Merlyn's Only Hope

Excalibur P2

Pellinor was fairing much better than Sir Owain, striking back hard against the black knight's shield. He was the better fighter, ducking under his opponent's blade, bringing his own sword down, the sound of metal colliding echoing throughout the arena. The crowd cheered, smiling at Pellinor's movements, hoping the dark cloud that the mysterious knight had brought upon Camelot would be lifted.

Arthur had forgone his box again, giving the vague excuse that he wanted to be closer to the action. He stood next to Merlyn, noting the grave expression settled on her face, strange, considering that, at that moment, Pellinor was certainly winning. The prince was still worried for his knight, but, after training with him that morning, he was quietly confident. Pellinor was the better fighter, that was obvious from the way he jumped back, avoiding death with the agility of a contorted acrobat.

Blocking the black knight's sword with his shield, Pellinor thrust his blade into his opponent's abdomen in full view of the crowd. Arthur beamed, clapping loudly, noticing how his relieved father slumped back in his throne, his expression mirroring his own. The only person who didn't look visibly glad was Merlyn, who was still tense. When the sword had penetrated the black knight, she'd clutched tightly onto his arm, surveying the scene with a strange mixture of hope and horror.

"Maybe Gaius was wrong..." she muttered, her eyes fixed on the black knight, still clinging onto Arthur, not that he was complaining. He was about to ask her what she meant, but, as he returned his gaze to the ring, he felt his heart pump loudly in his chest, terror clouding his thoughts.

The black knight just stood there, as if Pellinor hadn't stuck a blade through his stomach. Instead of collapsing, he took advantage of Pellinor's confused state, stabbing his own blade through his opponent's chain mail. Pellinor fell to the ground, unmoving.

Not even a bird stirred, the whole crowd silenced with one blow. Arthur looked to his knights, watching as their petrified faces morphed into an unspoken resolve. He saw a few of them nodding, ready to sacrifice their lives for his kingdom. He turned to his servant, knowing that, even with him gone, she would protect Camelot with every fibre of her being. He could see what she was thinking of doing, knew that she wanted to pick up the next gauntlet. He couldn't let her do that, not until they knew how to defeat it. She would do what he couldn't, but he would give her time.

Stepping into the ring, he threw down his own gauntlet, the metal thumping into the sand. The black knight turned to him, but said nothing. "I, Arthur Pendragon challenge you."

"So be it."

"Single combat, noon tomorrow." Arthur kept his voice level, his face expressionless. The black knight didn't reply, turning his back to the prince and returning to the centre of the arena.

"Your determination to die is going to put me out of a job. What else am I going to do? Become a seamstress?" Merlyn shuddered next to him in lighthearted horror. He knew what she was trying to do; he let a grin flicker across his face. If he died tomorrow, he'd die happy knowing that she and his knights could live.

∆

"How could you be so stupid?" Uther roared, throwing open the doors to the throne room. Arthur was already there, leaning against a chair, completely composed. "I'll revoke the challenge." Uther nodded, mostly to himself.

"The Knight's Code must be upheld, that's what you taught me." Arthur remarked as casually as he could.

"This is different."

Arthur raised his eyebrow, thoroughly unimpressed. "Once a challenge has been layed down, it can't be rescinded."

"You are the Crowned Prince." Uther interrupted him, using a title that didn't really matter.