Apocabigbang: Fic: Postremus Regum Britanniae; Merlin; R; Chapter 7
Chapter 6: Aesop and the Dragon
Chapter 7: The Once and Future
The group was still silent when they came to the next station on the line - Monument. Arthur didn’t even bother to look around it, just lay down his own things, his sleeping bag, which he had not owned until the day before, his small bundle of food and clothes, his bottle of water. There was suddenly such an emphasis on what was his. Before he had had so much, a car and suits and a television, DVDs, computers, a microwave, and now he had less, but it was more important somehow.
He supposed that somewhere out there his television and his car were still his, but they did not really belong to him any more, they belonged to the Arthur from before.
“No one ever said it was going to be easy,” Morgana said from next to him. “There are always decisions, always troubles, but that’s what destiny is. It’s making the right decisions or the wrong decisions and living with them, no matter what.”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” Arthur told her, stuffing himself into his sleeping bag, aware of the others talking in muted tones around him.
“Merlin and I will take first watch,” Will said suddenly.
“I’ll take second,” Arthur muttered.
“Me too,” Gawain announced.
Lance and Gwen volunteered for the final watch and Arthur saw them glance at each other, it was a look from another time, incongruous with darkness and broken worlds. But it seemed right as well, like it was meant to be.
“But I don’t believe in destiny,” Arthur told himself, closing his eyes. “No such thing.”
*
Arthur is not in the darkened caverns of the underground, shivering in his sleeping bag. He is in a large chamber, higher and wider than any room or building he has ever seen, but he can still see the walls quite clearly, even though they are miles away.
It is made entirely of grey stone, this room, identical huge bricks of it. Stacked on top of each other like Lego bricks.
Arthur imagines some forgotten god playing at making houses, making the biggest house he could, patiently stacking up the bricks one and then another, but with no imagination.
In the centre of the room there is a lectern, pig and stone, like the room. It is the sort of lectern that the older churches have, the Church of England churches that were converted when Henry VIII decided to divorce his wife. It is sturdy and unadorned. On the lectern rests a book. It is chained to the stone, a long worn chain with many links. The chains are wrapped around it too, as though the knowledge in the book is too dangerous or too precious to be allowed to escape.
Arthur is drawn to it, step by step. There is something in the book he needs to see. Something he needs to know.
His hand hits an invisible wall before he can touch it though. Sliding over a barrier of air, like an identical magnetic pole being repelled.
*
He woke up and he was cold, huddling in a sleeping bag that smelt too new. He pulled his arms in to his body and glanced beside him at Merlin, who seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable conditions.
Jeff snored lightly to his left.
Arthur wondered, for a moment, what he had wanted to see in that book.
But the dream was already fading away from his mind, lost as he turned over and drifted back to sleep.
*
When morning came, at least, when Arthur’s watch told him that morning had come, Morgana walked over to him, sitting down next to him and staring outwards.
“I know you think I’m mad,” she said, and she did not sound mad just then. “All this talk of destiny and fate, but I know you.”
“We only met.”
“Whether we met three days ago, or four months ago or whether we met fifteen centuries ago, it makes no difference,” she told him, turning to stare him right in the eye. “I know you, Arthur. I know how your mind works, and you aren’t the sort of person to run away.”
“I am when there’s no way to fight.”
“But if there is, if there’s a chance that you might be able to do this, to win against this, then you’d hate yourself if you didn’t take it.”
“If you’re going to tell me that there’s a magical sword,” Arthur told her.
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” she said calmly, “I’m not asking you to risk anything more than you were willing to yesterday with that dragon. I just want you to go and check something out. It’s not very far away and if there’s nothing there then there’s nothing there.”
“Am I allowed to know where and what it is I am looking for?” he asked. She smiled, like she had already won the argument.
Jeff murmured something in his sleep. Nonsense words, and rolled over.
“You know what you’re looking for. It’s an old sword, and there’s a place nearby, a place full of things like that, full of relics and artefacts.”
“What place?”
“The Tower,” she said simply. “We’re not that far from it now. Take Merlin, go and see if the sword is there. If it isn’t then no harm done.”
