Disclaimer: I don't own Katekyo Hitman Reborn.

Chapter 2: In Which Sir Tsuna Gropes a Sword By Accident

''Wizard Reborn, are ye certain this is the right path to take? Is this truly as God dictated it?'' The Archbishop of Canterbury rubbed his hands.

''As certain as the path of my bullet towards the brain of idiots.''

The Archbishop shifted from foot to foot, nervously tugging at his habit ''I'm not familiar with that term, o Wizard, but…. Is it not a hindrance? The mass will come in at any moment!''

Reborn looked up from his nails, flicked non-existent dirt off them, raised an eyebrow and glanced meaningfully down the aisle. There, directly against the high altar, was a great stone, in which a cold iron anvil as well a sword, was buried.

Make no mistakes- it was placed in front of the altar stairs.

''It's for the good of Britain.''

''But I can't go up the stairs!''

''Well, that is your problem, is it not?''

Smirking, Reborn strutted away.

After the death of King Iemitsu, the realm was in jeopardy for a long time. While some said the King had an heir, others emphasized the past tense in that particular sentence. Why else would the Queen be childless? The babe must have died before it took its first breath!

Nobody dared to ask the Queen, though- she had Opinions. Highly dangerous, in a Lady, all agreed. For all Lady Nana was lovely, she was vicious too. If the Queen would have heard of this, she surely would have smote them where they stood!

But the Queen was a widow now, on top of losing her only child, and her husband's death had hurt her so deeply that she retreated into her own skin, only laughing airily, sweetly, at nothing. She was a husk of the grand Queen she'd once been. Her eyes were blank, vivacity forlorn, only ever responding to her dear friend Lady Lal.

The Lords all desired the Crown like no other, so they could not agree on the man that should ascend the throne. The one thing they did agree on was that wedding the Queen was not necessary in order to become King, for many of the Lords were wed already, and none of them were about to give up their claim to the crown.

In court, Lady Lal reigned with an iron fist, in the hope of aiding the Queen, but her first and foremost duties had always been to the Royal Army, and she was not prepared for the work the court took. Highly adaptable as she was, she survived the honey-coated poison of the court and learned subterfuge of her own, but not without a price. The army, without a king or a constable, was torn apart into fractions, one for each lord, loyalties shifting quicker than the sand in an hourglass.

And so it was. The Court around a grief-stricken Queen, the constable poker-faced, desperately trying to keep up appearances, and the army lost to all of them.

Fourteen years passed by, and still, the lords were warring amongst themselves. So on the morn before Christmas eve, the wizard Reborn spoke to the Archbishop: ''Send for all the Lords and men of might, and tell them they must come to this very church on the first Christmas day, upon the pain of cursing! A miracle will come, to show us the rightwise King of Britain!''

As he said, it was.

On the eve of Christmas day, all Lords came to mass. Gape, they did.

The Sword in the Stone was a miracle, indeed! Upon the hilt stood in golden letters: ''Whoso pulls this Sword from the Stone and Anvil, is the rightwise King of all of England.''

As one, the Lords moved in on their prey: The blade that would crown them better than any Royal headdress could! It was there, in the church, who could have put it there but God? The mighty Lord high in the heavens? Surely, they were meant to pull it from the stone!

Elbowing and pushing each other to the side, they worked their way forward, but before any one of them could touch the stone with avaricious claws, the Archbishop threw himself before the stone, arms spread, and thundered: ''Are you insane?! Blasphemy, this is! Go sit in the pews, ye dogs!''

With big eyes, the Lords drooped off and did as he said. The archbishop crossed his arms. ''Never have I ever seen any gentlemen behave so rambunctiously in the house of the Lord! Shame on you, Lords, shame on you!''

He narrowed his eyes at them, stabbing his finger in the air. ''Ye will sit, ye will listen, and NONE will touch the Sword before the high mass is over! Now, obey!''

They did.

