England

Grummore used his sizable figure to push his way through the crowd flocked around the sword. It was Sir Ector's turn, and Grummore wanted to be there for his former friend's inevitable defeat.

I still didn't know what had gone wrong between Sir Grummore and Sir Ector, because I had heard they had been drinking buddies once upon a time. There must have been some sort of brawl in the tavern, because they hadn't spoken since I had lived with Grummore.

That I could remember. 

"Ector's about to make a right fool of himself." Grummore couldn't contain his glee as he placed himself in the inner circle surrounding the sword.

"Sir Ector, your turn, ole chap," the man who had dubbed himself guardian of the sword announced, pointing a copy of the blade in the stone at Ector.

The knight smiled arrogantly and strode to the stone, his smile growing wider with each step.

Lord have mercy, he was building himself up for failure.

Ector waved once to the crowd- in a gesture similar to what the former king used to use- and came to a stop next to the stone's platform. With a mighty tug, Ector failed to remove the sword from the stone, and his self assured smile immediately dimmed.

"Still think you're the king?" Grummore yelled, a jolly smile crossing his face. Grummore knew he was about as much of a king as old man Earl, but he couldn't help but be happy at Ector's fail.

Can't say I wasn't happy, too.

"You're no more king than me!" Ector said, stepping into Grummore's face. If someone didn't intervene, I had a feeling this would echo the tavern fight they must've had years ago.

"Sir, I believe it's your turn to try," I said, making my voice low and masculine. 

Grummore snapped out of his anger and gave me a courtesy glance. "Alright then," he said, "let's get this over with."

The knight didn't bother with theatrics as Ector had; instead choosing to walk quickly to the stone, halfheartedly pull the sword, and walk back to the place in the inner circle we had claimed. 

No one in the circle jeered or cheered, and the names were called continuously. Grummore seemed determined to see if anyone would become lucky and acquire the blade, but there had been no such luck in the hours we must have been standing there.

But because my master was there, I, as his squire, was also there.

Unfortunately.

After about the five hundredth person who went and tried the sword, Grummore turned to me with a mischievous smile on his face. 

"What?" I asked, worried about what he would say next.

"You should try the sword," he whispered. "What a kick the knights will get at a girl pulling the coveted blade."

"You know I can't do that. The sword specifies a king," I argued, trying to quell the curiosity that began burning in my gut.

Grummore only shrugged, as if he was indifferent. "Who said a king was a man, anyways? For all we know, girls were kings and boys were queens."

I eyed the sword, wondering if it was worth the risk to try and release it. 

Grummore staggered a little, and I realized with a start where all of these ideas were coming from. An overflowing chalice of beer was clutched tightly in Grummore's meaty hand, prompting me to believe that he was, in fact, drunk.

"Let's go back to the camp now," I stated, trying to save Grummore from a world of humiliation. 

"But I like watching people fail. It makes me feel so alive," the knight slurred, staggering a little.

Where had he gotten so much beer? And how had I not noticed? It was my job to make sure Grummore didn't embarrass himself, and here he was, drunk in the middle of one of the largest crowds in the country.

"Stand up straight," I ordered, tossing his arm around my shoulder. "You can do whatever you wish at the camp, but for now stand up straight."

The knight didn't say anything, but the amount of weight I was supporting decreased.

We pushed our way through the courtyard, and thankfully a squire helping his drunken master was a common sight this weekend. 

Grummore staggered along, taking careful sips of his beer along the way, trying to sneak them past me. It was almost humorous, the way he would look guiltily at me after drinking.

Finally, after several close calls, we arrived at the camp. Grummore took off running towards his tent, but plopped down just outside the flap. He chose to stay there and be quiet, and I took the opportunity to go and find a creek to bathe in. 

I couldn't go to the cleanest one, because all the men would be there, so I settled for the colder, less frequented stream instead.

I felt grimy, and all I wanted to do was completely scrub myself in the water. But because I was at a camp with all men, I could not let them see that I was... different.

I quickly hung up my clothes- the only ones I had on this trip- and placed my hat and pins beside them. Then, I carefully lowered myself into the freezing water. I allowed myself a minute to get used to the water, and then I completely submerged myself.

The water made my body instantly go numb. My face felt bloated, and I would panic every time a piece of my hair would slide past my face or neck. But I was relived when I could feel the dirt releasing from my limbs.

I emerged for breath, but quickly went under the surface again. This time, I opened my eyes to take in the murky water and my surroundings.

The bottom of the creek was sludge; mud mixed with moss and too much water, and the water was undeniably repellent. Chunks of the moss that clung to the surface of the water were floating around, and I didn't truly know how much cleaner than before I was.

