Age 15

Arthur had been training with the knights (and knight hopefuls) for years now, and though he was a long time away from his own knighting, he knew he was a solid swordsman. There was a tournament coming up soon, not the smaller invitation-only annual tourney, but the giant Triennial Tournament, a best swordsman competition open to all knights in all kingdoms near and far. It attracted a field of well over a hundred entrants, and Arthur desperately wanted to enter himself.

He had worked extra hard on all his skills, and had even managed to disarm Sir Kay once, an almost unheard of feat. After a discussion with both Sir Ector (the leader of Camelot's knights) and King Uther, Arthur had been granted a Special Dispensation for Royalty. It was the only way a non-knight could enter this tournament; King Bayard's son had entered this way three years ago and made it to the semi-finals. Arthur was younger now than Prince Bayric had been then, and he had no illusions of winning the tournament – or even getting close; he would be pleased to get through the qualifying rounds without making any major mistakes. His opponents would be men he might have to fight side by side with (or battle against!) in the future, and he was anxious to test himself in this very challenging but non-lethal setting. Watching hundreds of knights squaring off against each other would also give him a rare opportunity to observe many different techniques and styles of fighting.

The week of the Triennial Tournament finally arrived, and Arthur was rarely without his sword in his hand. There were so many contestants that the qualifying matches took three full days. Between his own matches, Arthur practiced. Camelot's knights knew how much the tournament meant to their young prince, and were happy to spend extra time sparring with Arthur or working on his skills (plus, his extra practice was theirs as well!).

Arthur made short work of his first three opponents, young knights all from small, far away kingdoms. Arthur was a gracious winner, helping up his fallen opponents with clasped forearms and friendly claps on the shoulder before bowing to his king (and receiving a small smile and nod of pride from his father).

There was one knight, though, that Sir Ector made Arthur watch closely from the very first round. Sir Etienne, who had traveled all the way from Gaul, defeated every contestant he faced in under a minute. Arthur had never seen anyone move so quickly, with such economy of motion. His skill with a blade was astounding; his opponents could find no weakness to exploit. Arthur watched him carefully, trying to learn something, anything, from the man's fighting style.

By the time Arthur faced his fourth opponent on the afternoon of the third day, most of the weaker knights had been eliminated. Arthur felt he had achieved his goal, and any further wins would be a bonus – welcome, but not expected. Sir Ector wouldn't let Arthur practice anymore, but had him stand on the sidelines instead, watching every single match, analyzing the strengths and weaknesses of every contestant. Arthur had watched Sir Etiennne quickly disarm his friend Sir Leon, and had barely seen how it had been accomplished. (By now, almost everyone agreed that Sir Etienne was a certainty to win the entire tournament.) For his own fourth match, the prince had drawn another of Camelot's knights, Sir Pellinor. Both knew well each other's strengths and weaknesses, and both were determined to advance. Arthur won, but barely.

On day four, the field had been narrowed to the top sixteen knights. Arthur was frankly astonished that he was one of them. His next opponent was an experienced knight from Cornwall who towered over Arthur by at least a foot. Sir Gorran looked down at Arthur in arrogant contempt and undisguised amusement that this mere boy, not even yet a knight, would dare to face him. He clearly expected Arthur to be no challenge at all.

Arthur played along. He let Sir Gorran attack first, and blocked with less than his full strength. He let the knight back him up several paces. Arthur even allowed himself to stumble slightly. And then, as Sir Gorran stepped in to easily take advantage of Arthur's "weaknesses," Arthur suddenly attacked in an unexpected flurry of motion, proving that he was the exact opposite of the weakling he had just appeared to be, and the startled Sir Gorran found himself with Arthur's blade at his throat. The spectators went wild as Sir Gorran threw down his helmet in disgust and spat at Prince Arthur's feet. Arthur chose to ignore the vindictive insult. He had just made it into the quarter-finals! He bowed to King Uther and saw an expression of pride on his father's face – and he, Arthur, had put it there!

