakes her head, ponytail swaying. "I never heard it."
"You haven't? Oh my goodness. What's your name?"
"Amy," she answers sweetly.
"It's good to meet you, Amy. I'll tell-" An idea comes to mind. She stands, looking at them all. "You know what? Why doesn't everyone gather around, so I can tell the legend of King Macintosh."
Books and papers rest on King Arthur's table. They seem to mock him as he tries to find out their secret of where Excalibur hides. He tries to read with bloodshot eyes, but the words blur too much for him to decipher.
Arthur suddenly stands. The chair screams against the floor. In frustration, the king yells as he sweeps them off the table. The loose papers fall softly.
"Where is it?" he asks loudly to himself.
Arthur yawns, brushing his hand through his hair. The nights of lost sleep bear their weight. Still not wanting rest, his footsteps murmur on the floor as he walks to the window. Eyes squinting, the kings looks at the faint sunrise. There are no clouds to hide the sky.
Someone knocks on the door. The king turns, rubbing his face. "You may enter."
One of his men, Sir Marcus, comes in. His armor catches some light. His fists are clenching but not in anger. "Your Majesty," he says with a bow, "we found it. We found Excalibur."
Though he hesitates, a hint of a smile forms on Arthur's mouth. "Are you absolutely sure?"
He nods. "I am true to my word, my king. It is exactly how the pictures of your books depicted it."
Arthur claps once. "At long last, it's finally been discovered. Good work, Sir Marcus. Now I shall rule my kingdom the way I'm meant to. Prepare my horse, so I can claim it there."
"Yes, Your Majesty." He bows again before leaving.
The king roars a mighty laugh. After all these years of searching, the quest for the sword is almost at an end. Sure the kingdom has paid heavy prices: crime has been higher than ever before and the people live in poverty; however, it's well worth the price once Excalibur in is his possession.
It is midday when Arthur and Sir Marcus arrive. The king breathes in the spices of the summer wind. The sun bears its might. Birds sing in the Dark Forest nearby. Because of beasts that dwell there, some trees lost part of their bark.
Smiling widely, Arthur dismounts his horse and walks to the object he desires above all. Excalibur shines beautifully. The red jewel on the pommel paints a circle on the ground.
"This is it, men," he says proudly. "This is the moment I finally become the true king."
Sir Marcus and the rest of the small group stand in anticipation. Marcus in particular eagerly awaits. A grin lightens his face.
Ever since he was a boy, Arthur held a strong belief that he's destined to be king; he is the chosen one, who is to bring peace and become a legend with Excalibur by his side.
His eyes sparkle at the majestic sword. He firmly grips the handle, exhaling. So this is what it feels like on his bare hands, the metal cool to the touch despite the heat. All the years of dreaming has finally come down to this. The king begins to pull and…
…the swords stays in place.
Arthur is bewildered, face twisting in confusion. What's happening? Why isn't it unsheathing from the stone?
"Is everything alright, Your Majesty?" Sir Marcus asks, a little worried.
"Of course everything's fine!" he yells back. "It's just not coming out. Perhaps it's stuck. It's been in here for several years." Arthur tries again, and the weapon doesn't budged an inch.
"Maybe.." Sir Marcus hesitates. "Maybe you're not the chosen one, my king?"
Arthur turns and points his finger toward him. "I am the chosen one! Who else-"
He stops, realization dawning. The chosen one is said to be from the royal family of the kingdom he rules. When he married into the family, he became part of it. The king thought that made him eligible but perhaps not. What if the one is supposed to be of blood? Arthur has been so caught up in finding Excalibur, of his childhood dream, that the possibility of that did not come to mind.
The potential truth hurts like a ton of heavy stones lying on his lungs. He is the king, but he is not the one, the legend. Glorious stories will not be told of him.
Arthur furrows his eyebrows. A small growl escapes from his throat. He isn't the chosen but that doesn't mean his dream has to die. The king can still rule with Excalibur; he just need who is the one to pull it out for him, the last living blood of the family.
"Sir Marcus," Arthur commands with authority, "bring me my stepson, Prince Macintosh."