''My Queen, the sword I spoke of to you, none of the Lords have been able to pull it.'' Lal kneeled before Queen Nana.

The woman in question sat on her chair before the window, hands folded in her lap, features drawn and tired, staring empty-eyed at the city beyond the glass.

Lady Lal took one of her hands. ''Milady, the archbishop declared there is to be a tournament on New Year's day, for both the nobles and the common men. Whoever wins gets the chance to try their fortune upon pulling the blade from the Stone, for the Archbishop trusts the Lord Almighty to let the True King may win. But I fear what will happen to you, Milady, if anyone were to remove it, yet I am also concerned with the fact that the Stone did not judge a single one of the Lords worthy! There was no proper king amongst them! What kind of Lords does this godforsaken kingdom sport?!''

Slowly, Lady Nana turned her head. Sitting there, in her nightgown, hair loose and draping against the back of the chair, no crown in sight, the Queen painted a picture so vulnerable that Lady Lal could not help but clutch her heart to prevent it from breaking. There were very few things that had managed to wedge themselves through her armour, both steel and metaphorical, but the ruin of this magnificent woman was one of them.

Lady Nana's voice was no louder than a whisper, as easily blown away by a breeze as the dead autumn leaves long gone. ''There is no proper king, for none of them are my son.''

With a sharp intake of breath, Lady Lal could not do a thing but bite back her tears, and raise her hand to cup the Queen's face, rubbing her thumb in gentle circles across her cheek. ''Nana…''

The Queen's bottom lip quivered, her grip on Lal's other hand tightening. ''I miss him.''

Lady Lal got up and pressed the Queen against[l her, embracing her. Resting her cheek on Lady Nana's head, she pretended not to notice the tears wetting her shoulder as Lady Nana buried her nose in her neck. Running a hand through Nana's hair, she closed her eyes, breathing in the smell of clean soap and saltern sadness.

With a lump in her throat, she spoke. ''I know, milady, I know.''

''You had a farting contest with Squalo and lost control of your magic?!'' Tsuna stared at the lumpy remains of his brother's sword incredulously.

Xanxus sniffed, picking at his nails. ''Obviously, trash. Now fetch me a new sword.''

With half a mind to set Xanxus' ass on fire, Tsuna stalked out of the tent to get a new sword, kicking the table on his way out for the good measure. If he didn't deliver, he'd be known as the brother of the guy who fartedhis sword right out of existence. Great start to the new year, really. Note the sarcasm. He groaned, rubbing his temples.

Xanxus was a dirty, lazy bastard, who knew exactly how to exploit Tsuna's weak spots.

A farting contest with Squalo? Of all the ridiculous New Years day's traditions they'd had made up as kids to hold on to… And on such an important day too!

Knowing their grandmother, Daniela would simply have given Xanxus the Eyebrow for losing control with his magic during, but she was already in the crowd and as such, no help at all. (Please don't let her hear that thought- she could smell insubordination).

Honestly, he pitied the guy who found the still-steaming (and stinky) half-melted remains of the sword. Better to get out of there quickly and avoid being the one to clean that disaster up.

He looked up, the sound of the clocktower bells ringing in his ears. He bit his lip. Damn it, only ten minutes left.

Tsuna was late, late, late and if he did not find a replacement for Xanxus' sword before the tournament began, his social life would be over.

…Why was there a sword in the churchyard? Never mind- he'd seen stranger things. When your elderly grandmother, only walking straight with sheer stubbornness, beat down dragons for a living, your view of life tended to get a bit skewed.

Running past the pews, Tsuna scaled the stone to the huge anvil, hoisting himself up. He studied the blade, coloured brightly by the huge stained window above the altar, depicting the Virgin Mary with Baby Jesus.

Curses! The sword was stuck in the anvil, the hilt the only thing above the stone!

The clock tower rang again.

…Tsuna did not have TIME for this sword to be stuck! He threw himself onto the anvil, grabbed the hilt, and pulled.

