Arthur stared at the carved dragon, its wooden eyes seeming to bore right into his own. The thing had watched over this doorway for longer than he'd been alive, longer than his father had been alive and it would probably outlast them both.
Well, here we go, he thought, flexing his fingers at his side. No turning back now!
He knocked twice, sharp and clear. And the sound rang through the corridor, bouncing from beam and stone, and faded into that peculiar quiet that always seemed to hover around the lord's study; the servants knew not to bother him.
From within, came the quiet scratch of a quill—that same methodical scratching Arthur had heard through day and night, and day again while lurking outside these doors as a boy, trying to work up the courage to ask for something. Most likely something shamelessly outrageous.
Then, the scratching stopped.
"Enter."
He's dramatic as always…
The lord's voice carried through the ancient oak. It was the same tone Arthur had heard used on ladies and lords and servants alike—and even his own children—countless times, and it never failed to make lesser men straighten their spines.
Yet Arthur didn't back down. He grinned. He was excited!
Elaine stepped forth and grasped the mottled iron handles, her movements as swift and graceful as always. She turned to look at him, and Arthur caught something in her dark eyes. Not worry—Elaine knew better to worry about him
Pride, maybe? Arthur wondered, thinking it would make sense. I am quite amazing, after all.
"Master Arthur?" she asked quietly.
Right, Arthur nodded. To himself, mostly.
The ancient doors crept open with their familiar groan, revealing the study beyond. Elaine stepped aside and Arthur could smell it immediately: old leather, aged parchment and the faint scent of oil used to cleanse a sword. It was the smell that had likely claimed the study for generations on end, Arthur was sure of it.
Suddenly, Elaine leaned close, her breath hot and warm against his ear. "You'll do wonderfully," she whispered and Arthur caught that familiar scent of lavender still clinging to her. "I just know you will."
Something fluttered in Arthur's chest—whether from her closeness and words, or his excitement, or from everything and all combined, he couldn't say. But still, he grinned that cocky smile he'd perfected over the years.
"Of course I will," he said, as if there had never been any doubt. "Did you expect anything less from the perfect me?"
"I know you will." Elaine surprisingly stifled a small chuckle. She then stepped back, though her gaze lingered on his face. "I'll be waiting right here."
She really knows how to motivate a man.
Arthur gave her a small nod, grateful and reassuring, before turning towards the open doorway. Finally, Arthur smiled as he stepped across the threshold. And behind him, the doors closed with a soft thud—he was left alone with the mighty dragon himself.
The study looked as it always had, and why shouldn't it? The lord didn't embrace change lightly. Sapphire carpets stretched plush and long across stone floors while monolithic bookshelves ran along the walls, their volumes bound in leather and age. There were books on warfare and bloodlines and ancient laws and more.
And all of it belonged to the Pendragons.
At least there's nothing in French, Arthur chuckled, despite himself. At least he has standards.
At the room's heart sat the massive mahogany desk, its surface polished to a dark mirror shine. Neat stacks of parchment lay atop it at precise angles, an inkwell gleamed in the morning light, and a single quill rested beside them—everything exactly where it should be.
And behind it all sat the man himself.
He had silver hair and green eyes that matched Arthur's own. He carried himself with the bearing of a man who had never doubted his place in this world—and with his might, rightfully so. And those familiar eyes now studied Arthur with the same intensity they'd always held.
This man was Uther Pendragon, second of his name. Lord of the Ancient Seat, keeper of traditions that stretched through the mists of time. And most importantly, the man whose approval Arthur needed this day.
Still, Arthur met the lord's gaze and did not look away.
"Father," he said.
Uther's verdant eyes gleamed as they studied Arthur for a long moment, taking in the crisp lines of his white shirt, the perfect press of his navy blazer, and the way his still-damp hair caught and held the morning light streaming through the tall windows.
"You look presentable," the older man said at last, and there was an approval threaded through the formal words. "Clean and ready. I can only imagine we have Elaine to thank for such thoroughness."
Arthur shifted slightly under that appraising gaze, having enough shame to at least scratch the scruff of his neck. "She's... ahem, meticulous in her duties."
"Indeed she is." The faintest smile touched Uther's lips—barely perceptible, but Arthur caught it nonetheless. "That girl has always been precise in her work. Both with your sister, Le Fay's, education and, it would seem, with ensuring my son doesn't appear before me looking as though he's been dragged through a hedge of brambles."
This old geezer… Arthur furrowed his brows.
He straightened his blazer with theatrical dignity, that familiar confidence settling over him like a well-worn cloak. "I'll have you know I'm naturally this devastatingly handsome. Elaine merely… enhances what nature has already provided to me—in abundance."
