5 th Century Britain
-On the way to Cameliard-
After nearly three weeks of riding, Cameliard is only a few towns away. The excitement can be felt at camp, men chatter about finally seeing civilization again despite just visiting a village the week prior.
Arturia cannot blame them. Even she, who grew up in the countryside with Kay and Sir Ector, is tired of seeing endless trees, mud, and rocks for days.
Fighting a war and planning it is the exciting part, she thinks.
Actually winning is kind of boring.
Still, the ride back has given her plenty of time -too much time- to think about what Morgause said.
Uther Pendragon had other children?
If that was true then she cannot help but wonder why she's the one pretending to be a man. More than once she finds her fingers gripping the Sword of Appointment.
It was said in the heat of battle, but King Lot's words ring in her ears again.
"Do you think winning a few battles makes you King? Or is it that just that sword of yours?"
Arturia sighs deeply.
"Ugh, does he have a point? What on earth do I know about ruling?" She mutters to herself.
"Grip Caliburn any tighter and you might find it permanently welded to your fingers." A teasing voice brings her out of her thoughts.
"Merlin!"
"The one and only." He rides his horse so casually she wonders how he doesn't fall. "Or do you have any other handsome sorcerers tucked away that I don't know about?"
Arturia pointedly ignores his teasing. "There's something I need to ask you."
She had been putting it off for long enough. Something inside of her is terrified at what other members of the Pendragon line might imply, but she's also tired of doing nothing but think about Morgause's words.
"Hmm... you sound serious, my King."
"I am!" She snaps. "When have I not been?"
"Oh very well, very well. But is it something you want to ask me now?"
Arturia bites her lip. Merlin and she might be a few paces away from the next rider, far enough for the sounds of horses' hooves and carriages to mask their discussion, but asking such a sensitive question in the middle of a trek is hardly wise.
"Come to my tent when we break camp later." She pauses and glares at her once mentor. "This is serious, Merlin. I need to ask you something."
"Of course, dear boy." How the mage can give an irreverent bow on top of a horse, she'll never know. "I do hope you bring some fine wine to make it worth my while."
Arturia merely closes her eyes at his remark and spurs Llamrei forward.
Merlin hums, lying draped over a large chair. His hands reaching for a nearby fruit bowl.
"Hm? Is that all you can say, Merlin?" Arturia paces within the small confines of her tent. The agitation has been eating at her all day and her mentor's nonchalant attitude is not helping.
"I knew about them... if that was what you were wondering," He says popping a grape into his mouth.
"Then why-?"
"Why you?"
Arturia falls silent under Merlin's gaze as his question hits home. 'Why her' indeed. She's not a man, and it sounds like she isn't even the eldest of Uther's children...
Merlin puts the bowl away and turns, finally sitting properly on the King's chair. He eyes his pupil. How she can have accomplished so much and still feel insecure is something he'll never understand about humans.
Then again, like father, like daughter.
"Being a proper king has nothing to do with being a man. Or how old you are, Arthur. Do you think you're the only one who tried to pull Caliburn out of the stone?"
"I-"
"I told you before and I'll tell you again. Caliburn is not just a sword. Most men, most people, wouldn't be able to lift the sword that feels so weightless to you a mere inch."
"But-"
"Tis a symbol of the burden you bear as King. Anyone else would crumble under its weight."
Arturia sighs, eyes downcast and Merlin feels a pang of emotion in his chest. Is it guilt he feels for putting the hope of an entire country, an entire age, on a child's small shoulders?
He knows it.
He has seen the brilliant rise and the eventual fall of the Golden Age. But its shimmer will never end for the ideal of King Arthur will remain a symbol of humanity's hope for millennia to come.
For now though, the "ideal" looks less kingly and more worried child.
"Arturia." Merlin leans back and reaches for the fruit bowl again. "What are you so worried about?"
"It's just... Britain," She fidgets. "Will it really be better off with me as King?"
And there it is. Merlin smiles, in pity, pride, or amusement, he's not quite sure. The ideal king.
"There shall be none better, dear boy. You'll be Britain's most beloved King."
Notes: I have to say, I do enjoy writing younger Arturia (I call her Warturia in my head). She's not as hardened by everything she's gone through yet and she's much more open with her emotions here. I really like how Fate takes a double-edged sword approach to Arthurian myth. Everyone wants to pull Caliburn out of the stone for power and riches, but Arturia would have had a happier life as Sir Ector's daughter than as Uther's son. And I also thought it made little sense for both Arturia and Morgana Le Fay to be Uther's daughters and make Arturia king when the latter would have a better claim. In the original myths, Arthur's Uther's only child and heir while Morgana and Morgause are Igraine's children. I felt like I had to address that here. Up next: Can't wait until we reach Cameliard again and have Gwen and Warturia meet. Sucks that I lost the old writeups I had for that *squee* chapter, but let's see what I can come up with.