EXCERPT - Hero is a Four Letter Word

The Once and Now-ish King - PART II

"I feel the need to clarify," Arthur said as his father closed the bedroom door behind them.

 Downstairs were his mother's parents and his father's sister, all of whom had come to coo at the new baby and who, Arthur's father had patiently explained that morning, probably didn't need to know that their shiny new grandson and nephew could speak like a functional adult. Arthur, therefore, had spent the morning making gurgling sounds and being as adorable as he could manage and was really starved for some honest adult interaction.

"Clarify what?" Arthur's father asked, holding Arthur away from his body as if to ensure that the slight smell wouldn't travel through the nappy and into his own clothes.

"My name," Arthur said. "I'm not just any old Arthur – though I am thrilled that the name has gained such popularity. I am Arthur, King of the Britons, Uniter and Ruler of the land of Albion. And put me down already, man, you look ridiculous. Honestly, it's not going to explode."

Arthur's father chuckled and put Arthur on the change table and began the lengthy process of preparing to change his nappy.

"You do know me, don't you?" Arthur asked worriedly, when his father hadn't immediately been shocked, or gone into raptures, or at least made a leg and called him "your majesty." Perhaps he was forgotten.

"Hm, what?" his father asked, rooting around under the table for the wet wipes and dry powder. "Right, yes, King Arthur, quest for the Holy Grail, Sean Connery, myths to make the Welsh feel better about themselves, all that."

Arthur furrowed his chubby brow as best he could. All of him was chubby right now and it actually was slightly annoying. It was hard to be taken seriously when one was so damnably cute. "Sean who?"

"Actor. Played King Arthur in the films."

The thought that he had passed into history had been certain to Arthur; he had already been a great historical figure while he had lived. That he would pass into legend was a possibility, though he didn't enjoy the idea that he might have been forgotten as a real person. To find that he had become a myth hurt in ways that Arthur couldn't directly pinpoint, but he thought that it might have something to do with the idea that all of his bloody and hard work had been reduced to the sphere of an epithet, and all the people he had known and loved had been distilled into archetypes and clichés, ghosts of themselves.

But to find that there had been a film...horrifying.

Arthur had already seen two films in his admittedly young life – one that made his mother weep and smile as the man declared his love for the unattractively thin woman with a wide face (arms like toothpicks, she'd never be able to raise a blade to defend herself or her children from invaders), and one filled with great balls of fire and fast chases in those metal vehicles he now knew were called "cars" – and wasn't sure he had any great love for this bastardization of the bardic tale-weaving he had known in his last life. Though, he had to admit, the television was a remarkable invention.

To take his mind off it, he asked, "What exactly is wrong with Albion, anyway?"

"Pardon?" his father asked again, concentrating on his task and perhaps watching Arthur's willy with more apprehension than was strictly polite. After all, Arthur hadn't weed on him on purpose, and he had apologised besides. "What's an Albion?"

"This land. I united it. I ruled the whole island once, you know. Don't tell me somebody let it get all split up into different kingdoms again after all the hard work I did."

"It was for, oh, a thousand or so years," his father said, reaching for the fresh nappies, eyes still on Arthur. "But then Scotland and Wales and part of Ireland got sucked back in, wars for a few centuries about all of that, too, and so it's all mostly united again. The United Kingdom of Great Britain and Northern Ireland. We just say the 'UK' now, son. Oh, but, uh, I guess there's the colonies, too, only they're not colonies any more as we've become a commonwealth state and --"

Arthur coughed and his father trailed off, concentrating on getting the nappy under his son. Not a Kingdom anymore but a whole Empire; Arthur felt overwhelming responsibility pressing strangely on his little shoulders. Perhaps it would mean that he would be less prepared when the hour of need came, but right now Arthur wished that he could have had a childhood like the last one: oblivious of his destiny and happy in his innocence.

After a short silence, Arthur prompted: "So, Albion's greatest hour of need?"

The man shrugged. "Rotter in Downing Street? War in the Middle East? Decline of social niceties in direct correlation with the rise of texting and tweens?"

"Maybe it hasn't happened yet," Arthur ventured. Then he sighed, because baby powder? Best. Feeling. Ever.

"You'd be born before the thing that would make you need to be born has happened?" his father said, and finally looked up.

"Magic works in strange ways; besides, Merlin lived his life backwards. He always knew what was going to happen before it did." Arthur wanted to grin, but a wave of melancholy swept over him instead. "It was always frustrating, though, because he never remembered the day before. It was...difficult. Having a friend who never shared the same memories, I mean. Who never...shared anything you loved. Except your friendship." Arthur swallowed. "And the in-jokes never worked. Anyway. He'd know when I had to be born again. So that means whatever it is, it probably hasn't happened yet."

"That's a comfort," his father allowed. "I guess. None of us can choose his destiny."

Arthur frowned. "No; but some of us have it chosen for them." Arthur let this percolate for a bit as his father tamped down the sticky tabs on the side of his new nappy and picked him up. "By the way... surprisingly insightful, old man," Arthur said, snuffling and burrowing close to his father's warmth and the comfortable, safe smell of his neck.

His father smiled. "Thanks, kiddo. You get your brains from me."

Arthur felt that a good gummy yawn was probably agreement enough, and proceeded to put thought into action.

***

Arthur dreamed again. He dreamt of the great grassy plain, and of thousands of millions pairs of eyes watching him from stands erected all around him, hemming him in. But it was getting more detailed, the more he experienced it; or maybe it was just that he was familiar enough with the skeleton of the dream that he could allow his mind to take in the other, seemingly less important details.

It was a tourney field of some sort, but it was bisected at its narrowest, rather than with a rail across the length. This was not a jousting field, nor did Arthur wear any mail or armour. That it was a place for fighting, he knew, but what kind escaped him.

Mordred just crouched before him, a flapping swatch of white suspended on a metal frame behind his head, smirking and horrible and waiting.

They were both dressed in a ridiculously flimsy pair of uniforms, with thin boots and shin guards. The material was so slight that it would not block any blade, and it was in a colour so bright and garish that they would never be able to hide from their enemies. Perhaps that was the point; to prove that the knight wearing it was firm enough of mettle and strong enough of arm to not require armor.

The people in the stands around him blasted their disapproval of his inaction into short, obnoxious trumpets and the sound filled the grounds with the angry buzz of disturbed hornets. They looked at him with such eager expectation, and Arthur had no idea how to give them what they wanted. He had always feared not being able to satisfy his subjects, but their now gazes were positively hungry. Arthur wondered what could be at stake should he fail this test that would make them so desperate.

A golden club sat in the middle of the tourney field. It was cup-shaped and large, with a great ball cradled between the carven swaths of its base. Arthur knew it was not the Grail. Beyond that, he had no idea why it might be significant, and his ignorance annoyed him as much as the anxiety in the audience's eyes ate away at his confidence.