Arthur, the hero, Arthur the chosen one. He was the man who drew Excalibur from the stone and the human most favored by fate. When the Westlands were a state of warring kingdoms, it was he who united them. When humanity was endangered by a great threat, it was he who brought together brave warriors from across the continent to defeat it. He was Arthur Penadragon, the greatest, most resolute king of all.
Arthur gazed into his replica of the Pond of Beginnings and saw his old, wrinkled face. It was a waning expression, but one he wore with pride, for it was the accumulation of the battles he'd won and proof that he had truly lived.
It was strange to him. He'd come so far and done so much for someone with such a lackluster desire. To have united the world and fought against a world-ending witch, won countless bloody wars, and built a kingdom from the ashes of a hundred fallen states, he should have been the most ambitious man of all time.
But he wasn't. He was a man with zero ambitions.
The truth was…
…all Arthur ever wanted was to rest under the peaceful, sunny sky and sleep lazily, listlessly wasting away his days without a single care.
But fate was cruel, and he never got the chance. From the moment he could hold a sword, the duty to protect those fools who endlessly gathered behind him was thrust upon his massive back. No matter how much he wanted to rest and sleep in the warm summer air, there would always be a cloud blocking his sky. One turned into two, and two turned into a hundred. Decade after decade, he was forced to perpetually admonish the darkness so he could, perhaps, one day just sleep under a tree without any cares.
Such a day never came.
Even in his old age, he couldn't rest. The world called upon his heroics for one final battle, and whether they accepted him or not, it was still the duty he'd sworn to many decades ago. His chosen path, his obligation as king. It would be up to him to unite not just the Westlands, but the world, should they hope to escape and save as many lives as possible. He knew he would not live to see the fruits of his efforts, but that was okay with him. Never had it been about him, and he was not someone who lived with regrets. If he died with them without fighting back, those regrets would just create a cloud that blocked the sun in the afterlife.
Arthur began walking towards the doors out of the eccentric throne room, whispering a final farewell to his beloved resting spot. It would be a while before he returned, as the journey to the Northlands was long and cold. Dangerous as well. Though the Northland king, Beowulf, was once one of the comrades that he fought alongside, he would not be welcomed to the frozen kingdom so warmly.
That's because, in a time when they should have been celebrating their victory over Tahlia many decades ago, they parted ways with a brutal exchange of bitter looks and spiteful implications. Arthur had not heard a single word from the gruff king since. It was also likely the reason the Northlands intended to invade the Westlands, though they were never given the chance due to the Chosen One's diligence and influence. Even in his old age, there were those who sought to protect his legacy. The guilds of the West. His loyal followers. His daughter, Sako.
Arthur knew it was finally time to move past those petty quarrels. It would be up to them to give humankind a future. Though their methods were constantly at odds, they always had the same goal. They never met eye to eye, but their hearts were unchanging.
He looked back at Excalibur, leaving it behind in its ironic holster. The time to dawn it was soon, but not immediately. He would instead bear Guinevere, a sword that belonged to his late wife by the same name, as he trekked through the snowy mountains.
I wonder, old friend, Arthur thought. Will you listen to my reason, or will you become intent on solving things yourself as you always have? Whether we can make amends or I must strike you down with my own hands, I am eager to see you again, my friend.
Arthur pushed open the doors and was met by an army of men and women clad in steel, swords, and bows, all pointed at him. Behind the elderly king, in the throne room, dozens of other figures appeared from the shadows and unsheathed daggers laced with poison; a group composed of hired assassins and Agents of Darkness. They all surrounded him, encroaching slowly upon him with weapons drawn and magic sweltering from their trembling bodies.
"What is the meaning of this?" Arthur asked, calm, despite everything.
"We must ask your forgiveness, my king," a general said from the crowds of soldiers. "But please, relinquish this kingdom to Sir Lionel and retire. If you do that, we will not have to take your life."
"You all choose to put your faith in him as opposed to me?" Arthur asked.
"Your desire to save everyone has driven you to delusion," a voice in the crowd said. "Your purpose as the Chosen One has already been fulfilled long ago. Now, you are nothing more than a man!"
"Lionel has a plan. One we have faith in," another said. "Put your faith in him as we have! The time when we rely on fate is over! We must take matters into our own hands."
"That's enough, the lot of you. He's made his stance clear before. There is no convincing him to change," the general in front ascertained as he stared intently at Arthur's dilating pupils. "You have already saved this world, my king. You deserve rest. Please, just relinquish the throne and let new heroes save this age. We may have to resort to treachery to protect what we hold dear, but trust me when I say that none of us wants to kill you. Will you stand down?"
