A/N:

Many, many thanks to all the people who put this story on their favourites' and/or story alert list. Such E-Mail-Messages keep me going (almost!) as much as reviews do.

Reviewers always earn my eternal gratitude, even those who send in reviews without a reply link. To those people: Big bear hug and tokens of my passionate love for taking the trouble of reviewing this.

Jammeke send me a review, asking, among other things, " Oh. *Oh*. How many times is Arthur going to die in this story? Well, almost die, that is? I think I've lost count of the number of times he's managed it so far. ;-) Well, I promise the last chapter was the last time for a while.

Please keep these reviews coming. And, if you really like the story, do not forget to tell your friends all about it. If you don't like it, please keep your mouth shut but send me a review with your reasons (do not forget the reply link in those!)

And naturally: My most sincere apologies for taking so long for this update. I was kind of busy for a change. I'll try to be more regular again from now on.

A future haunted by the past

3. A stone's throw from the Golden Age

"You can as well stop talking, Arthur. I won't do it and that's final!" Guinivere smiled most politely while she said it, but only to soften the blow.

Her husband looked at her despairingly. Hours ago he had entered this discussion, most cleverly in his own opinion, with an apology for his behaviour in the throne room. It had perhaps been the most insincere apology of his life – although he had once given a lot of these to his father – but it had also been the most useless.

While she had at once been all remorse for her own misplaced earlier remark, this had done nothing to convince her that she had to leave.

Arthur had then consecutively flattered her, yelled, growled, begged and screamed; it had achieved exactly nothing. When Elyan threw around his weight as a worried brother, Gwen had send him packing so discourteously that he had slunk off like a scolded puppy with his tail between his legs.

Guinivere agreed that Margaly should be brought to safety but she was adamant that she herself would stay, and nothing her husband said or did could persuade her otherwise. Finally she came up with the argument that she had been sworn in as a Member of the Fellowship of the Round Table as much as his knights. So she could not abandon her post, could she.

She looked very satisfied that she had thought of that, and the exasperated King did not know whether to hug and kiss or slap her.

"Sweetheart, please. For the sake of our second child…." Arthur tried again.

"Oh, to hell with that, it's not even born yet. I was your wife before I became its mother. Why tends everybody to forget that?"

"Because the little ones cannot take care of themselves, that's why."

"And you can?"

"Guinivere!"

Arthur knew he should have kept up his regal appearance of utter rejection, the more so as he had really taken offence; but he found he couldn't when she laid her arms around his neck and kissed him. "When will you learn that it is not a King's duty to do everything himself?" she murmured afterwards. "Not even Uther thought he could rule Camelot alone."

She almost choked on the word 'Uther' and instinctively Arthur took her into his arms in a very protective manner. "Darling, it won't help me at all to know that you and Morgana are up on that tribune when I fight. It'll only distract me."

"So Morgana will stay, but I may not?" She stiffened at once and tried to pull away.

Pendragon closed his eyes in sheer desperation. All he had wanted to say was that the one would not leave without the other, and now he was in hot water up to his neck. What curse was it that always made him choose the wrong words in such situations?

"I didn't say that…."

"Yes, you did."

"Morgana has promised me to bring you and Margaly to safety, Guinivere. And she has promised to take care of all of you in the future. So there you are." The young King was pleased that he should have thought of such an undeniable proof for his sister's imminent departure.

A red hot wave flushed Gwen's neck and face; not even her velvet dark skin could hide it. "So that's how you really think of me" she hissed. "I'm a weakling; I need your sister to take care of me and of my child, because I'm too stupid to do it myself!"

In the blink of an eye, Arthur found himself pushed against the wall, too surprised by the violent action to do anything about it. Speechlessly he watched his infuriated wife pace to and fro, angry tears in her eyes while she spared him nothing of what she felt. He didn't hear half of it and he understood even less, because she was sobbing in between and her sentences were cut in halves and jerky.

