Chapter One
Arthur threw his body into the nearest alcove, his eyes darting around him desperately. His hands grasped hold of the sword tightly pressing the hilt into his chest. Concentrating he slowed his breathing to a soft huff not wanting to give away his positioning. He lowered his gaze to the stone floor watching the shadows move across. Some came towards him and hurried past while others avoided him completely. There. Soft footfalls and clinking of armour signalled the arrival of his adversary.
Pushing his body further into the wall he adjusted his stance making sure that no parts of his body would be visible. He could feel his hands start to tremble and a small hitch of his breath escaped his lips before he was able to stifle it. The footsteps slowed to a stop. The shadow bouncing around the floor near the prince's feet. One more step.
Slowly moving his sword so that it was in his right hand he placed his left against the wall. His legs twisting around and his body turning sideways, the alcove still concealing him. The edge of his blade tapped against his leg as he shifted his weight once more. The shadow inched closer, the tell-tale glint of a sword bouncing off the early evening light streaming through the small window in the corridor.
Arthur controlled his breathing making it become even shallower, to the point even he was not sure he was intaking any air. The shadow passed the window, delving the alcove into darkness. Using this to his advantage, the young prince slipped past the figure, his sword swinging in a circle in his right hand, a move he had wanted to perfect the moment he was given a weapon. Making sure that he was behind the figure he placed the point of his sword into their lower back watching with satisfaction as the persons shoulders tensed.
"This the best you can do?" Arthur scoffed shifting his weight around on his feet, his full attention focused on the person's body language, assessing the situation as he had been taught. There. The flex of the right shoulder.
Grinning, Arthur ducked, avoiding the blade flying over the top of his head and managing to keep a hold of his sword that had almost been dislodged by the person's left hip. One more flick of his wrist, the sword circling in his hand once more, he lifted the blade up to meet with his adversaries. The metal clanged against each other echoing throughout the empty corridor, it would not be long until the Guards would come running.
Blue stared into blue. The metal singing together with every strike that was countered. Arthur adjusted his feet allowing his left to fall behind his right. His weight being distributed to his back foot. His back bowing slightly with his arms bending at the elbow. He could feel his arms shaking from the pressure of holding back the other man's blade. The sword coming closer to his face. Gritting his teeth, he pushed with the last of his remaining strength. His feet switching positions, his sword hand swinging forward to swipe at the man's chest causing him to jump back. His left elbow slamming up into his chin in the same movement. The man stumbled back, blood dripping from his split lip and his eyes widening in surprise. Using this to his advantage Arthur forced his right knee up into the man's stomach, his right hand pressed the sword to his throat while his left knocked the man's sword out of his hand sending it clattering to the floor.
A satisfied huff escaped out of his lips and his mouth curled up into cocky smirk. Behind him the hurried sound of footsteps rumbled down from the end of the corridor. He could hear maybe about four or five Guards that had been alerted. At least a full minute or two since he had started fighting his attacker. He was going to have to have a word with the senior Guard about the lack of urgency. If this had been anyone else…
"Sire!" one of the guards called out their footsteps falling still at once seeming to take into the scene they had walked into.
"Everything's fine," Arthur called out allowing his sword to fall to his side, his left hand reaching out to the man in front of him, the cocky expression still plastered across his face. He huffed out a laugh at the petulant look that was being thrown his way, but the man placed his hands in his. Admitting his defeat and allowing the prince to pull him to his full height. Releasing his grip Arthur slotted his sword back into its place on his belt. "As you were," he threw over his shoulder to the Guards, who he felt rather than saw bow in acknowledgement.
He was about to spit out a retort at the man in front of him, but his sharp gasp of breath and sudden tension had the words dying in his throat. Another presence lingered behind him having seemed to have followed the guards. Huffing out a breath he knew there was only one person who would have this effect.
"Arthur," a stern voice growled out, closer than he had expected him to have been.
Shooting a desperate look towards the other man who was by now bowing in respect and refusing to meet Arthur's eyes. Great, just perfect. Allowing his perfect prince façade to take over he spun on his heels and lowered his eyes respectfully even though that one action had caused bile to slide up his throat. How he hated all this formality and decorum he had to show. He did not know many teenagers who would not agree with him. "Father," he responded his voice not showing the disgust he was feeling.
"May I ask why my guards have been disturbed from their post?" Uther's arms folded against his chest and his eyebrows raised in anger. His piercing eyes stared pointedly through Arthur like he was assessing his very soul and deciding what punishment he deserved this time.
"Training my Lord," the man behind Arthur called out coming to stand by his side. Sliding his own sword into his belt and moving the cape to the side to bow once more. "I…"
"I was talking to my son Sir Leon," Uther growled out holding his hand out to the knight effectively dismissing him and his opinions from the matter. "Arthur?"
"It won't happen again," Arthur bit out through the fake smile he was shooting. Inside his body was shaking and he wanted nothing more than to run away from this situation. He knew from experience that it was not worth trying to argue with his father. The man had made it perfectly clear that he was a King first and a father last…if he had ever been a father. What kind of father would lock their son into the dungeons for doing something small like spilling their food. "I wanted to show Sir Leon what I have learnt…"
"Is that so," a smile curled up Uther's lips. "If that is the case then I would like to see," he unclasped his arms and held them down to his side. The crown on his head glinting off the light almost blinding Arthur. "I think we all would," he tilted his head towards the growing crowd of servants and guards that had apparently started to gather at his back. "The Knights tourney is next week, and I expect you to win."
"Father…" Arthur gasped out feeling his knees starting to weaken.
"You think you are a knight Arthur well now is your time to prove it."
