"I know all about your birth and parentage and who gave you your real name. I know the sorrows before you, and the joys, and how there will never again be anybody who dares to call you by the friendly name of Wart. In future it will be your glorious doom to take up the burden and to enjoy the nobility of your proper title: so now I shall crave the privilege of being the very first of your subjects to address you with it—as my dear liege lord, King Arthur."
~Merlyn - The Sword in the Stone, by T.H. White
The Chronicles of Artie Pendragon, Girl-King of England Born
Chapter Two: Kay - The Beginning
Artie's coronation was all right, I guess. Nothing fantastic, unless you put stock in gifts and gold and wizards. I don't. I can't believe I'm the only one who can smell this whole crock of nightsoil. But that's what you get for being me.
Pretty much everyone was there: the Lady of the Lake, three other weird-women who just stood there staring at nothing, more barons and kings than you could shake a sceptre at, a bunch of fey... oh, and don't forget Merlyn, master of being a cryptic git. I stood on the side with the rest of the knights, in front of the captains and all the soldiers handpicked to witness the royal splendor. They weren't very happy to be there. I think they'd rather be getting sloshed in some whorehouse or another. Benefits of peace.
Anyway, the chapel was a sight. Packed worse than a horse thief's stable.
"So, Sir Lancelot, isn't that your mom?"
I pointed at the Laky Lady. He turned, smiling at me in his mildly prissy way.
"Indeed, Sir Kay, I am forever indebted to the Lady of the Lake. For when I was but a swaddling babe, my father King Ban of Benwick and his sainted queen Elaine fled from the usurping wretch Claudas de la Deserte. And I was indeed carried in their arms, and…"
I can't stand Lancelot, really. No way on God's green earth is anyone actually that nice. You'd think he rubs flowers and sunshine in his hair, or bathes twice a week, or something ridiculous like that. Yeah. Lancie's a two-bath type of man.
"…and thus, receiving that vision of my double-cousins and my own self safe in the Lady's garden, the worries of my mother were assuaged. And I have it on good report that my aunt Evaine died of bliss. But never - and, mind you, not even after all the wondrous things that transpired - never would I presume to call a Queen of Faerie my mother."
"Wow," I said. "Neat. So was Elaine your mom, or Evaine?"
Lancie stared at me for a bit, then opened his mouth.
"Shh," hissed Bedivere. "It's starting."
Trumpets. Fanfare. A few hurried coughs from the people who just had to get it out of their systems. The bishops walked right out and then Artie was inching her way towards the throne, wrapped in the most ridiculous blue ermine mantle I've ever seen. I was praying that she'd trip and at the same time that she wouldn't, if you get what I mean. She doesn't even do dresses, let alone giant fuzzy capes.
She flumped right down, holding the scepter and wearing her fancy new sheath, the one the Lady gave her without even bothering to bubble a hello. Not the sword, Excalibwuh or whatever. Apparently Merlyn said it was to 'symbolise the coming of peace,' and anyway, the Lady was going to give the sword back to her. Again. Ceremonially. I hoped she'd say hello this time.
Speaking of Merlyn, he was standing beside the gilded seat. It's a bit hard to describe the codger if you haven't seen him. Think the oldest eyes ever, like your grandfather's but thrice that. Then picture snow-white hair, as long and luscious as a maiden's, a sharp ageless face and the prissiest robes this side of Lancie. That's Merlyn.
Gadzooks, I hate Merlyn.
So, there was Artie, sitting on that massive throne and staring right back into all those pews, completely bone-white. You'd think she was starkers, only she demonstrably wasn't, but anyway it looked like she was ready to throw the sheath at Merlyn and bolt. Again, something I was wishing and not-wishing for.
"We are gathered here today," said Merlyn in solemn tones, "to witness the dawning of a new age."
Half the time Merlyn wanders around like a two-hundred-year-old man looking for his dead cat's dead grandsire, but when he gets serious his voice hits you on the head like a frozen flail. The chapel grew so quiet, you could have heard a fly sneeze.
Of course, one of the barons immediately ruined it by breaking into a magnificent volley of coughs. Merlyn stared at him long enough for everyone else to stare at him, then turned back to the general throng.
"Before you, proved by prophecy and the hand of God, is Arthur, true son and heir of Uther Pendragon. Out of all men in England he drew the sword Caliburn from its stone, and with it smote the heathen from our shores. Does any man contest his right to the throne of all England?"
"Technically," I whispered to Bedivere, "he lost Caliburn in a-"
There was a tremendous ruckus behind me.
"Christ and Arthur!" yelled the soldiers, who had probably just come to. "Christ and Arthur!"
Their captains made frantic gestures for them to shut up.
"Christ and Arthur," said one unlucky sap.
Merlyn stared at him. He went quite yellow. I might have been seeing things, but I think Artie giggled.
"That being as it may," said Merlyn, "I shall now bind the Pendragon with most strait vows, both for him and all the people. This is a very important ceremony. A very, very important ceremony. Hum."
He reached into his robes and produced a very thick scroll, which started spooling around him like a hemp blanket.
"I'll have you know," came his muffled, serene voice, "that I wouldn't need to do this if you all didn't keep interrupting me. Ah, yes."
And then the scroll burst into a flock of doves, to the great amazement of everyone present. Merlyn stepped in front of Artie, which naturally meant no-one could actually see her.
"Do you, Arthur, son of Uther, son of Constantine, swear that the church of God and the whole Christian people shall have true peace at all times by your judgement?"
"Sure," said Artie.
"And do you swear that you will forbid extortion and all kinds of wrong-doing to all orders of men, and save them from wretch and ghoul and beast alike?"
"Don't see why not," said Artie.
"And do you swear that you will enjoin equity and mercy in all judgments, and uphold righteousness as long as you live?"
Artie peered out from behind Merlyn's left sleeve, blinking.
"That's why I'm here, isn't it?"
Merlyn raised his hands, and light blazed through the stained glass. A gleaming circlet of gold settled in his fingers, as if forged by the rainbow sun.
"Then, by the power invested in me, and by the grace of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit, I crown you Once and Future King of this Isle of Albion. Long live Arthur Pendragon, King of the Britons!"
"Christ and Arthur!" roared the soldiers, this time jubilant at getting it right.
"Long live the King!" cried Bedivere.
Lancie clapped, but I saw his eyes shining. The nobles made a polite flutter. The Lady of the Lake went up and re-presented Excalibwuh, although I couldn't make out if she said hello or not. The rich ones brought gifts. And I saw Artie looking more and more pleased and more and more royal, until she had the good grace to smile at the kings and the barons, and let them kiss her ring.
And I was just about to grumble something and go outside for some suckling pig when she looked at me and winked, and then I went up and hugged her right off her throne and she didn't even hit me.
Yeah. It was all right, the coronation. Not too bad at all.