Merlin and Arthur. Set sometime during S2.

There is an art to skipping stones. Arthur doesn't believe me. He says that swordplay has artistry, and the aiming of a crossbow. But skipping stones? "You're just chucking rocks at a duck pond, Merlin," he says, and to prove that there is nothing to is, he finds a stone. A perfect skipping stone- round and flat and smooth- takes it in his hand and flicks it across the water. It sinks like the stone that it is. He scowls at the ripples and then at me, because I am right.

There is an art to skipping stones. You have to find the right one, the proper weight and size, the one that fits your hand, that settles between your fingers and palm. It must be smooth to skip across the water; if it's too rough, it will break the surface and disappear into the depths. The wrong shape will keep it from spinning the way it must to keep flying even after it's hit the water a time or two. A careful search and I find a good one, take it in my fingers, hold it just so, flick my wrist in the right sort of way, and let it fly . . .

It skips once . . . twice . . . thrice . . . Five times, all told. Nearly to the other side of the pond. Arthur scowls again, and then takes up the search for another good stone. His servant will not outdo him, even if it is in the doing of something as simple as chucking rocks at a duck pond. He holds a few up to the waning sun as though examining them, but I can tell he is trying to tell if I approve of his decision. I refuse to answer. If there is an art to skipping stones, there is an art to choosing them, as well, and he will never learn to do it right if he doesn't make a few mistakes first. That he does not simply order us home tells me he's willing to make mistakes. And I am willing to let him blunder about.

This is how I know Arthur will be a good king one day. Not because a dragon tells me that, or because some prophet says so. I know it because he is willing to make mistakes and learn from them. Because he strives to outdo me in all things. He wants to be the best at skipping stones, the best at swordplay, the best hunter; the wisest, and the most just king that ever there was. He thinks he wants to become a king like his father, but I know better. Uther is the twilight in the dark of the moon. Arthur will shine like the sun.

I am brought out of my reverie by his laughter. From the ripples, I see that he has finally skipped a stone across the water. Just three times, but he has only tried it a few times. I send another out, skipping it five times again, and back and forth we go until the light fails and we have to leave. As we head back to the horses, he dusts a hand across my hair then rests it on my shoulder. "All right, Merlin," he says, "Just this once, I'll admit that you were right. There is an art to skipping stones."