"Sire, he's just fourteen summers," Sir Leon started to move forward however Arthur wrapped his hand around his wrist pulling him back behind him.
"And he already thinks he is better than one of my best knights," Uther raised his eyebrow in disappointment and started to shake his head. "Unless you want to concede and stop this foolishness…"
"A week it is," Arthur responded his eyes narrowing, his heart pounding fiercely in his chest regretting every single decision he had ever made to get him to this point. "I will make you proud father."
"See that you do," Uther waved his hand dismissing the pair instantly. He walked straight past them expecting the prince and knight to press against the wall to move out of his way. "Oh Arthur," he paused in his movements peering over his shoulder. "Fail and I will show you what happens when my knights disappoint me," with those words he took his leave, a gaggle of guards following him, purposely not looking at the young prince out of sympathy.
Watching his father stride away, Arthur felt his body sliding down the wall until he was perched on the floor. His hands twisting together, and his bright glassy blue eyes bounced around his head. What had he just done? "Shit," he breathed out the curse word satisfied that the only one who was going to hear it was Leon. "Shit," he repeated bringing his hands up to card through his hair, pulling at his fringe so that it started to stick up in all different directions. He could feel the breath catching in his throat and a few tears slipped past his defences.
"Arthur you cannot do this," Leon's voice called out to him with his hands falling onto his shoulders. "You could be killed!"
"I do not have a choice," Arthur breathed out, hating how true those very words were.
A week had never gone by so quickly before. Since that day Arthur had done nothing but train. Spending his time with Leon, the older twenty-year-old knight showing him everything that he could. From footwork to sword work, defence, shield bashing and even building upon his own strength. His body was sore in places he did not even know could be. But he still felt like nothing more than the child he was meant to be. He was only fourteen and he was going to be called out as Knight champion for Camelot. As punishments went this was on a whole other level.
George, one of Uther's personal servants, fussed around him. Placing the various bits and pieces of armour onto his body. Chatting mindlessly about the different kinds of metal and their benefits. At least he was refraining from making any more jokes about brass. Arthur had no idea how many more times he could fake laugh before he began to hate himself. He feigned interest in what the man was saying however on the inside his mind was in turmoil. Everyone who cared about him had constantly tried to make him concede defeat and take his father's disappointment instead. They did not know his father like he did, death would be better than to be a failure. At least if he died, he died trying to be brave. There was only one thing the King hated more than magic and that was cowardice. It did not matter that he was a prince and sole heir to Camelot. His title meant nothing if he could not prove that he deserved it.
Feeling his helmet and sword thrusted into his hands he brought himself crashing out of his musings. George was staring at him with his eyes appraising his appearance. Satisfied he nodded to himself and took his leave without saying another word. Leaving the prince standing alone in the tent just waiting for the moment his name would be called onto the tourney grounds. Knights from all over the kingdom had gathered, more so than usual seeing as the appeal of the young prince taking part was too strong to ignore apparently. He had no idea he had so many fans or enemies most likely. Who would not want the chance to cut down a teenager playing at being an adult.
Allowing his eyes to slip closed he sent up a prayer to a being he did not believe in, he would try anything at this rate just to make sure that he saw through the end of the day. Fear was racking through his body, and he could feel his palms sweating through his gloves. He would not have been able to grip his sword if he did not have them. He could do this. He was the prince of Camelot he was not allowed the luxury of fear. The two years of knights training he had had did not seem enough. He was not enough.
"Arthur," a female voice called out to him gently, he felt a hand cup his cheek and he had to fight the urge to jump. He had not even heard anyone enter his tent that was how messed up emotionally he was.
His eyes flew open. In front of him was Morgana, her black hair was twisted into a braid across her right shoulder, she wore the finest gown of a forest green, and jewels were cascading down from her neck. The King's Ward and guest that could do no wrong in his father's eyes. He was more of a father to Morgana than he was to Arthur, whether this was because she was a female, his promise he had made to his friend or the fact that Morgana was four years his senior making her older and more respectable in a noble's eyes. He hated the resentment he felt towards her, but he was not mature enough to be able to let it go. At the end of the day, it was not her fault that Uther hated the sight of Arthur, Arthur was not even sure it was his fault either. Gaius claimed it was because Arthur was the spitting image of Ygraine, a reminder that was too painful for the King. Not that Arthur would know as he was never allowed to know about his mother. He had no idea what she had even looked like to know if he was her mirror image.
"Arthur," Morgana called out again her concerned eyes peering down at him. Apparently, she had been speaking. Behind her, her maidservant entered, bowing her head graciously towards him. Guinevere, Gwen, the blacksmiths daughter, and Morgana's best friend. She went everywhere with the other woman no matter what she wanted Gwen would deliver. Arthur could not imagine having someone like that in his life. A servant at his beck and call, completing any task he wanted, becoming his confidant and friend. A loyal friend to the end.
"Morgana," Arthur greeted tightening his grip on his sword and helmet, silently cursing himself from becoming too distracted. This was how he was going to get himself killed if he was not careful.
"Do not fight," Morgana's hand tightened around the wrist of his sword hand. "Please just concede."
"Then my father will think me a coward," Arthur bit back taking a step away from her and allowing her hand to fall to her side. Ignoring her worried glances, he straightened his shoulders hearing the ecstatic roar of the crowd as their King started to address them.
"Your arrogant pride and ego will get you killed," Morgana spat out throwing her braid over her shoulder. She glared at him one more time, seeing that she was getting no where she huffed out her defeat taking her leave.
"Good luck Arthur," Gwen called out hurriedly following her mistress.
Luck. He was going to need more than that if he was going to survive.