This time, Uther's smile was unmistakable, transforming his stern features into something warmer and paternal, and Arthur was quite shocked. "As always, your humility astounds me"
The banter eased some of the tension that had long been building, but when his father's expression grew serious once more, that nervous and cold energy filling the room returned in full force. There was a weight to the air now, the kind someone only of Uther's position could carry.
"Today marks your sixteenth year," Uther finally got to the point, rising from his aged and well-worn, leather-bound chair. "The day you claim what's yours by right of blood and birth."
Arthur's confidence didn't waver, though something deeper flickered behind his gaze—anticipation, perhaps, or something else entirely, he couldn't say. "I'm ready."
"Ready?" Uther moved around the great mahogany desk, each step both measured and purposeful. There was something almost pitying in his expression, though mixed with something else. "Arthur, you speak as though you understand what awaits you. But could you? No amount of preparation, no lessons nor stories, can truly ready you for this."
"Like I said, I'm ready—"
"Arthur." He sighed. "You know, knowing what must be done and doing it are different beasts entirely. There will be a day where you must act upon these feelings—your duties—they must be done. With your head held high."
Arthur swallowed a lump down his throat, it was rare for his father to act like this. Cold, he often was. Strict, too. But something about him today was entirely different.
Finally, he lifted his chin, meeting his father's gaze. "Then… It's about time I discovered what being a Pendragon truly means, right?" He shrugged slightly, a smile playing at his lips. "What's the worst that can happen?"
Uther studied his son's face, a sigh escaping him once more—the determination set in his jaw, the eager light in his eyes, and the way he stood straighter despite the weight of expectations settling visibly on his boyish shoulders. "Very well," he said quietly. "Come. Let us begin the ritual."
▬▬┃═Excalibur═ﺤ
The study doors groaned open on their well-worn hinges, revealing Elaine positioned exactly where she had been left. It was as though she hadn't moved an inch, her posture perfect despite the passage of time. And her round and dark eyes found Arthur immediately, searching for something—reasurrance, perhaps, or simply making sure all went well.
"Well?" she asked Arthur, her voice a quiet lull, barely above a whisper in these echoing and ancient corridors. "How did it go?"
"It went well," Arthur hummed, though excitement threaded through his tune like a golden wire through an even darker cloth. "Did you know I apparently clean up rather well?" he asked, smirking. "I suppose you should take pride in your handiwork."
"Thank—"
Before Elaine could finish, Uther emerged from the study like a shadow, his posture tall and imposing in front of his dear son. His mere presence commanded immediate attention from lingering servants going about their work. They hurriedly lowered their heads in deference, greeting their lord before scurrying away like autumn leaves before a strong wind. Their footsteps faded quickly into the maze of ancient and knowing corridors beyond.
The three of them were now alone.
Elaine began to drop into a curtsey, dipping her head while her fingers caught at her pristine white apron. "My lord—" she started, but Uther raised a hand to forestall the ritual.
"Elaine," he acknowledged with the slight inclination of his head. "There's no need for formalities just now—we have work to do. We require Le Fay's presence. Immediately, if you please."
What a grump…
"Of course, my lord." She fell into step beside them as they began their journey throughout the winding estate, her movements as fluid and graceful as always against the ancient stone floors. "She's been preparing since before dawn," a smile crept. "I believe she may be even more excited about today than you are, Master Arthur."
"We'll see." Arthur let out a chuckle.
The corridors stretched endlessly before them, lined with portraits and carvings and endless history. Long-dead ancestors whose painted eyes seemed to follow their passage, carvings in which seemed to move—each and all seemingly knowing. Arthur had walked these halls countless times throughout childhood, racing through them as a boy, and striding through them as he grew older.
He wondered how he'd walk through these corridors later.
"Are you nervous?" Elaine asked quietly, her voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't carry to Uther, who walked a measured pace ahead of them.
Nervous?
Arthur considered her question seriously, surprised to find that he couldn't give an immediate answer. "Should I be?" he asked in turn, smirking lightly.
"Perhaps," she admitted, and there was something in her tone that made him look at her more closely. He noted the few loose strands of dark hair and that familiar concern that shadowed her features despite her composed demeanor. "What you're about to undertake, It's… significant beyond measure. Life-changing, no?"
Before Arthur could press her, they had finally reached the familiar oak door that marked Le Fay's bedchambers. Engraved with intricate patterns and flowery carvings, it suited Le Fay's demeanor quite well. Uther raised a hand towards the door and knocked twice, the sound sharp and authoritative in this hushed corridor.
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Chapter title: Lord of the Manor
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Afterthoughts:
As previously mentioned in the fic synopsis, this fic is on hiatus or just dropped. Purely uploaded because I would love to hear the thoughts of others and such. And while this is dropped, I am currently working on another fic. This is a Fate fic. Currently 4 chapters in, and I plan on doing a couple more before uploading. Thanks!