“I thought Excalibur had been lost for centuries,” called Sir Kay, who no doubt felt he should have been the one to recover the sword.

“Not lost,” said Arthur. “Waiting. At least, according to the Lady of the Lake. For the one true king.”

Those words rang out as he held Excalibur, making the sword glow even brighter in his grip. His heart beat faster, from the stress and the attention, but he kept the blade, and his posture, steady.

The courtiers stared at him in awe. Arthur knew he didn’t look like much: travel worn and dressed as plainly as his guards, and barely nineteen. But he needed them to look beyond all that. To see their future king with a glowing sword in his hands, who would lead them into a new and better Camelot.

He needed them to believe.

Or else he didn’t know how he’d find the strength to try.

The sword’s glow illuminated the deep lines in his father’s face. Uther blinked again, shocked that his son hadn’t merely returned demanding his supper. That once again, the boy he’d long called an unfit spare had managed to prove himself.

“Excalibur,” breathed the king, unable to tear his gaze from the blade. “May I?”

Arthur bowed his head and lifted the sword higher. As it passed to his father, its glow dimmed, and then went out entirely.

Fortunately, the king didn’t seem to realize Excalibur had slighted him.

“Extraordinary,” he marveled, examining the blade. “This relic will be kept under guard in the castle vault.”

Lance had been so right about that.

“As you wish, Father,” said Arthur, with a stab of disappointment. It wasn’t as though he wanted to wear Excalibur to the library, but still. It seemed a shame to lock the sword away when it had only just been recovered.

“Did you bring back anything else?” Lord Agravaine asked, his expression shrewd.

Arthur hesitated. “Just the sword,” he said, shooting a nervous look at his guards, who thankfully had no idea about its equally magical sheath.

The scabbard he’d keep to himself, for a little longer.

“Come,” said Uther, clapping a hand to Arthur’s shoulder. “Supper grows cold.”

The courtiers whispered as he walked past, and he knew they were talking about him. About the crown prince they had grudgingly accepted, and then quietly begun to doubt.

But not anymore.

Arthur squared his shoulders, knowing their whispers meant he had done well, that he should be proud, but if anything, all of this just made him feel more alone.

You’re not alone, he reminded himself. You have Lance, and Merlin, and Master Ambrosius. You have friends who will tell you when you’re being an idiot, and who will travel with you beyond the edge of the kingdom.