“Don’t you think that Merlin has done enough?” Arthur asked bitterly. “Anyway, what about Lance, Gareth? They’d be better people to take, surely. Merlin can hardly handle walking alone; I don’t want to trust him to watch my back with a gun. He’ll probably end up shooting us both in the foot.”
“Take Merlin,” she said. “Just… this one thing, please Arthur.”
He meant to say no, to tell her that they were going north, they were getting out, but the words stuck in his throat. She was right: he did not like running away. He did not like the idea of leaving these people, whoever they were, in charge. Patriotism wasn’t very fashionable these days, but Arthur did love his country, on a deep level. He didn’t talk about it, he just felt… connected somehow, as though he was almost part of it. He didn’t go around shouting about it, barely even supported England in sports, but the country itself, the land beneath his feet, he felt that it was his in some indefinable way.
“How would I even know if I found it?”
“You’ll know.”
“Another cosmic destiny thing, then, right?”
“Something like that, yes.” Morgana said, smiling to herself. Arthur didn’t like that smile very much, it made him feel like he had no control at all.
“If we don’t find anything, then you stop with this nonsense and we go north.”
“If your trip changes nothing, then I stop,” she agreed.
He nodded, telling himself that it was worth it just to keep her quiet, if he could stop her rambling then maybe people would stop looking at him like he was some sort of messiah.
He wasn’t a saviour. He was just a man.
*
Arthur was already regretting having agreed to Morgana’s hare-brained scheme by the time they got to the Tower gates, when they were in the buildings, he had resigned himself to the fact that it had been a terrible plan and he had no idea what he was looking for. Merlin didn’t seem to be doing any better.
“Why did they leave all this?” Arthur asked, looking around the shattered glass cases and at the floor where the shine of broken glass and diamonds was almost indistinguishable. Merlin shrugged, walking over to one of the cases that seemed more in tact than the others.
“Maybe they didn’t have the time,” he suggested, scrubbing one hand over his head to scratch at his scalp. The apocalypse didn’t help with personal hygiene issues, he could definitely testify to that. “Or maybe they just weren’t interested.”
“These are the crown jewels,” Arthur pointed out, reaching down to pick up a golden orb from the floor and holding it almost reverently. “They’re worth millions, billions possibly. Why would they come here and not take anything?”
“In the end,” Merlin said, picking up a slightly smaller orb from in front of him and turning to smile ruefully at Arthur, “it’s just gold - what’s it even good for? There’s no one to buy anything from. It doesn’t do anything except shine. How is it going to help them - or us for that matter?”
“But it’s the crown jewels,” Arthur began, before watching in horror as Merlin tossed the orb in his hand up and down, just catching it. He drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t do that!”
“It’s useless, Arthur.”
“It’s not useless. It’s an important part of our heritage.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Merlin said gesturing out around him broadly, “our heritage has gone to hell in a handcart, so screw that.”
“It’s more important now than ever, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, before something caught his eye. “Holy…” he broke off, staring in amazement. Merlin followed his gaze and his eyes grow round as he caught sight of the same thing. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by the shards of glass, sat several crowns.
“Bugger,” Merlin muttered with feeling, before a slow smile spread across his face. “You have to try one on.”
“Merlin, that’s treason.”
“The monarchy’s long dead, Arthur, no such thing as treason any more. And this is traditionally where traitors would be executed, so, if you insist on execution, at least we wouldn’t have to go far. The chopping block’s still in place, as far as I saw on the way in.”
“Merlin, we’re looking for a sword, not a crown.”
“There aren’t any griffins, no dragons or sorcerers. No one’s currently chasing us; no one’s going to know except you and me. Why shouldn’t we have some fun?”
“It’s not fun,” Arthur told him firmly, “it’s treason. Now, let’s look for the sword and then get out of here.”
“Of course it’s fun,” Merlin argued back, walking over to the crowns, his feet crunching on the glass as he went, making him glad he had taken the thick walking boots from that outdoors shop three days ago. “Didn’t you ever play dress up when you were a kid?”
“Merlin, these aren’t toilet rolls or tea bags from some abandoned Tesco Express, these are the crown jewels of the United Kingdom and you do not play ‘dress up’ with them. Especially since we are not seven year old girls.”
“You can’t tell me you’re not a little interested in what it feels like to wear a crown,” Merlin said, using the wheedling tone of voice that Arthur was beginning to dread, “I’m sure you’d look very pretty in it.”