Finally, completely at a loss at what else to do, he gave it up. He tried again later, but he was talking to a wall for all she cared.

Consequentially, when the fateful fifth day came, neither woman had left, Merlin and Gaius were still there, Algernon and his people were too, they had heard nothing from Morgause or Morgwyn for all the urgent messages Morgana finally admitted to have sent her sister.

In uncharacteristic fatalism, Arthur thought that he could as well give up the pretence that he was in charge of anything in Camelot. Another discussion about his chances was the last thing he could cope with right now, so in sheer self-defence he avoided the subject determinedly. Besides, although he despised himself for it, he depended for dear life on not being alone during this horrible wait.

With time, Merlin's cheerfulness, as well as Morgana's and Gaius' unwavering calm, were a bit too conspicuous under the circumstances and Arthur began to wonder.

A half awkward, half hopeful feeling sneaked on him. A feeling that his sister and magician-friends might have made some plans of their own, and that he had not yet seen the end of the matter. The thought grew to an irrational dimension; the more so as he was completely unmolested when he withdrew to the training ground for practising. Not even Gaius reproached him for it – or for the utter uselessness of the empty gesture.

As a result, the young King was in idiotically high spirits the day be fore the tournament was scheduled. For the first and most likely the last time in his life, and with Merlin's most determined albeit silent support, he pampered himself with ungrounded optimism and let his imagination run wild.

And yet, Lancelot could not have chosen a worse moment to demand an impromptu audience with his King.

"My Lord we think, if your challengers chose champions to fight for them, why shouldn't you do the same?" the knight said. "We've discussed this amongst ourselves and we think that one of us should take on the challenge on your behalf."

He stood there, head erect, smiling friendly; a handsome young man in the bloom of his years and strength; a superb fighter who knew his abilities and what to do with them. Women's eyes followed him wherever he went, but he never cared. People gossiped that he must have a secret love that blinded him to any other.

Having known the poisonous tittle-tattle of evil tongues all his life, Arthur had shrugged it all off so far, even one or two more ribald hints at Lancelot looking peculiarly at another man's wife or at his growing popularity and the adoration he enjoyed for his skill with the sword.

Now, like a flash of lightning, all the rumours came back. Suddenly Arthur was no longer sure for whose benefit Gwen was staying and all his laboriously kept up self-confidence virtually imploded; leaving a burning, bleeding hole in his shaken soul.

"Have you indeed" he replied venomously. "And pray enlighten me, who should take my place in the arena tomorrow?"

"We've drawn straws" Lancelot said, a bit aghast at the acid tone, but eagerly despite of it. "I won. So I beseech you to allow me to fight in your place tomorrow."

It was the last straw that broke the camel's back. Ten horrible minutes later, a crestfallen Lancelot fled from the King's office as if all demons of hell were after him, while a deeply shocked Merlin stared at his royal friend's chalk white face as if he saw it for the first time ever.

"You…..you don't mean that, do you?" the warlock stammered. "You wouldn't banish him, would you?"

Merlin yelped when Arthur pushed his shoulder angrily. "You knew, all the time" the King said. "You knew they'd loved each other before she came to me."

"Arthur, you're making this up. Gwen loves you. And you said I'm your friend. Would a friend do this to you?"

"Maybe I was wrong about our relationship, too. After all, your good friend Lance knew about your magic before I did. You never chose to tell me anything."

"I did not tell him anything either. He just watched me, by accident. Great Gods, is this a moment to bring up all this snow from yesteryear?"

"How should I know that it is snow from yesteryear? It may be snow from last night for all I know."

"What do you take Guinivere for? Damn it, she married you. Doesn't that tell you anything?"

"Maybe she's disappointed. I'm not much of a catch after all."

Merlin was taken aback. "What is the matter with you? You behave like a madman!"

"Well, you do not have to waste your precious time on me any longer. Get out."

"But I…."

"GET OUT OF MY SIGHT! Before I do something I might regret."

