The rightful king

The boy sat and watched. Thin, frail arms gripped the hilt of the sword. The boy couldn’t resist the smirk that showed itself on his face. Many men tried to lift the sword. None of them managed. Yet the small figure that stood on the stone still tried.

It was late. The crowd that had formed around the sword has long since dispersed. Yet, the boy still sat in the bush and watched. And was shocked to the core. The girl, with her soft and tender arms, managed the impossible. Steel screeching on steel, she pulled out the sword from the anvil. The sword. The sword in the stone.

"Whoso pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil, is rightwise king born."

Stifling a gasp, the boy looked again at the scene. It shouldn’t be possible! How could a girl be king? Just who is she? She couldn’t be more than three years older than him, about 19 years old, yet she was short, shorter than him, at least, with long raven-black hair and pale green eyes. She wore noble’s clothes, and her face… were those tears in her eyes? Why-

“Who goes there?”, the girl said, more of a command to the one hidden in the foliage than a question. The boy, cheeks slightly red from the embarrassment of being caught sneaking, came out of the bushes. His shaggy blond hair had unwanted leaves in it, and his bright blue eyes kept her gaze. “Don’t you know sneaking on a lady is inappropriate?” she said.

“Well, it’s also inappropriate for a girl to wield a sword, is it not, milady?”, he said, uncertain of himself. “My name is Arthur. I’m Sir Ector’s squire. Sorry for the whole sneaky thing. I… well… You kind of did the impossible.” The boy glanced at the anvil on the stone and, with a cold shiver on his back, realized he was addressing the rightful king of all of Britain. Awkwardly, he knelt on one knee in front of the startled girl. “My king.”

The girl seemed confused for a second, and then started with a downcast voice: “I am no one’s king. My name is Morgana. Daughter of Lady Igraine… and apparently of Uther Pendragon.” She looked sadly at the sword. “I can’t be king. I don’t want to be king! I just… I wanted to know for sure if the rumours are true.”

The boy walked closer to the girl. “Sometimes we have to do what the people around us need of us to do. Not what we want or don’t want to do.” While he was only adopted by Sir Ector, the old knight insisted on teaching the lad the important lessons one had to know to be a knight. “What rumours are you talking about?” he asked curiously.

“It’s hard growing up in court without hearing gossip. And ever since I was little, people were whispering about me being… natural born. A bastard. Turns out, I actually am. Mother had an affair with Uther Pendragon before the night he murdered my father. My… My stepfather. So, you see, I can’t be the rightful ruler of Britain. I am born outside wedlock. Not that I would have wanted… I am going to be a priestess of the Old Ways. The cross would never allow me to be queen.”

It was true. The Old Ways were shunned by the Church, and increasingly, by the people. Many of them considered the priestesses of the Old Ways and the Druids to be little more than witches and warlocks, dealing with the Devil himself. Though the boy knew better. After all, the wizard Merlin had always done what is best for the Britons. The fact that the stone and anvil were put there by him to choose the next king was certainly important.

The girl gave him a hopeful if uncertain look. “Perhaps you could be king? We will just tell everyone you were the one to pull Excalibur from the stone! They will believe you! I mean, you are a squire, and I’m just a girl. Your word would hold more sway!”

The boy shook his head. “No way, milady. If you are the rightful ruler of the Britons, I swear on my honour I will stand by your side in whatever you might require of me, as a knight should. But I cannot take your burden. You are the only one who can lead us.”

“But I am not.” The girl considered for a bit. “I think I recognize you, Arthur. I… I had a vision of you once. You were leading a huge host of men against foreigners, to protect a kingdom of peace and prosperity. You will be a great knight, and an even greater king.” She was lying, the boy thought. She must be.

But deep inside him, Arthur knew. He could do it. Even if he was not a descendent of Uther Pendragon, the boy would give anything to serve his people. He would give his very being, and he would do whatever he could to honour them. To protect them.

Straightening her posture, the girl looked the squire in the eyes. “If you consider me your queen, then I have my command for you. I will not be queen. I don’t want to. I won’t. But you? Sir Ector will make sure you will be the best king you can be, if you’d hear his advice.” The young sorceress took a deep breath. “I order you, Arthur, squire of Sir Ector, to pick up this sword and lead the people as best as you can. Because I… I am a witch. I could never lead them.”

The boy wanted to protest, but he heard Kay’s voice calling him. He looked for his brother, blade still in arms. His brother’s eyes widened when he spotted the weapon, not stuck in the stone anymore, and kneeled. When Arthur looked back, though, the girl was no more. Instead, a raven was quickly flying away from the area, its green eyes looking at him apologetically.

But the girl was right. She was righter than she knew. Arthur would rise to the challenge and lead the Britons and Camelot to glory. Of course, Merlin, the old fox, had to improvise a bit when the boy showed up with the sword. Arthur led the men through many battles, ruled justly and fairly, and did the best he could. He was a good king. But he was never the rightful one. The king remembered for being the rightful ruler of Britain for centuries – no, millennia – was not the one meant to rule. He was not the king spoken of in old prophecies. Yet he still rose to the challenge, and even though his legacy was built on a lie, he made that lie truth by his actions.

King Arthur will be forever known as the one chosen by the Sword in the Stone. But he was not. The witch Morgana was. And though their paths intersected multiple times, sometimes as allies, other times as enemies, and others yet as simply acquaintances, the secret remained between them. Morgana grew to be a strong sorceress, one of the best. Some legends say she even surpassed Merlin in skill and knowledge. But she never forgot the boy who allowed her to follow her path. And he never forgot the girl who made his actions possible.

After the Battle of Camlann, where Arthur died at the hands of Mordred, his bastard-born son, Morgana took his body to the sacred isle of Avalon, where she nursed him back to life. And even though he was not the rightful king, Arthur vowed to return to Britain whenever her need will be greatest. His loyalty to his people, his honour and his duty-bound him after death, and binds him even today. And Morgana? Even though she was the rightful queen, she dared to take the path she wanted in life, not the one expected of her by the world, and she had a happy one for that.

The rightful leader is not the one destined for it. It is the one who rises to the challenge.