But it would have to do, because all of the noblemen and knights had decided to take the clearest creek within walking distance.

Finally, when my skin was rubbed raw, I climbed onto the slippery bank and sat in the sun to allow myself to dry. All of my senses were on edge, and I was acutely aware of every tiny sound and movement around me.

When I deemed myself dry enough, I reassembled my squire outfit and placed my stringy hair into the pins underneath my hat. 

Then, making sure no one was around, I went to my favorite place to think.

The path was familiar now, as were the trees and the bushes and the ferns. This time, I took my time admiring the trees. There were some things I had noticed before, yes, but this time I saw so much more than the surface of the forest.

Here and there, there were tree stumps frozen in time. The trees were in fact bent over as if in pain, and I assumed they had been struck by lightning as saplings to have bent and scarred the way they did.

The ferns were not only colored green; in fact I noticed a couple that were blue and one that was yellow.

Here, in this forest I had come to know as mine, I thought about what Grummore had said.

He was correct, and I acknowledged the fact that I truly didn't know if kings had always been men. It was odd, to think you know something, but it could always be turned upside down. 

And I also had to be okay with the growing curiosity growing within me. I had never wanted to try something more in my life. It seemed peculiar how I was suddenly so interested in the sword, as if some great puppeteer was controlling the strings of my thoughts.

I hoped that wasn't the case. I had only ever been to one puppet show, and I could live the rest of my life without seeing one more wooden marionette. 

I kicked a tiny rock ahead of me. What if I did try the stone? Could I? Did I want to?

I did want to. The knights were all drunk by dinner so I could.

But I was a girl and the sword specified a king.

I turned back to the camp, deciding it would be best to check on Grummore and get out of my head for a little while. 

I retraced my steps all the way back to my tent, where I was surprised to see Grummore standing, looking far more alert than when I had seen him last.

"Where have you been?" he demanded, looking the sternest I had ever seen him in my life.

"I'm sorry sir, I didn't know washing myself would displease you," I replied, hoping his sudden gruffness was because of a headache.

"It does not, but as your master you should tell me where you wander off to!" 

The knight stomped into his tent, and I took a deep breath. 

It was fine. Everything was fine. 

Except it wasn't. Not until I knew what would happen if I pulled the sword.

THIS CURIOSITY came out of nowhere. I felt a little like I wasn't actually in my body as I walked to the stone. It was broad daylight, and I was not of noble origin. It would be considered an insult if I even touched the hilt of such a magnificent blade.

But I was going to anyways.

For the sake of stalling for time, I decided to watch as the last few stragglers around the stone took their turn and walked away empty handed.

Only the man standing guard was left near enough to the stone to stop me.

Now the interest in the sword gnawed at my insides, threatening to eat me inside out. It was an insatiable hunger that grew from being able to see the sword in front of me.

I was going insane, and I knew it.

There was no way I had suddenly had a change of heart over attempting to free the sword. Something had to be influencing me. Had someone accidentally given me something alcoholic?

Oh no oh no oh no. 

I continued looking at the sword, and no matter how many times I told my legs to move, to turn around, to go away from here, they didn't respond to my commands.

Instead they inched closer to the stone. Closer to the sword. Closer to the haunting inscription on the sword.

This was the first time I had read it with my own two eyes, and I saw something completely different than what the crier had announced to the kingdom.

The hilt, from my perspective read:

She who so pulleth out this sword of this stone and anvil is the rightwise born king of England.

It couldn't be a coincidence that when I read it, the word 'She' was added. Or maybe my intoxicated mind was making something up.

The guard made no move to stop me as I walked closer to the sword, as if in a trance. I felt a magnetic pull tempting me to move closer. 

It felt like the sword and I were connected.

I walked up the pedestal and onto the anvil. 

My arms moved of their own accord, and my hands closed around the hilt.

My feet firmly planted- as if by magic- onto the ground.

I braced my knees, and looked at the sword.

And I pulled once, hard.

I flew backwards, not realizing what was happening. I landed squarely on my behind, the sword clattering down next to me.

The sword clattered...

The sword clattered!

My eyes widening, I took in the sword sitting next to me, and the empty stone in front of me.

Lord have mercy.

The guard took in my position and quickly dropped into a bow.

"Long live the king!" he shouted.

A crowd gathered, wanting to see what the fuss was about. They, too, took in my position on the ground.

Somewhere, a bell rang in celebration.

Somewhere, a magician smiled, knowing his masterful plan had worked.

Word Count: 2027

Total Word Count: 4764

Sorry for the late update, but I finally wrote that!

Yes, Merlin bewitched her into becoming obsessed with the sword.

Yes, I switched the POV up there at the end.

You're welcome.

<3

CJ