After that, Arthur found himself a spare room, curled up on the bed there and spent what might well be his last night on earth with feeling terrible. At first he had silently raged that he was so very misunderstood and unappreciated but as always, this didn't last long. All too soon, his thoughts went down another, more torturous alley. What mistakes had he made, where had he taken the wrong turn? Where had he been at fault, bad enough to deserve his lot?

In his mind, Arthur began arguing with his father. These silent, tormenting debates had become a frequent obsession of his, one he shared with nobody. Usually they ended with the young King feeling utterly inadequate, a dreadful failure. But this time, things worked out differently.

There were some rare, precious things carved in stone in Arthur's soul, far beyond the devastating reach of even Uther Pendragon's overwhelming shadow, dead or alive.

The friendship with a peasant sorcerer from Ealdor was only one of these things. The punishment the father could inflict on his son's mind even from the grave also stopped where she was involved.

A long time ago Arthur had made up his mind that Guinivere was much more important than Uther Pendragon. Nothing had ever changed that. And nothing ever would.

The King came to a decision and rose. There were other debates to be had, while there was still time. He had wasted too much of it already, while anger and suppressed fear had clouded his judgement.

Alas, Lance, too, had been angry and devastated enough to lose his common sense. He had told Gwen all about his encounter with Arthur, including the more nasty parts of her husband's suspicions. He asked her to come with him. She chucked him out and he could not doubt that this dismissal was a final one. His face hot with shame and the burning hurt of devoted love rejected, Lance ran from her quarters. He grew up in this night, and he came out of it another man.

Compared to what Gwen felt after that scene, even Arthur had a rather pleasant night.

When her husband came to her, shortly before dawn, she was ready for everything. Except for what he had to say. At first she could not believe it. Then she listened more carefully. And eventually she forgot that a man named Lancelot had ever existed.

Merlin, having got an earful of what Gaius had to say to all of it – repeatedly coming back to "I've told you, this secrecy would do no good!" – debated with himself the whole night if or if not he should go to his friend in the morning to help him get ready for the fight. Finally he trotted furtively into the King's chambers, only to find Gwen helping her husband into his armour. Neither of them looked up and after a minute, Merlin left; a sick, aching feeling in his heart. He should have been glad for them, and yet he would have given much to be with his best friend before he went into a possibly fatal battle.

The warlock barely made it to the edge of the jousting field in time. People were swarming it already. Somehow, everyone had found out what this was all about; at another time Merlin would have found it heart-warming to see and hear that the commoners were mostly on the Pendragons' side. Now the warlock could only think of how much these people could do if his plan did not work out. The answer was: Nothing. Nothing at all.

Merlin remembered the jousting match between Arthur and his cousin Becco all these months ago, which had ended with an al most lethal injury for Uther's son. It didn't bode well of what was to come today. Suddenly his plan seemed childish, doomed to failure.

Merlin's gaze strayed to the splendid stands of Camelot's high society. The few aristocrats, courtiers and rich people that had not yet left the city, in body or at least in mind, had also gathered. For a moment the warlock wondered at what they might be feeling under all these fine clothes and splendid jewels. Fear for their young King? Or hope for a more prosperous future without him?

He flinched when he found one of the biggest stalls occupied. Flying proudly in the morning breeze, it sported the colours of both Ravenclaw and Bodmin, as well as the Branguards' house flag. Led by the two brothers themselves, everybody who had a rank and a name in the two estates was there. Each and every man's armour showed the great dragon crest of Camelot. It was a demonstration of loyalty and in this very moment, it was more welcome than all the riches of Sheba could have been.

Merlin wanted to walk over to speak to Malcolm Branguard who was the more accessible of the two brothers, but before he could do so, fanfares belted out.

Side by side, followed by all the knights of Camelot, the Queen and her sister in law took their places in the royal stall. Morgana rose again and, as calm as you please, with an amiable smile she declared today's tournament open, like she had done many a time during Uther's reign. For the serenity she displayed, it could have been an every day occasion, some sport event that did not matter much.