“Shut up, Merlin.” The dark haired man ignored him, bending over to pick up one of the crowns that had been left leaning on its side. It was gold and Arthur could see red glints off it that were, presumably, actual rubies. Merlin’s voice might have been flippant, but as soon as he picked it up, he held it gently, as though he was afraid to crush it.
“Damn, this weighs a ton,” he muttered, turning round to where Arthur stood. “Come on, just try this one on and we can get on with it, please… I didn’t even choose the one with the huge diamond.” Arthur looked down at it and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Okay, so I didn’t choose the one with the biggest diamond,” Merlin said unrepentantly. Arthur sighed and reached out to take it with his free hand, but Merlin shook his head stubbornly. “No, we’re going to do this properly. Kneel.”
“Merlin, the floor’s covered in broken glass!” Arthur growled.
“I’m sure that’s symbolic of the torture that being a monarch involves, or something,” Merlin said with a shrug. “On your knees, Pen- Penworth,”
“You can’t be…”
“On your knees,” Merlin insisted, he set down his own, small, orb in the remains of one of the cases and held the crown up with both hands.
Arthur wasn’t sure why he followed that order, but then he wasn’t sure of much any more, except that he wanted to stay alive and keep as many other people alive as possible. But he did obey, and he went down onto one knee and then both, and through some miracle, the small area he was on had no glass shards. It was strange, but stranger things had happened recently, so he ignored the lack of pain in his knees and watched Merlin approach with the crown, seeing almost double.
He saw it all twice, overlaid on top of each other, two Merlins, two crowns, two Arthurs. But the situation was the same. The second crown - the crown in the ghostly afterimage - was simpler, though, no jewels, just plain gold.
Then the second image was gone and it was just Merlin in his filthy t-shirt, his jeans with the rip across the knee and an amused smile on his face.
“I crown thee,” he said, lowering his voice in a way he clearly thought sounded official, but in reality sounded like a cross between Christian Bale’s Batman and a bear with a sore throat, “King Arthur. May your reign be long and prosperous… and may you stop being such a ginormous prat.” With that he set the crown down on Arthur’s head and Arthur felt just how heavy the crown was. He knew why the Queen seldom wore the damn thing, just a few seconds was killing his neck muscles and he considered himself in good shape.
Arthur knelt there, staring up at Merlin’s face for a long moment, his mouth open to speak words that he couldn’t quite remember. There was something about this moment he couldn’t put his finger on. Merlin stood there watching him with what appeared to be rapidly growing horror.
“Arthur,” he whispered into the air, and the shards of glass around them seemed to resonate with the name. Arthur almost didn’t recognise it as his own, but stared back at Merlin with the feeling that he was forgetting something vitally important. It was on the edge of his mind, like a dream that had just slipped away.
“Merlin,” he said back, but before he could ask, or speak further, there came the now familiar thwum of a dragon’s wing beat on the air, and the glass shards danced on the floor.
Arthur was on his feet in an instant, dropping the orb without even thinking of its value and tearing the crown from his head and putting it, with slightly more care, into the edge of one of the shattered display cases.
“Shit,” he said, “what was that you were saying earlier about no one chasing us?” he asked as the pair of them stood frozen to the spot.
“It’s probably just part of a routine patrol,” Merlin replied, but he didn’t sound certain. “Just stay down.” They crouched behind a case and he reached up to peer over the top of it. “It’s passing by on the left,” he said without thinking about it. Arthur stared at him.
“Your directional hearing must be phenomenal,” he said appreciatively. Another thwum came, louder this time, and Arthur forced his breathing to slow.
“Uh, yes,” Merlin said, twitching a little. “Yup, directional hearing, that’s it.”
Thwum.
“Is it just me, or is that getting closer?” Arthur asked, managing, just, to keep the fear from his voice.
“Closer?” Merlin asked, not even trying to rid the terror from his own voice.
“So your directional hearing’s good, but you can’t tell when a noise is getting louder?” Arthur said incredulously. “Don’t worry; I’m sure it’s just a routine patrol, like you said.”
“Yeah…” Merlin agreed.
Thwum.
