[Third Person Pov]
"Wow, Arthur… I really didn't know you had such an impressive background," Gwyneth said in open wonder. Of everyone present, she seemed to be the only one not even slightly unsettled by the revelation. Her eyes sparkled with curiosity rather than suspicion. "But I guess that mostly explains why you talk so… weirdly," she added, snapping her fingers as if a sudden realization had struck her.
"Huh?!" Arthur exclaimed, stopping mid-step and turning toward her, clearly taken aback. "What exactly is that supposed to mean?!"
Gwyneth tilted her head, completely unfazed by his reaction. "Well, you sometimes talk really… adult-like," she explained thoughtfully. "Like you're giving a formal speech or something. You're always really polite, noble, and serious. It's kind of strange." She glanced at the others, who nodded in agreement. "Lance talks like that sometimes too. Hey, Lance—are you like Arthur? Are you secretly the heir of some noble house as well?"
Lance blinked, then let out a small laugh as he shrugged. "No? Not as far as I'm aware," he replied casually. "That's just how I was taught to speak. Though I wouldn't call myself an heir… I suppose my family does have some noble roots, in a sense."
Before the conversation could spiral further, Harry cleared his throat sharply, his impatience evident. "Look, as fascinating as Arthur's mysterious background is—and as much as I'd like to hear more—we really can't afford to waste time right now," he said firmly. "No offense, Arthur, but your past can wait. Our priority is stopping Snape from getting the Philosopher's Stone."
"No offense taken," Arthur replied immediately, his tone calm and sincere. "I completely agree." With that, he began moving again, carefully stepping around the fallen troll bodies and the dark blood staining the cobblestone floor.
Gwyneth, however, was still watching Arthur closely, her curiosity far from satisfied. As they walked, she leaned closer and asked, "So… is there a princess you're sworn to protect?"
"What?" Arthur replied, turning to her with genuine confusion written plainly across his face.
Gwyneth flushed slightly, suddenly flustered. "Well—uh— you said you're from a house of sword and magic," she said quickly. "That technically makes you a knight, right? So I was just wondering… as a knight… you know… like in fairy tales…" She hesitated, then blurted out, "Is there a princess you've sworn your sword to?"
Arthur slowed, then casually placed a hand on Merlin's shoulder as they approached the next chamber. "Allow me to introduce you," he said solemnly, "to Princess Mer-lynn, last in the line of succession to the throne."
"WHAT?!" everyone shouted in unison, spinning toward Merlin in complete disbelief.
"Haaaah?" Merlin made an exaggerated face, staring at Arthur like he'd completely lost his mind.
"Yes, you see," Arthur continued, his voice steady at first, "her siblings are currently locked in a mortal feud over the throne. They wouldn't hesitate to eliminate their youngest sister, even if she doesn't possess any real political power." His voice wavered slightly. "Before they could reach her—just as they did the late king—she was secretly sent away by the Captain of the Royal Guard… my father."
The weight of his words settled heavily in the air. "He helped her escape right before he was eliminated," Arthur said, his voice cracking. "Murdered for remaining loyal to the late king."
Gwyneth and Hermione covered their mouths in shock, eyes glistening. Harry, Ron, and Lance stood frozen, utterly dumbfounded. Merlin, meanwhile, could only stare at Arthur, blinking slowly as if waiting for the punchline that never came.
Arthur looked down, his lips trembling as his fist clenched tightly at his side. "His last words to me," he continued softly, "before he returned to buy us time… were to protect the princess. To stand as her guard. To keep her safe from those who would do her harm—until she was ready, until she was strong enough to claim her rightful place and stop the kingdom from falling into the wrong hands."
Drawing Caliburn, Arthur held the sword toward Merlin. A single tear slid down his cheek. "This sword… it belongs—belonged—to my father," he said quietly. "He gave it to me before he…" Arthur trailed off, releasing a heavy breath. "Before he was slain."
He lowered the blade slightly and looked at her. "You understand."
Gwyneth was already crying. She had always been far too sympathetic for her own good, and now it showed plainly. She could hear the weight of Arthur's supposed loss in his voice, could feel the burden of duty he claimed to bear. In her mind, she saw long roads walked in silence, impossible sacrifices made in the name of loyalty and honor. The hardship they must have faced together tugged mercilessly at her heart.
Hermione wasn't far behind—her eyes shimmered, her lips pressed into a tight line as she struggled to keep herself composed. The rest of the boys didn't cry, but their expressions hardened with quiet sympathy, jaws set and shoulders squared as if sharing in the gravity of the tale.
Merlin, meanwhile, simply stared.
She silently mouthed a small, stunned, almost reverent, "Wow."
"And it is with this sword," Arthur continued, his voice rich with solemn conviction, "that I have pledged my life in servitude to the princess. To honor my late father—" He gently took Merlin's hand and bowed, pressing a soft kiss to the back of it. "—And to protect the Princess, whom I have come to cherish greatly."
The moment Arthur lifted his head, their eyes met.
And that was it.
For a single heartbeat, there was silence.
Then their lips twitched imperceptibly—
"Pfft—HAHAHAHAHAHA!"
Merlin completely lost it.
She doubled over, clutching her stomach with one hand while grabbing onto Arthur's shoulder with the other for balance, her laughter spilling out uncontrollably. "Hahahaha! Art, you're an absolute tool! I hope you know that! Hahahaha!!"
Arthur barely held it together himself. "Hahaha—I'm sorry, I'm sorry—but their faces!" he wheezed, laughter shaking his shoulders as his knees nearly buckled. "Look at their faces!!"
The rest of them stared.
Just… stared.
Gwyneth and Hermione were frozen, expressions caught somewhere between heartbreak and utter confusion, their minds scrambling to catch up. Harry and Ron looked more irritated than anything, while Lance's face twisted with visible disbelief and annoyance.
"I honestly should have known better," Lance muttered, rubbing his temple in disappointment—mostly at himself. "How I let myself believe such nonsense is honestly humiliating."
"Y–You guys were lying…?" Gwyneth squeaked weakly, still trying to process what had just happened.
"Gwyneth, honey," Merlin said between giggles, wiping a tear from her eye, "Arthur is an author. Only he could pull an entire tragic epic out of thin air like that." She glanced at him, still laughing. "Honestly, you outdid yourself, Art."
Arthur puffed up slightly, smiling with pride. His grin widened when Merlin let out a small, adorable snort as she struggled—and failed—to calm herself.
"So you're not a princess," Gwyneth said flatly, her voice completely drained of emotion, "and Arthur isn't the son of the Captain of the Royal Guard."
Both Arthur and Merlin shook their heads, giggling like children caught red-handed.
"I am so done with you both," Gwyneth groaned, turning away and marching toward the next chamber with stiff determination.
"If Snape gets the bloody stone, I'm blaming the both of you," Ron said flatly, his patience officially gone.
"What did I do?!" Merlin protested indignantly. "Arthur made up the story! I didn't even do anything—don't blame me!"
"You're seriously the worst," Hermione snapped, glaring sharply at Arthur. "How could you do something like that? I honestly believed you. I actually felt sad for you."
High above, unseen, Dumbledore watched the scene unfold.
And though he would never admit it aloud, he was more than a little peeved. Arthur's story had almost convinced him too—if only for a fleeting moment. Remembering what he knew about the boy made the realization sting all the more… and it irritated him even further that, for just a second, he had believed it at all.
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