Arthur and Lancelot hit the beach, rolled and came up running.
Both had become used to healing from Morgan, in various forms, so neither was questioning still being in one piece despite Owain's attentions and a quick dip in the freezing, toxic water.
"He's up there!" Lancelot urgently pointed to the cairn and dashed towards it. However, as soon as his feet touched the bottom step, he was thrown backwards with a resounding 'boom' to land on his back. Arthur shot past him and took the stairs two at a time.
"Sorry! Must be a king thing. If he makes it past me, make sure he doesn't leave the island with the sword!"
Lancelot backflipped to his feet and kicked the sand in frustration.
*
The Lady in the Lake was starting to think she'd made a mistake.
Of all her various roles, transferring Caeldfwch to the One Who Was Promised should have been a cakewalk. I mean, how hard should it be to find a guy to give a magic sword to?
Apparently, more difficult than you'd think.
She raised an eyebrow at the fat man's effort to pull the sword from the stone. Contrary to popular opinion, pretty much anyone could bear Caeldfwch. Of course, whether they could control it once they had it was another matter entirely.
Or, indeed, draw it.
Who the fuck is this joker?
Oh, good. Now the fucking thing had woken up.
"The One Who Was Promised. Apparently," she sent silently to the sword.
You're fucking kidding me! This guy's one spoon of butter from stroking out. What is he? The One Who Was Promised A Massive Fucking Fried Breakfast?
"What can I tell you? He's here, and he wants you. It's not like this ritual is any more complicated than that."
I don't like him. He's sweating down my handle. Tell him to go away.
The Lady in the Lake took a controlling breath. My word, she'd be glad to bet this bitchy, whiney, self-obsessed blade off her hands. But for that, the One Who Was Promised needed to fucking do his bit.
"Are you making yourself deliberately too heavy so he cannot pull you out of the stone?"
. . .
"Caeldfwch? I'm talking to you."
I might be.
"Look, I know he might not be the most classically attractive man in the world, but he's here, you're here, and I want to get out of here. Can't you just play nice?
It's not fair. You know I don't like to . . . hello, sailor!
The Lady in the Lake turned to see a second man reaching the top of the stone staircase. Well, that was new. The new arrival was definitely easier on the eye than the first, even if he seemed to have no hair. Still, you couldn't have everything.
"Owain!" the bald man roared. Then he tackled the fat one, still wrestling with Caeldfwch, away from the stone and rolled with him on the floor.
"Well," thought the Lady in the Lake, "my day has just got more interesting." And with a wave of her hand, she turned the ground to mud.
*
I skidded to a halt on the island's shore,
Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.
Who are you talking to, my dear?
"Just my youth, Big M. Where's Caeldfwch?"
Lancelot ran to meet me.
"Up there he's being. I can't follow!
I bounded forward but had the same issue. It was like there was a forcefield at the bottom of the cairn. "Big M? Any thoughts?"
I think, my dear, we will have to leave this one to Arthur.
*
The Once and Future King was embracing his central role in proceedings. "I. Thought. You. Were. My. Friend," he shouted, each word punctuated by a thudding blow to Owain's head.
However, bloodied, the King of Gwent had spent longer on the battlefield than Arthur had been alive. He took the punches, letting Arthur burn out his rage, then rolled, trapping the smaller man beneath him.
Owain would never be able to compete with sword or spear, but in an ugly grappling match in the mud, things were much more even.
The two wrestled for supremacy for a few moments before Owain grabbed a piece of driftwood and pressed it down on Arthur's neck, letting his whole weight fall on it.
Arthur's eyes bulged at the restriction, his biceps bunching as he tried to leaver Owain off him. It was like trying to lift a mountain.
"I killed your mother. Did you know that?"
Now he had the upper hand - literally - Owain seemed to feel now was appropriate for some good old-fashioned villain monologuing. "And, by now, your wife will have joined her. My flag will be flying about Tintagel."
Arthur kicked and bucked, but he could feel darkness hovering at the edge of his vision. The debt from Morgan's healing was sucking at his strength, let alone being crushed by the king above him. In response, Owain just redoubled his efforts, feeling the body beneath him beginning to tire.
A few more moments were all it would take, and his long-cherished revenge would be complete—Uther's son for his son. And no trace of Uther's line would be left in this world.
*
Is this really the best you can do?
Arthur thought the lack of oxygen had moved into the terminal stage. He was hearing things.
Are you still with me? It is polite to answer.
Arthur grunted a response. Twisting violently to the left earned him a quick breath, but then the crushing restriction was back on his throat. Fucking Owain. He'd been like family. He'd sat on the man's fucking knee. He'd marched at his side. He'd fucked the man's serving girls!
Seriously, what is wrong with men? Moments from death, and all you want to think about is getting squelchy. I have a good mind to leave you to it.
That grabbed Arthur's attention. "Help?"
If you ask me very nicely.
For a terrifying moment, Arthur thought he had no air left, but with a colossal effort, he forced out a 'Please?'
Since you have been so polite, listen carefully. I will say this only once. The fat man who sweated all over me has a slightly loose grip on that piece of wood. He's readjusted it several times. I would calculate he will need to do it once before you die. If I were you, I'd get ready to give it all you've got at that moment—left hand.
It might have been uncharitable in the circumstances, but Arthur couldn't but compare that 'help' with Drynwyn's steaming, flaming death beams. Still, beggars could not be choosers.
He played dead, letting the wood crush down even further. The voice better be right about this. And then, when there was precious little 'playing' about it, he felt Owain readjust his left hand.
With every last bit of energy he possessed, Arthur exploded upwards, surprising the King of Gwent, throwing him off, and letting him suck in big lungfuls of air.
Excellent. I assume you can take it from here?
Wasting no time, Arthur got to his feet and then stamped down on Owain's knee, shattering it and - in the same movement - sweeping the piece of wood into his own hands. "Please let me know this gives me no joy," he said to the screaming man.
And then he went to town.
*
Lancelot and I were feeling a little bit like spare cocks at an orgy.
After everything we'd been through to get here, I think we were both a touch underwhelmed by our roles in the grand finale.
Get used to it, my dear. Merlin had said. You are not the lead character in the tales of King Arthur. Indeed, nothing says you are fulfilling your role more successfully than having done all you can to get the protagonist to the right place at the right time and then standing back with -
And then a couple of things happened.
First, a pulped body of what may well have used to be Owain of Gwent hit the beach next to us. Some of his wounds may well have been caused by the fall from atop the cairn, but most looked like the king had been on the business end of a shellacking with a two-by-four. Owain may have had unbroken bones, but that would have needed a more thorough forensic examination than I was prepared to give.
Second, I realised all the little strings of Qi that I had got used to connecting me to everything around me had vanished. It was like suddenly going blind. Oh, and Merlin had gone.
Third - and I should probably have led with this, but the falling body was pretty damn visceral - a choir of angels was giving it some welly and a massive column of light had descended from the heavens to light on the figure of Arthur, stood atop the cairn, an enormous broadsword in his hand, stretching to the sky.
Apparently, someone had found Caeldfwch.