“Well,” Arthur said calmly, “at least it’s a memorable way to die - burnt to death in the Tower of London.”
“We’re not going to die,” Merlin said suddenly, with complete certainty.
“That’s very optimistic of you, Merlin, but how do you suggest we fight our way out of here. This was a ridiculous idea. There probably isn’t even a sword to find.”
“There is a sword. Listen, Arthur. You need to trust me, okay?”
“That cannot mean anything good.”
“Do you trust me?”
“As opposed to the dragon out there?”
“Not as opposed to anything, just ‘do you trust me?’” Merlin was watching him with his blue eyes completely serious. Arthur had never seen him quite like that, and there was a thread inside him somewhere that was almost scared of him.
No, it wasn’t fear, it was awe. He paused when he realised it, wondering what about the skinny, not so bright, man in front of him was worthy of his awe.
“Yes,” he said, quickly followed by “I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?” Merlin didn’t answer just grasped his wrist lightly and began to run. Arthur followed, dragged by his arm, and some sense that this would work. He had no idea why he thought that running towards a fire-breathing winged lizard twenty times his size was a good idea - especially since they already knew that none of the ammunition they had on them would work on its scaly hide - but he ran anyway, bypassing his brain entirely. His instincts just went direct to the muscles, avoiding any of that pesky thinking. “Where are we going?” he called out as they approached a door Arthur hadn’t even realised was there.
“Out,” Merlin hissed back.
And out they went. They ran down a set of steps that were narrower than Arthur had thought possible outside of that certain kind of second hand book shop. His elbow collided with a wall, but he ignored it, running on. Merlin took the steps two at a time, leaping down the ends of flights of stairs easily, and Arthur, trying to keep up with him, almost tripped and fell flat on his face.
At the bottom of the stairs there was another doorway, to the outside and Merlin took them through it without even pausing.
Arthur didn’t dare look up, he did not dare look round, just followed Merlin, hoping to God, or whatever deity still watched this devastated rock of a planet, Merlin at least knew what he was doing.
*
There was a gasp, pained and short.
“Are you okay, Mistress?” an oily voice asked.
“Where is Excalibur?” a woman asked, looking up from where she sat. “Is it safe?”
“It is where you commanded it to be put, and under guard, my lady.”
“Then, if it was not that, what was it?” she asked, looking down at her hand. “Tell me, talk to the earth and tell me if something is different. I felt something just now, something running right through me.”
Obediently, the short, dark haired man leant down to touch both his hands to the ground, his eyes closing as he did so. A magical person would have heard the rumbling sound of the earth, so low that it was just a vibration deep in the ear, but to an ordinary mortal it would just have looked like someone touching their toes.
After a second, he opened his eyes, starting upwards in a jerky motion.
“My Lady!” he said in horror.
“What is it?”
“The earth, it is- We tore it asunder in our journey here.” She smiled and nodded. “We made it so that it was separated and we each took the part that belonged to us - under your own rule, of course.”
“Go on, what happened?” she demanded.
“It is… it is healing. Something has joined it together again and it sings. It rejoices.”
“Why?” she asked, frantically. “What has done that? What did we overlook?”
“It has its King,” the man answered, his voice trembling. “He has returned.”
“No, he cannot have returned. He would have had to be crowned by magic; the proper ritual would have needed to be observed. He cannot be returned.”
“The earth cannot be mistaken. She knows her King and she sings for him. Mistress, if he has been crowned...”
“He can’t have been,” the woman snapped. “He cannot. The crown of Albion was destroyed years ago, melted down. I heard it scream as they destroyed it. I heard the world weep as it was lost.”
“So did we all,” the man said, rubbing his hands together, a nervous gesture that drove his lady mad if her glares were any indication. “But still, he has come forth.”
“Then we will have to find him. Now, before he has a chance to even look for the blade.”
“It will be calling to him now,” the man told her, “it isn’t an inanimate object, my lady. Excalibur will know that its wielder has returned. It will be difficult to keep them apart. There is an attraction between them.”
