"Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is rightwise king born of all England," the young man read with difficulty, brushing the engraved words clear of dirt and moss. He straightened up and gazed at the hilt and a small amount of blade that was protruding from the huge rusty lump of iron sitting on the mossy rock, his eyes narrowing in thought. Then he looked around at the old man who was leaning on a staff and watching him with interest from a few yards away.
"Really? Just pull this thing out and I'm the king?"
"Indeed."
"You sure?"
"I am."
The boy looked back at the sword, then walked around the stone a couple of times. "You're having me on."
"No, I'm not."
"Just yank this thing out and then bam! Every noble in the land is bowing down before me?"
"Essentially."
There was a pause.
"Pull the other one."
The old wizard sighed. "Arthur, you are being difficult again."
"It's an old sword, stuck through an ancient rusty anvil, sitting on a great lump of granite. How on earth can that be some sort of test of kingship? Kingitude?" The boy frowned while the wizard sighed again. "Kinginess?"
"Arthur!"
"Yes?"
"Stop that. It's annoying."
"You're the one who wants me to yank a chunk of metal out of another chunk of metal." Arthur reached out and prodded the dirty hilt, which looked like several birds had been somewhat ill on it. Then he wiped his finger on his tunic. "In there really well, too. I think the anvil was cast around it or something."
"Just pull it out, will you?" The wizard was now pinching the bridge of his nose and wincing in well-practiced pain. Every time. Every single time he tried to get the boy to do something, they had to go through this sort of thing.
Arthur looked dubiously at his mentor, then back at the sword. "I really don't think that..."
"Just pull it out!"
"Fine, fine, there's no need to shout," the boy grumbled. Clambering up onto the lump of rock the anvil was somehow attached to, he pulled an old rag out of his satchel and carefully cleaned the hilt, while the older man watched with impatience and bemusement. "This thing is filthy. If it's so important and magical, why isn't it in some castle somewhere instead of in the middle of the woods?"
Merlin sighed yet again, refraining from answering. He was convinced the damn kid did this on purpose...
"Just yank it out?"
"Yes. If you wouldn't mind."
"This isn't going to work."
Arthur looked at the wizard, who looked back, one eyebrow twitching. "Just... try it. Please. If you would be so kind."
"All right, but I'm telling you now this isn't going to work." Spitting on his hands, the young man rubbed them briskly together while the wizard winced, then grabbed the hilt. There was silence for a few seconds, as he strained and his face went pink. Merlin leaned forward…
"Told you. Can we go now? That barmaid in the last village was giving me the eye and I'd like to..."
Holding up his hand, the wizard halted the stream of words while he massaged his brow with the other one. His staff, no longer being held, stayed firmly upright, the bottom end floating about a finger's breadth from the loam floor of the woods. Arthur waited impatiently for the old man to finish whatever he was doing, some sort of magical ritual he assumed.
The old guy seemed to need to do it a lot. Presumably it was important for his powers.
"Try again," the wizard finally said, apparently done with his little ritual. He looked mildly pained, so it clearly took a toll on the poor guy. The price of magic, undoubtedly.
Arthur shrugged. "All right, but..."
"And this time put your back into it."
Giving the other man a look of mild annoyance, the boy grabbed the hilt again, very firmly, then yanked as hard as he could until he nearly went purple. Breathing heavily he finally let go and relaxed.
"Told you. Again. Look, this thing is probably just welded onto the anvil, or it's bolted underneath or something. Some sort of practical joke, you know? I've met a couple of blacksmiths, those guys have a weird sense of humor. Probably all the noise, banging hammers on anvils all day can't be good for you." He shrugged again. "You remember that one chap with a knife fetish? Always going on about shanking people. Weird guys, blacksmiths..."
"Arthur?"
"Yes?"
"Please stop talking."
He did. Sitting on the anvil next to the fake hilt he waited as Merlin did his little ritual again. Must have needed a boost or something.
"Did you really try as hard as you could?" the wizard finally asked when he lowered his hand.
"Of course. Look, nearly took the skin off my palms." Arthur held out a hand which had the pattern of the hilt still embossed into it.
"Odd." Walking around the stone with his staff obediently following in a way that to most people would make them look askance, but to Arthur was old hat, the other man inspected the anvil closely from all sides. "It should have worked."
