Standard Disclaimer: I don't own Merlin. Do the math.
o~O~o
The doors to the throne room swung inwards, revealing the chambers to be lit with soft golden sunlight that played gently about the faces of the people gathered to witness the crowning of their new monarch. The prince, four-and-twenty years of age, walked with a measured step towards the dais upon which his mother, and Court Sorcerer Merlin, waited patiently, the light of love and pride strong in their weathered eyes. Queen Guinevere, dressed in a gown of red satin, sat upon her lonely throne as if she'd been born there; head held high, shoulders pushed proudly back and her beauty – undimmed by age – only emphasised by the strong light siphoning in through the window. She emanated an air of quiet conviction that was contested only by Merlin, dressed in his usual midnight-blue robes with an elaborate crown – Arthur's crown – held tenderly in his hands. It had been he who had suggested the Queen, now quite old, relinquish the responsibilities of the kingdom to her son, and, though the young Pendragon had protested, Guinevere had accepted the proposal with good grace. This way, I can guide you while there is yet life in my bones, she had said gently, laying a weathered hand over his. You are more than ready, my son.
The young Pendragon kneeled on a satin cushion before his father's empty throne and squared his shoulders, tracking Merlin's solemn approach out of the corner of his eye. Holding his head high - as he was sure his father would have done in times gone by - he vowed inwardly to uphold the honour symbolised by that bejewelled chair to the best of his ability, painfully aware that he owed it not only to the kingdom, and his father's legacy, but also the man who now approached him with solemn, measured steps; his suspiciously youthful face deadpan to mask the pride he so obviously felt. Merlin had lost so much at the infamous Battle of Camlann that it hung about him like an aura, invisible yet palpable; a rent that could not be repaired with words or actions, and seemed likely never to be. The man paused over the young Pendragon with the crown between his hands, speaking in a deep, profound voice that rumbled the length of the hall like the bellow of a dragon.
"Do you swear to uphold and respect the laws of the land to which you have been entrusted?"
Taking a deep breath to soothe his trembling nerves, the young Pendragon answered, "I solemnly swear so to do."
"Will you protect the people of the kingdom, and prove to them that your hold over them is just and true?"
"I will."
"Will you honour the names of your forefathers, and carry with you their nobility and sense of duty?"
Solemnly, the young Pendragon answered, "I will."
"Then," Merlin proclaimed, a smile breaking over his face, "I crown thee Llancheu Arthur Elyan Thomas Gwaine Lancelot Leon Percival Gaius Merlin Pendragon, King of –" He hesitated when the Queen cleared her throat abruptly and – the crown almost kissing the tips of the prince's dark, curly hair – glanced uncertainly in her direction. "Is there a problem, my lady?"
"Yes!" Gwen snapped, fingers drumming on the armrest of her chair. "You said his middle names in the wrong order!"
"I … I did?"
"Yes," Llancheu sighed, dragging a hand down his face. He was no stranger to having to explain this. "It's Llancheu Arthur Thomas Elyan Gwaine Lancelot Leon Percival Gaius Merlin Pendragon."
"Oh. My apologies." Clearing his throat, Merlin cast the congregation and embarrassed glance and started again. "I crown thee Llancheu Arthur Thomas Elyan Gwaine Leon Lancelot Percival Gaius Merlin Pendra –"
"No, no, no!" Gwen stamped her foot crossly on the podium, her heels creating a sharp click that rang throughout the enormous chamber. "You got Leon and Lancelot the wrong way round!"
"D-did I?"
"Come on, Merlin, we went through this before the ceremony; it's really not that hard! Llancheu Arthur Thomas Elyan Gwaine Lancelot Leon Percival Gaius Merlin Pendragon!" She sat back and folded her arms, looking – despite her great dignity – for all the world like a petulant child denied a sweetmeat. Cheeks flaming, Merlin started once more, trying so desperately, and obviously, to ignore the stifled giggles rising from the congregation that it made Llancheu's heart ache.
"I c-crown thee Llancheu Arthur Thomas … Elyan …" Merlin trailed off, his brow creased in thought, before turning to address the Queen directly. "I, uh … what comes after that?"
Llancheu sighed, and buried his face in his hands. It was going to be a long day.
o~O~o
A/N:
Hope y'all don't mind this little crack!fic. It's something that's been playing about my mind a lot recently; while my headcanon is a firm believer that more went on at Camlann than meets the eye (wink wink, nudge nudge), and that Gwen ended up posthumously granting Arthur an heir, I'm somewhat doubtful that she would have granted said heir multiple middle names just to honour all the important men/women in her life. No. Just no. And, as an aside, the reason I chose 'Llancheu' as the aforementioned heir's first name is because it was the name of one of Arthur's children from the legend and I liked the sound of it.
Reviews, as always, are welcome. This was the result of a late-night writing spree (my keyboard seems incapable of spewing anything that's half-decent out during daylight hours) so if there are any grammatical errors or typos, either;
a) ignore it, or
b) let me know.
I'm a bit of a stickler for grammar, so any constructive criticism is also welcome.
Hope the Australian readership enjoys the rest of summer, and the upcoming festivities of Australia Day. For the rest of the world, I hope your winter isn't too cold. Just look on the bright side; soon, you'll be the ones laughing at us! Aren't the seasons nice in that way?