“There will be no attraction if Arthur dies again. He is still mortal, even if he has returned, and if he was killed once then he can be killed again.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
*
Chapter 8: Memory is a Tricky Thing
Chapter 7: The Once and Future
The group was still silent when they came to the next station on the line - Monument. Arthur didn’t even bother to look around it, just lay down his own things, his sleeping bag, which he had not owned until the day before, his small bundle of food and clothes, his bottle of water. There was suddenly such an emphasis on what was his. Before he had had so much, a car and suits and a television, DVDs, computers, a microwave, and now he had less, but it was more important somehow.
He supposed that somewhere out there his television and his car were still his, but they did not really belong to him any more, they belonged to the Arthur from before.
“No one ever said it was going to be easy,” Morgana said from next to him. “There are always decisions, always troubles, but that’s what destiny is. It’s making the right decisions or the wrong decisions and living with them, no matter what.”
“I don’t believe in destiny,” Arthur told her, stuffing himself into his sleeping bag, aware of the others talking in muted tones around him.
“Merlin and I will take first watch,” Will said suddenly.
“I’ll take second,” Arthur muttered.
“Me too,” Gawain announced.
Lance and Gwen volunteered for the final watch and Arthur saw them glance at each other, it was a look from another time, incongruous with darkness and broken worlds. But it seemed right as well, like it was meant to be.
“But I don’t believe in destiny,” Arthur told himself, closing his eyes. “No such thing.”
*
Arthur is not in the darkened caverns of the underground, shivering in his sleeping bag. He is in a large chamber, higher and wider than any room or building he has ever seen, but he can still see the walls quite clearly, even though they are miles away.
It is made entirely of grey stone, this room, identical huge bricks of it. Stacked on top of each other like Lego bricks.
Arthur imagines some forgotten god playing at making houses, making the biggest house he could, patiently stacking up the bricks one and then another, but with no imagination.
In the centre of the room there is a lectern, pig and stone, like the room. It is the sort of lectern that the older churches have, the Church of England churches that were converted when Henry VIII decided to divorce his wife. It is sturdy and unadorned. On the lectern rests a book. It is chained to the stone, a long worn chain with many links. The chains are wrapped around it too, as though the knowledge in the book is too dangerous or too precious to be allowed to escape.
Arthur is drawn to it, step by step. There is something in the book he needs to see. Something he needs to know.
His hand hits an invisible wall before he can touch it though. Sliding over a barrier of air, like an identical magnetic pole being repelled.
*
He woke up and he was cold, huddling in a sleeping bag that smelt too new. He pulled his arms in to his body and glanced beside him at Merlin, who seemed oblivious to the uncomfortable conditions.
Jeff snored lightly to his left.
Arthur wondered, for a moment, what he had wanted to see in that book.
But the dream was already fading away from his mind, lost as he turned over and drifted back to sleep.
*
When morning came, at least, when Arthur’s watch told him that morning had come, Morgana walked over to him, sitting down next to him and staring outwards.
“I know you think I’m mad,” she said, and she did not sound mad just then. “All this talk of destiny and fate, but I know you.”
“We only met.”
“Whether we met three days ago, or four months ago or whether we met fifteen centuries ago, it makes no difference,” she told him, turning to stare him right in the eye. “I know you, Arthur. I know how your mind works, and you aren’t the sort of person to run away.”
“I am when there’s no way to fight.”
“But if there is, if there’s a chance that you might be able to do this, to win against this, then you’d hate yourself if you didn’t take it.”
“If you’re going to tell me that there’s a magical sword,” Arthur told her.
“I’m not asking you to believe me,” she said calmly, “I’m not asking you to risk anything more than you were willing to yesterday with that dragon. I just want you to go and check something out. It’s not very far away and if there’s nothing there then there’s nothing there.”
“Am I allowed to know where and what it is I am looking for?” he asked. She smiled, like she had already won the argument.
Jeff murmured something in his sleep. Nonsense words, and rolled over.
“You know what you’re looking for. It’s an old sword, and there’s a place nearby, a place full of things like that, full of relics and artefacts.”
“What place?”
“The Tower,” she said simply. “We’re not that far from it now. Take Merlin, go and see if the sword is there. If it isn’t then no harm done.”
“Don’t you think that Merlin has done enough?” Arthur asked bitterly. “Anyway, what about Lance, Gareth? They’d be better people to take, surely. Merlin can hardly handle walking alone; I don’t want to trust him to watch my back with a gun. He’ll probably end up shooting us both in the foot.”