"Why don't we go back to that last tavern and get a meal, maybe a drink, and you can think about it some more?" Arthur tried hopefully. The wizard ignored him, making him slump back onto the cold metal seat and eventually start whistling under his breath. The tune was one he'd heard a bard play a couple of weeks ago and was stuck in his head.
"Hey, Merlin?"
"Yes?"
"Why do some tunes just stay in your mind for ages? I mean, sometimes they go in one ear and out the other, but then other ones seem to hang around practically forever."
"You're talking again."
With a huff the boy folded his arms and glared at his mentor, who had only answered absently without taking his attention from the anvil. Silence, broken only by the sound of the birds and insects around them, fell. A couple of minutes later the wizard took his hat off and scratched his head, then shook it. Reaching inside the headwear, he pulled out a scroll and a quill, before motioning to his staff which flipped horizontal and hovered about knee height. The old man sat on it, his back towards Arthur, and began a series of complex calculations on the scroll, thinking hard.
The boy sighed and leaned on the hilt, waiting as patiently as he could. He knew full well that the old magic worker could keep this up for an hour or more, ignoring everything around him, until he'd worked his way through his thoughts.
Mildly curious about whether he could engineer a way to set light to the wizard's beard just to see if he actually noticed, the boy waited. A little while later he twitched when a voice said in his ear, "Hi! Mind moving about a foot to the right?"
"Gah!" Arthur jumped to his feet, whirled, and froze.
"Thanks," the dragon-like creature that was standing next to him said with a smile that exposed a lot of teeth. It was apparently female and fashioned much like a man, although with the scales and tail of a great lizard or some such beast. Glowing yellow-orange eyes with pupils like those of a cat met his, somehow getting across a sensation of amusement.
"Sorry to bother you, I just need to check something," the thing said in a reassuring voice. He stared at her, while wondering if perhaps that meat pie he'd had that morning had been off. It had tasted slightly weird…
The lizard woman, or whatever bizarre thing it really was, turned to the sword hilt and grabbed it, yanking upwards. With a grating sound the blade (which was neither welded in place nor bolted down) slid easily out of the anvil, showing it was nearly as long as he was tall. She made it look effortless and had done it single handed, making him gape in awe. "Huh. Spell's a bit wonky, must be a calibration issue," she mumbled mostly to herself, inspecting the gleaming blade carefully. "Might be due to so many people fiddling with it..." One clawed finger prodded the blade, somehow sinking into it without leaving a mark when she removed it. "Better remember that for next time."
He watched in stunned silence as the scaly female did something weird to the sword for a few seconds, then nodded in satisfaction. "That should do it." She shoved it back into the anvil as easily as she'd removed it, then checked something on the huge block of iron for a moment. "Yep, all reset. Sorry about the inconvenience. I'll just be on my way." Tipping the odd hat she was wearing to him, the lizard smiled, nodded, and hopped down from the stone, then wandered off while reading something from a scrap of what looked like parchment she'd pulled from somewhere he couldn't make out.
"Next, that crazy girl in the lake. Strange lifestyle, but whatever. Fifty year maintenance on yet another magic sword..."
Arthur watched until she was out of sight among the trees, then shook his head hard enough to make his ears ring.
After a couple of minutes, he turned away from the woods at the edge of the clearing around the giant boulder and gave the sword hilt an evaluating look. Then he reached out…
Merlin finally finished his calculations, taking into account the position of the sun, the moon, and the current time of year, not to mention the amount of magical energy flowing through the ley lines underlying the forest. Shaking his head, he scowled at the figures on his scroll. "I don't understand it," he complained to no one. "All the signs are there, I'm sure." He thought some more. "It might be the time of day, I suppose… Or… Ah, now that's a thought. All we need is a fresh hen's egg and two small stic..." He turned around as he was talking and stopped dead.
Arthur, who was sitting on the anvil polishing the sword with a cloth, looked up innocently. "Are you finished? If we hurry, we can still get lunch at the tavern, and I can probably impress Molly." He held the weapon up with both hands, smiling at the shiny blade. "Girls like a man with a giant sword."
The wizard sighed heavily. He was definitely doing this on purpose...