It started with a sudden sense of purpose. From nothing, Arthur knew: it was time.
Serenely he rose from the depth. The water clinging to him, tugging on his stiff limbs. His fingers a loose grip around a solid hilt.
Then he broke the surface and — as if a spell had been broken as well — clarity came: he would die again by drowning if he did not get a move on.
.
.
It was an exhausted man that dragged himself ashore. Words were grumbled about farcical aquatic ceremonies, bucketloads of lake sand stuck in too many layers of rusting armour and absent manservants.
Cold and trembling fingers removed vambraces and pauldron, throwing them next to a gleaming Excalibur. Arthur was soaked and uncomfortable. His gambeson made squishy noises with each movement and so did his socks.
He cursed once more whatever deity had felt it a great idea to keep Arthur in a murky pond during his once-and-future interval. There had to be a more solid system for this type of thing.
But Arthur had not come back to whinge about his lot. He had a purpose and this time he would fulfil it.
.
.
It was a bedraggled man that pounded the worn hovel's door with altogether to much force for a man in his state. Sure enough, the door could not withstand such pounding and slanted in its hinges.
No-one opened.
Arthur frowned at the now skewed door. He had been sure this time the home was inhabited. There were clear and often used trails running from the cabin.
Squished grass told a tale of human activity no older than a day. And it was late enough that he would expect people to be home.
In dire need of some comfort, Arthur tugged on the door to enter. The slab of wood protested against the new movement and came off its hinges entirely, falling against him. It made Arthur hope no-one would come home after all. A memory of a broken pot and an affronted sorcerer coming to mind.
Door now in his hands Arthur turned his damp body around, moved back and placed the slab of wood back in the opening, himself now on the inside of the hovel.
The place smelled like the herbs in Gaius' chambers, without the stench patients would oftentimes bring. There were faint traces of wood fire and food in the air also. Arthur's stomach grumbled.
Time to show a certain someone that Arthur was perfectly able to take care of himself. After all he would have to be strong and healthy to have any chance at reaching his goal.
.
.
It was the sound of something large falling and a manly yelp that woke the king. Not entirely alert he sat up in the far too uncomfortable cot that he had claimed, rusty dagger in one hand, the second reaching for Excalibur.
"What the hell!" the man at the door exclaimed, evidently referencing the door as it appeared he'd not seen Arthur yet.
Then Merlin stepped in, with a frown on his face taking in the mess Arthur made last night.
"Merlin!" Arthur called out happily, thanking whatever deities brought his manservant here when Arthur's need was greatest. His attempt at dinner had been abysmal, and he'd found no way to clean and dry his armour and clothes.
"A-Arthur!" Merlin sounded almost as scared as he'd done with the Dorocha. That would not do.
Arthur stood up in the threadbare nightshift he had found lying around and paced the few steps to his befuddled friend in the door opening and hugged him tight.
"Did you sense me with your sorcery?" Arthur asked when Merlin appeared to have finally overcome his stupor and started hugging back.
"No. No. I... What?"
"Then how did you know?" Arthur looked around the cabin in the morning light, seeing it through new eyes. "You live here now?!"
"No. Yes. A bit?" Merlin stared at Arthur with entirely too big eyes, his mouth left agape. Arthur feared he would never understand how this fumbling man could also be a skillful and cunning sorcerer and cuffed him lightly on the head. "Ow!"
"Well, you living here wont do, Merlin. I need you in Camelot."
That seemed to finally get Merlin to his senses. Sharp as an arrow he honed eagerly in on this subject. "Do you know why you are back? What is coming? Tell me all you know." He started grabbing around him, collecting satchels and herbs, trinkets that were strewn around. Some items magically floated to a lumpy bag in the corner.
Though Merlin had been his manservant for almost a decade, Arthur was not used to this type work ethic and he needed a moment to adjust. But he perfectly knew what he needed Merlin to do.
"I need my armour polished. It's rusty. I need dry, clean clothes, a good meal and if at a all possible two horses readied for a ride to Camelot. Also, — " he regarded Merlin's physique with a measuring glance "— I need you to be my target in practice." That would be a good start to ready himself for what he was to do.
Merlin groaned.
.
.
It was with a flurry of excitement that Arthur re-entered Camelot for the first time since he left for Camlann. On foot, as Merlin apparently could not magic up horses. On Merlin's advice Arthur wore a cape to ensure no rumors would reach the Queen before they did. Arthur found that he had taken Merlin's advice without any reservation or ribbing.
His manservant had glanced at him and touched him none-too-subtly all too often during their journey as if to make sure Arthur was real. He did not want to make too much fun of the nervous bundle of man that accompanied him. Plus Arthur had to acknowledge it was sound advice.
They were not the only travellers. A stream of mostly men in their prime — some heavily armed, others traveling more lightly — sought their way to the many inns and taverns the city was rich. The atmosphere was full of excitement, fully matching Arthur's spirit. He felt the rightness of it in his core.
Merlin appeared less happy with the circumstance. "I had almost forgotten. Tomorrow the open tournament starts... Do you think it will affect-"
Arthur did not let him finish. "I know! It is great! I am a bit out of shape, but surely I should still be able to get the finale, if not win it." Arthur felt his grin widening as he saw a sturdy looking boy parry a hefty looking blow from a brute of a man a bit further in the alley. He was so exited to partake in a tourney again.
"What?!" Merlin sputtered and stopped walking altogether. "You couldn't specify why you came back from the dead but you could tell it was time for the ten yearly open tournament?"
Merlin sounded disbelieving. That was odd. Had Arthur not been clear?
"I do perfectly well know why I came back, Merlin. I can't very well be the Once and Future King and not have won the once-every-ten-years open tournament even once, now can I? I would have thought that much was obvious."
Merlin's mouth was agape again. Arthur smiled at him sunnily. "Come on then. We have a lot of preparation to do before tomorrow."
.
.
It suffices to say, Arthur won the tournament, this time without help from a very disgruntled manservant. Arthur could not have envisioned a better outcome.