“Take Merlin,” she said. “Just… this one thing, please Arthur.”
He meant to say no, to tell her that they were going north, they were getting out, but the words stuck in his throat. She was right: he did not like running away. He did not like the idea of leaving these people, whoever they were, in charge. Patriotism wasn’t very fashionable these days, but Arthur did love his country, on a deep level. He didn’t talk about it, he just felt… connected somehow, as though he was almost part of it. He didn’t go around shouting about it, barely even supported England in sports, but the country itself, the land beneath his feet, he felt that it was his in some indefinable way.
“How would I even know if I found it?”
“You’ll know.”
“Another cosmic destiny thing, then, right?”
“Something like that, yes.” Morgana said, smiling to herself. Arthur didn’t like that smile very much, it made him feel like he had no control at all.
“If we don’t find anything, then you stop with this nonsense and we go north.”
“If your trip changes nothing, then I stop,” she agreed.
He nodded, telling himself that it was worth it just to keep her quiet, if he could stop her rambling then maybe people would stop looking at him like he was some sort of messiah.
He wasn’t a saviour. He was just a man.
*
Arthur was already regretting having agreed to Morgana’s hare-brained scheme by the time they got to the Tower gates, when they were in the buildings, he had resigned himself to the fact that it had been a terrible plan and he had no idea what he was looking for. Merlin didn’t seem to be doing any better.
“Why did they leave all this?” Arthur asked, looking around the shattered glass cases and at the floor where the shine of broken glass and diamonds was almost indistinguishable. Merlin shrugged, walking over to one of the cases that seemed more in tact than the others.
“Maybe they didn’t have the time,” he suggested, scrubbing one hand over his head to scratch at his scalp. The apocalypse didn’t help with personal hygiene issues, he could definitely testify to that. “Or maybe they just weren’t interested.”
“These are the crown jewels,” Arthur pointed out, reaching down to pick up a golden orb from the floor and holding it almost reverently. “They’re worth millions, billions possibly. Why would they come here and not take anything?”
“In the end,” Merlin said, picking up a slightly smaller orb from in front of him and turning to smile ruefully at Arthur, “it’s just gold - what’s it even good for? There’s no one to buy anything from. It doesn’t do anything except shine. How is it going to help them - or us for that matter?”
“But it’s the crown jewels,” Arthur began, before watching in horror as Merlin tossed the orb in his hand up and down, just catching it. He drew in a sharp breath. “Don’t do that!”
“It’s useless, Arthur.”
“It’s not useless. It’s an important part of our heritage.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” Merlin said gesturing out around him broadly, “our heritage has gone to hell in a handcart, so screw that.”
“It’s more important now than ever, Merlin,” Arthur snapped, before something caught his eye. “Holy…” he broke off, staring in amazement. Merlin followed his gaze and his eyes grow round as he caught sight of the same thing. Sitting on the floor, surrounded by the shards of glass, sat several crowns.
“Bugger,” Merlin muttered with feeling, before a slow smile spread across his face. “You have to try one on.”
“Merlin, that’s treason.”
“The monarchy’s long dead, Arthur, no such thing as treason any more. And this is traditionally where traitors would be executed, so, if you insist on execution, at least we wouldn’t have to go far. The chopping block’s still in place, as far as I saw on the way in.”
“Merlin, we’re looking for a sword, not a crown.”
“There aren’t any griffins, no dragons or sorcerers. No one’s currently chasing us; no one’s going to know except you and me. Why shouldn’t we have some fun?”
“It’s not fun,” Arthur told him firmly, “it’s treason. Now, let’s look for the sword and then get out of here.”
“Of course it’s fun,” Merlin argued back, walking over to the crowns, his feet crunching on the glass as he went, making him glad he had taken the thick walking boots from that outdoors shop three days ago. “Didn’t you ever play dress up when you were a kid?”
“Merlin, these aren’t toilet rolls or tea bags from some abandoned Tesco Express, these are the crown jewels of the United Kingdom and you do not play ‘dress up’ with them. Especially since we are not seven year old girls.”
“You can’t tell me you’re not a little interested in what it feels like to wear a crown,” Merlin said, using the wheedling tone of voice that Arthur was beginning to dread, “I’m sure you’d look very pretty in it.”
