Me, Arthur! (And Some Other Unimportant People)

Arthur (Almost) Pulls the Sword from the Stone

Swords (especially magic swords) were meant to be drawn from stone.  They were meant to be drawn by great heroes.  I'm a great hero, Arthur reasoned.  So why haven't I pulled this sword out of the stone?  Currently, Arthur, the adopted (he felt destined was a better word) son of the king, was trying to pull an old rusting sword out of the floor of the wine cellar.  He was generally sure that in the past hour it had clearly moved a millimeter, so clearly Arthur must be the chosen king of the nation.  Unlike his younger step-brother, Alfred.  Alfred was annoying.

He had long pondered a way to usurp his brother's (completely bogus) claim to the throne.  Suddenly, an idea had struck him.  He would claim ownership of a sword he had mysteriously found, proving himself more resourceful than Alfred.  It was a genius plan, although Arthur was slightly worried that everyone might be too dazzled by his beautiful reflection on the sword that they might all faint and not witness his incredible feat.  Luckily enough for him, he managed to find a sword hidden in the closet of the wine cellar.  He hadn't questioned how it had gotten there, attributing it to his greatness.

He pulled even harder on the sword.  It just wouldn't seem to budge.  Maybe the sword felt as though it wasn't worthy enough to serve a master like him?  Arthur put on his most charismatic face.  Surely this will charm it.

"Giving inanimate objects weird looks again, Arthur?"  rang a monotonous voice from the top stair of the wine cellar.  In walked Lancelot, Arthur's arch nemesis.  With his alabaster colored skin, blue eyes, and tousled black hair, Lancelot was obviously the only reason that all the girls weren't fawning over Arthur himself, and also the reason why Arthur hadn't won any of the knighting contests (yet).  He had bewitched everyone in the castle! This man lives to make my life miserable, Arthur thought.  I'm sure he's only here to steal my ingenious plan. 

"Just so you now, Lancy, I'm going to get this sword and then I'm going to win the favor of the entire court.  There's no way I'll let you, my enemy, steal my fame!"

Lancelot rolled his eyes and muttered something under his breath that sounded like drama queen, which was impossible because who could possibly feel the need to insult Arthur?  He strode up to Arthur in his usual tight, clipped walk, not even tripping on the numerous cracks in the floor.  Darn, he's good.  Those cracks even tripped up me.

"Arthur," Lancelot deadpanned, "I am the only person who actually talks to you often, and really, can you stop calling Lancy?  It's rather bothersome."  Most people would expect some kind of tone change in other individuals' voices, but Lancelot didn't tend to put much expression into his words.  His face also remained mostly in a neutral expression throughout all periods of time.  Arthur knew this was only a trick to hide his true, vindictive personality.  But Arthur realized that if Lancelot was here, he might as well ask him a favor.

"Never, Lancy!  I refuse to show my archenemy any form of respect.  But maybe I would change my mind if someone would go get me a hammer from the storage shed."  Arthur winked at Lancelot.  Surely he couldn't make it any more obvious what he needed.

Lancelot sighed and dragged one hand slowly down his face as if mimicking some kind of facepalm.  He once again walked over to the steps, gracefully climbing them out of the wine cellar.  As he slammed the door shut, he muttered under his breath.

"This isn't going to end well."