Only now Merlin dared looking at the other side of the field, where the banners of their enemies were flying, the crests of the three knights that were to fight the King of Camelot on behalf of the three highest ranking opponents Marke, Lot and Leodegrance were already displayed on the board. This very moment, the three nobles took their own seats, together with their followers.

Merlin smiled with bitter irony. Their relatively small, hand-picked entourage would fool no one. Outside the city gates, their assembled armies covered every square inch of the ground. That the Branguards had come here unmolested was a miracle nobody had expected. Most likely the three self-styled saviours of Camelot's honour had thought to impress and flatter the brothers, win them over in a charm-offensive. If that was the case, the display of the Camelot crests could do nothing to improve Marke's or the others' mood.

The fanfares sounded again, announcing Arthur's entry to the field. The whole rigid etiquette of a tournament was meticulously reeled off, until Merlin would have liked to scream. Bastards, filthy petty minded bastards; they used the knights' code and Arthur's sense of loyalty and righteousness to get their unjust spoils even cheaper; cowardly denying their opponent the mercy of an honourable death in open battle. Instead they made sure that everybody would witness Arthur's weakness and his disgraceful defeat.

No matter how this day would end, the warlock knew he would never forgive these men. Sooner or later, he would make them pay. In the strangling grip of his fears and fury, Merlin was very, very far away from the gentle young peasant boy that had once come from Ealdor to find his destiny in Camelot.

He caught Morgana's intense gaze. It told him that her magic reacted to his state of mind and was ready to join him in what ever catastrophe he might wish to create. For a second, the temptation was almost overwhelming. Merlin saw his best friend enter the field, getting ready to be slain like a piece of cattle, and he gritted his teeth. "Now!" his magic screamed at him. "Now! Before it is too late."

Sweat trickled off his brow into his eyes and his breathing became ragged. The power built up in him, raising, struggling against his control as it had never done before, wanting to be released; fighting to be let out of its cage, while the herald read out the first proxy fighter's name, rank and title. An instant later, the two swords would clash against each other and Arthur's useless ordeal would begin in earnest.

Merlin felt the magic tempest tremble in his finger tips, while Morgana's eyes seemed to burn a hole into him. He felt her tension, her apprehension as if the anguish was his own. "Strike. Strike out now! Blow them to pieces, kill them, kill them all."

Whether the impulse was his own or hers didn't matter. It was all the same to him. Merlin raised his hands and closed his eyes, ready to let fly.

"HALT!"

It took the wizard a moment to realize that Duke Marke had risen from his place and interrupted the whole procedure. His full booming voice echoed over the field that had become mute already. It was enough to momentarily break Merlin's concentration, enough to calm his wrath. Just a tiny bit, but it saved the arena from being blown to oblivion.

Morgana's gaze left her fellow warlock and focussed on the old man in the centre of the enemies' stand.

There was a short, unintelligible but visibly fierce debate among Marke and his two allies, but the Duke did not yield. "We've come here today to call on God the almighty to be the judge of who is the rightful bearer of Camelot's Crown" Marke thundered at the top of his lungs. "We've prayed for a sign and a sign has been given to us."

He gave a signal with his hand and four of his men carried an obviously heavy item into the centre of the arena. The huge thing of peculiar shape, was covered with a large cloth of the finest silky velvet.

"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur shouted irritably. "If you want to back out of the fight, just say it!"

"I have no reason to back out, unless you can prove yourself our lawful King by the will of God" Marke replied. His men pulled the cloth away and the crowd murmured and stirred in confusion. A big stone was revealed; its flanks sparkled golden in the sunlight. But the most astonishing sight was the hilt and upper half of a magnificent sword that stuck out from the stone.

"This stone appeared out of nowhere in front of my chapel's altar three days ago while I was in prayer" the Duke said solemnly, loud enough for everyone to hear. "I ask Your Highness to read the inscription that's engraved on it."