“Shut up, Merlin.” The dark haired man ignored him, bending over to pick up one of the crowns that had been left leaning on its side. It was gold and Arthur could see red glints off it that were, presumably, actual rubies. Merlin’s voice might have been flippant, but as soon as he picked it up, he held it gently, as though he was afraid to crush it.
“Damn, this weighs a ton,” he muttered, turning round to where Arthur stood. “Come on, just try this one on and we can get on with it, please… I didn’t even choose the one with the huge diamond.” Arthur looked down at it and raised an eyebrow in disbelief. “Okay, so I didn’t choose the one with the biggest diamond,” Merlin said unrepentantly. Arthur sighed and reached out to take it with his free hand, but Merlin shook his head stubbornly. “No, we’re going to do this properly. Kneel.”
“Merlin, the floor’s covered in broken glass!” Arthur growled.
“I’m sure that’s symbolic of the torture that being a monarch involves, or something,” Merlin said with a shrug. “On your knees, Pen- Penworth,”
“You can’t be…”
“On your knees,” Merlin insisted, he set down his own, small, orb in the remains of one of the cases and held the crown up with both hands.
Arthur wasn’t sure why he followed that order, but then he wasn’t sure of much any more, except that he wanted to stay alive and keep as many other people alive as possible. But he did obey, and he went down onto one knee and then both, and through some miracle, the small area he was on had no glass shards. It was strange, but stranger things had happened recently, so he ignored the lack of pain in his knees and watched Merlin approach with the crown, seeing almost double.
He saw it all twice, overlaid on top of each other, two Merlins, two crowns, two Arthurs. But the situation was the same. The second crown - the crown in the ghostly afterimage - was simpler, though, no jewels, just plain gold.
Then the second image was gone and it was just Merlin in his filthy t-shirt, his jeans with the rip across the knee and an amused smile on his face.
“I crown thee,” he said, lowering his voice in a way he clearly thought sounded official, but in reality sounded like a cross between Christian Bale’s Batman and a bear with a sore throat, “King Arthur. May your reign be long and prosperous… and may you stop being such a ginormous prat.” With that he set the crown down on Arthur’s head and Arthur felt just how heavy the crown was. He knew why the Queen seldom wore the damn thing, just a few seconds was killing his neck muscles and he considered himself in good shape.
Arthur knelt there, staring up at Merlin’s face for a long moment, his mouth open to speak words that he couldn’t quite remember. There was something about this moment he couldn’t put his finger on. Merlin stood there watching him with what appeared to be rapidly growing horror.
“Arthur,” he whispered into the air, and the shards of glass around them seemed to resonate with the name. Arthur almost didn’t recognise it as his own, but stared back at Merlin with the feeling that he was forgetting something vitally important. It was on the edge of his mind, like a dream that had just slipped away.
“Merlin,” he said back, but before he could ask, or speak further, there came the now familiar thwum of a dragon’s wing beat on the air, and the glass shards danced on the floor.
Arthur was on his feet in an instant, dropping the orb without even thinking of its value and tearing the crown from his head and putting it, with slightly more care, into the edge of one of the shattered display cases.
“Shit,” he said, “what was that you were saying earlier about no one chasing us?” he asked as the pair of them stood frozen to the spot.
“It’s probably just part of a routine patrol,” Merlin replied, but he didn’t sound certain. “Just stay down.” They crouched behind a case and he reached up to peer over the top of it. “It’s passing by on the left,” he said without thinking about it. Arthur stared at him.
“Your directional hearing must be phenomenal,” he said appreciatively. Another thwum came, louder this time, and Arthur forced his breathing to slow.
“Uh, yes,” Merlin said, twitching a little. “Yup, directional hearing, that’s it.”
Thwum.
“Is it just me, or is that getting closer?” Arthur asked, managing, just, to keep the fear from his voice.
“Closer?” Merlin asked, not even trying to rid the terror from his own voice.
“So your directional hearing’s good, but you can’t tell when a noise is getting louder?” Arthur said incredulously. “Don’t worry; I’m sure it’s just a routine patrol, like you said.”
“Yeah…” Merlin agreed.
Thwum.