"I will not, my misguided children," Arthur said. "Tell me, what have you done to those few who retain loyalty to me?"
"They are imprisoned temporarily, but I assure you they are safe," he replied. "Lionel has already begun heading north to meet with the Northland king. He commanded us to kill you, but we seek a more peaceful resolution. If you hand over the throne to him, you can retire and rest under the sun all you want. Is that not what you desire?"
"There are too many clouds overhead right now," Arthur said. "I am moving forward to where it's shining brightly, and the only way to stop these old legs is to cut them off."
"Please, don't," the general said. "Despite everything, you are, and always will be, a hero to us. That's something that will never change. But if killing our hero means giving the world the chance to survive, then we will. So I ask once again, please, put your faith in him and his plan."
"My eyes wane, but they can still see the darkness within that man," Arthur said, drawing Gwenivuere from the holster on his belt. "His goals are righteous, but his means are cruel, and while many of you are willing to sacrifice your lives for the greater good, the same cannot be said for the citizens of this land. I will not allow his reckless and selfish plan."
"And you think you can solve all our problems with a theoretical magic that doesn't even exist? Your desire to save everyone has made you think up a far more radical plan," the general said. "Sacrifices are necessary. As king, you should know that better than any of us."
"An inevitable truth," Arthur said. "Such is the role of a king."
"A role which needs to be passed down," the general said.
"I intend to do so fully," Arthur said. "But not to Lionel. My faith is in another. The true successor to the throne."
"Who do you speak of? Cygnus? He's smart and done much for the kingdom, but he's not a leader," the general said. "When it comes time to make a difficult choice, he will falter."
"Not him," Arthur said.
"You couldn't possibly mean the princess," the general said, his voice rising. "She can't even speak!"
"Not Sako, either," Arthur said. "Not that she wants this filthy throne anyway."
"Then who?"
"I will say nothing further on the subject," Arthur said. "Those who wish to continue to serve me, drop your weapons and leave the castle immediately."
Surprisingly, a few soldiers did just that. Whether they lost their resolve out of fear or were just following the crowd before, they dropped their weapons and walked away. Nobody stopped them, and even made a path for them to exit. Still, most of the soldiers and agents remained, their weapons aimed at Arthur.
"The rest of you," Arthur said. "I thank you for your service and will ensure that your families are well taken care of following your passing. Rest assured, you will not go down in history in shame, as you are simply fighting for what you believe in."
"No, we are nothing more than filthy traitors," the general said. "But that's a burden everyone of us here is willing to bear."
"You haven't betrayed a thing," the king said. "And even though you have been led astray, I still view you all as precious friends."
"We feel the same, my lord," a voice from the crowd said, followed by murmurs of agreement.
"Now, heed my last order as your king," Arthur said. "Clasp your swords tight and stand proud. Do not falter, for the enemy before you is considerably more powerful than anything you've ever faced and will not go down easily. Stay true to your beliefs, keep your hearts as one, and fight with everything you've got."
The shaking of nervous iron and the stench of perspiration filled the castle as the army began taking slow steps towards the old king. The steps grew smaller and smaller as a terrible feeling enveloped their very souls. When their blades reached an inch of the enormous man's neck, Arthur began to glow a bright golden light as his expression became blank.
"It was an honor to serve alongside each of you," Arthur said. "I am proud to have been your king. 'Tis a shame it had to end this way."
That day, a single man walked out of Tintagel Castle.
As Arthur slowly descended the steps leading up to the floating castle, Lancelot was waiting at the bottom, the guildmaster's arms crossed and eyes cloudy.
"Lancelot, my friend," Arthur said with wet eyes. "Have your guild prepare six hundred and forty-seven graves, and a rose for each of them."
"We're gonna need a lot more than that," Lancelot said. "You can't be getting caught up in your feelings now. They were traitors, and it's our duty to expunge them from our kingdom. Don't tell me you've gone soft."
"If I'd gone soft, I would have let them kill me," Arthur said. "But is it so wrong for a king to mourn for his people?"
"A king does not lament those who fell for their beliefs," Lancelot said, turning around to face the groups of people still loyal to their king. They each knelt with their heads down as Arthur wiped his face.
"Then is it so wrong for a simple man to mourn his fellow humans?" Arthur asked.
"I suppose not."