The King shook his head. "I will do no such thing. I agreed to answering your challenge with my sword. I will not be part of this childish hocus-pocus."

"Arthur, you idiot!" Merlin thought furiously. "Read the damned inscription!"

Marke pointed determinedly at the stone. "I and these worthy men have pledged our lives to see justice return to Camelot. You will answer the challenge that is given to you, or you and all of yours will suffer the consequences!"

Merlin snorted inaudibly. "You're welcome to try!" His thoughts or Morgana's? Who the hell cared?

Angrily Arthur sheathed his blade. "Save your breath, old man. I will not play the fool for you."

"Leave this place and my army will flatten the citadel and everyone in it!" The Duke and his two allies now drew their own blades. As did their followers.

Leon and the knights, including stony-faced Lancelot, did the same. Merlin's gaze flickered to the Branguards' place but to his profound disappointment they did not stir.

Marke, virtually flustered by self-righteousness and moral superiority, found that the decisive moment had finally arrived. "Then by the laws of the land and by divine judgement, you've forfeited the right to your father's throne" he roared. "Arrest him!"

Outnumbered six to one, Leon and his bunch stood no chance when the Cornwall men surrounded Arthur while their comrades kept the angry crowd in check. Knowing that his case was lost, the young King bellowed an order to stay where they were at the knights, to protect the women, before he was overwhelmed.

With an indifferent face but a heart racing in her throat, Morgana waited until she could be sure that her brother had been secured and that he was unharmed. Before Marke could use his successful surprise strike to his advantage, her commanding voice filled the arena. "I will see what this allegedly divine symbol has to say!"

"Keep out of this, witch. You may call yourself a Queen but we all know what you really are!" Leodegrance was almost hilarious with this easy victory. Uther's son in their hands almost without a scratch and Camelot castle, the impregnable citadel, was at their mercy.

"That much is true" Morgana answered coldly. "Last time I checked I was my father's daughter!"

"Let her see the stone" Marke ordered resolutely. "If her witchcraft cannot break the spell we have valid prove that the prophecy is genuine."

This was not what Leodegrance wanted. "We have all the evidence we need."

Lot looked around him and saw defiant faces, heard angry shouts from the crowd, realized the cold calculation in the features of the nobility. And the enigmatic expression of the two Branguards. Suddenly the town looked very big to him. Dark corners, huts and houses where a small army could be hidden. "Have we taken the citadel or has the citadel taken us?" he thought, suddenly nervous. On impulse, he laid a calming hand on the other man's shoulder. "Let her try her luck, Leodegrance. Marke is right."

Ignoring their quarrel, Morgana was already walking towards the stone. Arthur struggled uselessly against the fists that held his arms behind his back while a hand in a thick glove was clamped over his mouth, stifling every sound.

Leon gritted his teeth while he watched. Gwaine's eyes went to Merlin, knowing somehow that he was the key to a riddle he did not yet understand. As long as the warlock kept quiet in spite of Arthur's predicament, the knights should do the same.

"He who frees me is a King to wield me" Morgana read out loud. "He who has me got shall be the King of Camelot." She cleared her throat before she continued. "Well then. Let that be the real challenge Duke Marke. Whoever can take this blade out of the stone shall rule Camelot unquestioned and unchallenged. Do I have your word that you and your allies will accept the outcome whatever it will be?"

"We will accept it" Marke said. "Upon our honour and my faith, you have my word."

Lot rolled his eyes to heaven in frustration. "Pompous old fool!" he thought. "To hell with you and your darn faith."

Morgana made a big show of using all her magical powers to free the sword from the stone before she gave up. Only Merlin and Gaius knew that she did not use her powers at all, for fear she might succeed where she didn't want to.

Hidden in the shadows, Algernon and his Druids shook their heads in disbelief, too.

Excalibur was Khilgarrah's and Emry's gift to Arthur Pendragon. Dragon magic had created the blade and a Dragon Lord's will kept it in place until the chosen hand would take it. How could anybody fail to see that?