“Well,” Arthur said calmly, “at least it’s a memorable way to die - burnt to death in the Tower of London.”
“We’re not going to die,” Merlin said suddenly, with complete certainty.
“That’s very optimistic of you, Merlin, but how do you suggest we fight our way out of here. This was a ridiculous idea. There probably isn’t even a sword to find.”
“There is a sword. Listen, Arthur. You need to trust me, okay?”
“That cannot mean anything good.”
“Do you trust me?”
“As opposed to the dragon out there?”
“Not as opposed to anything, just ‘do you trust me?’” Merlin was watching him with his blue eyes completely serious. Arthur had never seen him quite like that, and there was a thread inside him somewhere that was almost scared of him.
No, it wasn’t fear, it was awe. He paused when he realised it, wondering what about the skinny, not so bright, man in front of him was worthy of his awe.
“Yes,” he said, quickly followed by “I’m going to regret saying that, aren’t I?” Merlin didn’t answer just grasped his wrist lightly and began to run. Arthur followed, dragged by his arm, and some sense that this would work. He had no idea why he thought that running towards a fire-breathing winged lizard twenty times his size was a good idea - especially since they already knew that none of the ammunition they had on them would work on its scaly hide - but he ran anyway, bypassing his brain entirely. His instincts just went direct to the muscles, avoiding any of that pesky thinking. “Where are we going?” he called out as they approached a door Arthur hadn’t even realised was there.
“Out,” Merlin hissed back.
And out they went. They ran down a set of steps that were narrower than Arthur had thought possible outside of that certain kind of second hand book shop. His elbow collided with a wall, but he ignored it, running on. Merlin took the steps two at a time, leaping down the ends of flights of stairs easily, and Arthur, trying to keep up with him, almost tripped and fell flat on his face.
At the bottom of the stairs there was another doorway, to the outside and Merlin took them through it without even pausing.
Arthur didn’t dare look up, he did not dare look round, just followed Merlin, hoping to God, or whatever deity still watched this devastated rock of a planet, Merlin at least knew what he was doing.
*
There was a gasp, pained and short.
“Are you okay, Mistress?” an oily voice asked.
“Where is Excalibur?” a woman asked, looking up from where she sat. “Is it safe?”
“It is where you commanded it to be put, and under guard, my lady.”
“Then, if it was not that, what was it?” she asked, looking down at her hand. “Tell me, talk to the earth and tell me if something is different. I felt something just now, something running right through me.”
Obediently, the short, dark haired man leant down to touch both his hands to the ground, his eyes closing as he did so. A magical person would have heard the rumbling sound of the earth, so low that it was just a vibration deep in the ear, but to an ordinary mortal it would just have looked like someone touching their toes.
After a second, he opened his eyes, starting upwards in a jerky motion.
“My Lady!” he said in horror.
“What is it?”
“The earth, it is- We tore it asunder in our journey here.” She smiled and nodded. “We made it so that it was separated and we each took the part that belonged to us - under your own rule, of course.”
“Go on, what happened?” she demanded.
“It is… it is healing. Something has joined it together again and it sings. It rejoices.”
“Why?” she asked, frantically. “What has done that? What did we overlook?”
“It has its King,” the man answered, his voice trembling. “He has returned.”
“No, he cannot have returned. He would have had to be crowned by magic; the proper ritual would have needed to be observed. He cannot be returned.”
“The earth cannot be mistaken. She knows her King and she sings for him. Mistress, if he has been crowned...”
“He can’t have been,” the woman snapped. “He cannot. The crown of Albion was destroyed years ago, melted down. I heard it scream as they destroyed it. I heard the world weep as it was lost.”
“So did we all,” the man said, rubbing his hands together, a nervous gesture that drove his lady mad if her glares were any indication. “But still, he has come forth.”
“Then we will have to find him. Now, before he has a chance to even look for the blade.”
“It will be calling to him now,” the man told her, “it isn’t an inanimate object, my lady. Excalibur will know that its wielder has returned. It will be difficult to keep them apart. There is an attraction between them.”
“There will be no attraction if Arthur dies again. He is still mortal, even if he has returned, and if he was killed once then he can be killed again.”
“Yes, my Lady.”
*
Chapter 8: Memory is a Tricky Thing