The bell stopped ringing, and an oppressive silence spread through the huge building, only broken by the zing of metal sliding against metal as the blade was separated from the anvil. Dumbfounded, Tsuna stared at the sword in his hands, gleaming prettily in the morning light.

…Never mind. He had no time for this. He had to get it to Xanxus! Turning to slide down the rock, he-

''Sir… You are holding my butt.''

Tsuna blanched, jerking to steady himself. Regaining his balance, he looked to the left, he looked to the right, behind him, afore him, but no living soul other than him dwelled within the church.

''Sir,'' it came again, ''Would you please be so kind as to release it? This is… Um… intimate.''

Was someone hiding underneath the stone? It couldn't be the sword, right? Tsuna scratched the back of his neck.

The blade heated up underneath his hand. ''Sir, please do not be so forward! The butt of a sword is truly the butt!''

It- The sword- it-

This couldn't be happening.

So just as he always did when he was at loss, Tsuna panicked, dropped any and all things in his hands and screamed.

''HIEEEEEEEEEEEE!'' With a swooping sensation in his gut, Tsuna fell backwards, off the stone. The harsh landing punched the air out his lungs, the stone floor cold against his cheek.

The sword clattered down beside him.

As if the devil was on his heels, Tsuna scrambled backwards, bumped his head harshly against the pews, and then hastily hid behind them.

''…I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you,'' The voice was soft and gentle this time. ''My name is Enma.''

Tsuna peeked around the corner of the pews, warily eying the sword. But be as it may, etiquette dictated he was to state his name when another gave them theirs, and he would not dishonour the name of Vongola by not doing so. Even if it concerned a sword stuck in a stone.

…Formerly, that was. Because Tsuna pulled it out.

Shivering, he stood up, straightened his back, and shuffled towards the sword again, where it lay in the middle of the aisle, sun reflecting off its shiny surface.

''I am Tsunayoshi di Vongola, son of Sir Timoteo. Whose…'' Tsuna hesitated, ''Offspring are you?''

''Well, my full name would be Enma Kozato Simon, Holy Sword in the Stone, son of God, for he forged me.''

…Forged by GOD?!

Feeling like there was a yawning hole beneath his feet, Tsuna fainted.

From behind the huge church doors, the Wizard Reborn sighed, and stood up to walk towards what would be the Rightful King of England. Prodding the downed boy-King with his boot-clad toes, the wizard Reborn pouted. He had expected an aneurysm at least.

From the floor, Enma squicked, ''Sire, would you please help sir Tsunayoshi? He is… indisposed at the moment.''

Reborn waved him away, enchanting a scarf left on the pews to pick the Holy Sword up. ''I am aware, Sir Enma. I had hoped the whole thing would've been more amusing, but for some reason, your guard knights are missing.''

The sword, now snugly wrapped up, chirped. ''They went out to win the tournament! They wouldn't let anybody touch me!''

Reborn snorted as he lifted sir Tsuna of the floor. ''Depriving me of my entertainment by not battling the little prince and abandoning their posts. They're not very good at guarding you, are they?''

Enma let out a surprised sound. ''But they aren't guarding me, great wizard!''

Reborn raised his eyebrow, hoisting sir Tsuna up over his shoulder. ''Then what, pray tell, are they defending, if not you?''

''That would be my virtue, sir.''

''…The Lady Adel's idea, wasn't it?''

Author's note

In Le Morte d'Arthur, it says that the stone was placed ''in the churchyard, against the high altar,''. The high altar in a big church, as this church likely would have been, would be rather high. The stairs would be rather broad, most likely, but for the sake of the story, they were narrow in this case. The image made me laugh, anyway.

Writing this chapter took very long, because however much I wanted to write the next part, something was missing. When a lovely anon on Tumblr send me an incredibly sweet ask about my LalNana stories, I realized I had completely forgotten what to do with Lal after the first chapter. Which was a shame, so she came to hit me up the head and protect Nana!

I had a lot of fun with this chapter!