It took a long while for every man and boy of noble birth to try his luck. Long before the trial was over, it had turned from a momentous event into a comedy in the peoples' eyes.

When an elderly relative of Lot's tried his luck, he fell on his backside when his hands slipped and the crowd roared with laughter. They fell silent only when the two Branguards approached the stone. Each of the brothers pulled at the blade just once, before Malcolm turned to the old Duke. "There's only one man left to try. Tell your men to release him!"

"Like hell we will" Leodegrance gnarled. As he saw it, their royal hostage was the only thing that stood between them and total defeat. He howled with anger when Marke gave a signal and his soldiers untied their prisoner.

Merlin tensed when Arthur went to the stone like a dream-walker.

Numb with exhaustion, without thinking, without hope, without despair, Pendragon took the hilt of the beautiful blade. Strange thoughts stumbled through his tired brain. His whole life had been an endless succession of gestures, symbols and empty façades, all in the name and service of royalty and duty he had neither asked nor wished for. Wasn't it fitting to have one last senseless gesture before it would all be over?

He had fought and fought and fought. For what? For the love of Camelot? Where was that love now that it was him who needed it?

Did people really care about the name of the King they paid their taxes to? Did the soil care who trod upon it? Or about the one time dreams and yearnings of the people buried in it?

Arthur Pendragon's fate had never been his own; how he looked, acted, spoke, whom he loved – other people's wishes had been his command, what they thought, what they saw fit, what they expected him to do – nothing he had thought or felt had been important. Until Merlin had come. Until Gwaine and the others had joined him. Until he saw, really saw Guinivere for the very first time.

No.

Not for a metal crown. Not for Uther's reluctant approval, slow in coming, quickly forgotten. No longer for the love of Camelot alone.

Queen Igraine's son pulled and the blade came out of the stone as easily as a hot knife would cut through butter. Excalibur sang while it slid upwards, the metal sparkled and then the blade pointed at the sun, bathed in light, shining like a diamond of the purest fire.

"Nooo!" Leodegrance's furious roar almost drowned out the yelling from a crowd gone mad. "To hell with you and your witch of a sister!"

Before anyone could stop him he came for Arthur, his sword raised, the wish to take what he had already thought to be in reach dominating his mind.

Astonished, Arthur turned and frowned. What did this man want? He never heard Morgana's or Gwen's scream, never saw Merlin hastening across the field towards him, closely followed by Gwaine and Leon.

When Leodegrance's sword forcefully clashed against Excalibur, the Dragon's blade sang again. Gracefully the attacking sword was parried. Arthur's counter strike pushed the other man's weapon aside as if it wasn't there. Excalibur danced in the sunlight before it came up again and buried itself in Leodegrance's heart up to the hilt.

Only as the body fell to the ground, Arthur got any idea that the mad cheering and screaming that surrounded him might have anything to do with him. Still somewhat surprised by the peculiar events he looked down, only to see an older man who knelt before him.

Firmly resolved to experience a miracle, to be for once in their mundane lives part of something greater than themselves, people in and around the arena followed Duke Marke's example and fell to their knees.

Merlin was one of the first to do so, but only because, wobbling as they were with relief, his legs didn't support his weight in this moment anyhow.

Proudly, head held high, every inch a Queen, Morgana stood at her brother's side. Behind her serene smile her mind repeated one thought over and over again "its over. We've won."

Behind her back, Morgana's hand pressed Gwen's ice cold fingers. "My children will live" Guinivere thought disbelievingly. "We're all alive!"

Far, far away, some place in the highest mountain range of Albion, Khilgarrah closed his eyes. "May the Great Mother forgive you for forcing destiny under your heel against its will, young warlock" he sighed sadly.

The mighty creature bent his head to the ground although nobody was there to see it. "All hail" he said to an empty cave. "All hail to the King of Camelot. The Gods know, you're gonna need it."