The quarter-final match would be Arthur's last; he was up against Sir Etienne. Sir Ector bluntly told him that winning against the knight from Gaul would be impossible, and that Arthur should count himself extremely lucky he was even getting the chance to face him. "The bout against Sir Pellinore was a close thing and could have gone either way," Sir Ector reminded the young prince, "and if Sir Gorran hadn't badly underestimated you, he would have taken you apart." Arthur started to protest, but the older knight cut him off. "Don't even try to defeat Sir Etienne," he ordered. "You can't. Instead, take this as an opportunity to learn from him. That is why you entered this tournament, is it not? To learn?"

Arthur nodded slowly. Sir Ector was right. Arthur had hoped to qualify, and he had. He'd wanted to prove that he could acquit himself well, and he had done that, too. He had intended to observe the techniques of knights from many different places, and he had been doing so. The quarter-finals should have been well out of his reach. There would be no shame in losing this match; now was the time to put aside his pride and learn.

Arthur faced Sir Etienne with grim determination. He acted as if the match were a blocking exercise, and did not try to defeat his opponent. Instead, he observed Sir Etienne's technique. The other man was quick; Arthur had to work very hard to counter Sir Etienne's moves. Because Arthur was acting purely on the defensive, Sir Etienne had to work hard as well, trying to find openings he could exploit. Eventually he got Arthur off balance, and in an embarrassing tangle of his own feet, Arthur went down. But he had lasted for almost three minutes, the longest anyone would face Sir Etienne in the entire tournament. Arthur formally yielded, and Sir Etienne reached down to help Arthur back to his feet. "You are very good, young prince," he said for Arthur's ears only as they walked back to the staging area. "I have no doubt that in three year's time, you and I will meet again – in the finals."

Sir Etienne did indeed win the Triennial Tournament the following afternoon (soundly defeating Camelot's Sir Kay in the final), and was crowned Champion at the feast that evening. Arthur enjoyed the feast as he had never enjoyed one before – this was special. He was one of the contestants being celebrated. The food tasted better, the candles shone brighter, and Arthur felt as if he were walking on air the entire evening. Many knights came over to speak to him, to congratulate him for making it as far as he had, especially at such a young age, and for lasting the longest against the champion, Sir Etienne. Arthur wanted the evening never to end.

Suddenly Arthur found himself face to face with his father. He inclined his head and waited for the well-earned praise he knew was coming.

"You fought well, Arthur," Uther began, and Arthur felt a rush of pride. "I was pleased to see how well your skills are progressing. However, it seems that you and Sir Ector have been neglecting your footwork. I will speak to him."

Arthur's stomach suddenly felt hollow. "Yes, Father," he replied mechanically. The king moved away to speak with someone else. Arthur looked around the room, which seemed dimmer now, somehow. Others came to speak with him, to offer their own praise and congratulations, and Arthur answered with the expected modest smile. But the evening had lost its shine, and Arthur left the celebration as soon as he was able.

The next morning, Arthur was training before dawn, all alone, concentrating fiercely on his footwork.

Age 8

Uther sat in a chair by Arthur's bed, holding his sleeping son's hand and brushing the hair away from the boy's fevered brow. Gaius wrung out another cool, wet cloth and placed it on Arthur's forehead. Uther used it to wipe down Arthur's face until the cloth was warm again; it felt like it only took mere seconds now.

"We'll need to remove his shirt," the physician said quietly. "His body needs to be cooled as much as possible."

Uther lifted his son's frail torso while Gaius carefully removed the shirt, and laid him gently back onto his pillows. The two men continued to wipe down Arthur's exposed skin, hoping against hope to bring the fever down. This illness had struck many of Camelot's citizens, especially the children, and the death toll was climbing. Uther had not left Arthur's bedside in two days.

"Your Majesty, I must go tend to some of my other patients," whispered Gaius. Uther felt a flash of anger; he wanted Gaius to stay here! Arthur was all that mattered. But at the same time, he recognized how selfish that was. There were many sick children that needed help, and they were all that mattered to their parents. Gaius was indeed needed elsewhere. He reluctantly nodded, and Gaius gave instructions for caring for the young prince in his absence.

Uther continued to wipe down his son's burning body, and suddenly found himself talking to the boy. He doubted Arthur could hear him, but it mattered not. He spoke of getting better, being strong and healthy as befits a prince. He told Arthur to fight the fever, not to let it overpower him.

When Arthur opened his eyes, they didn't seem to be able to focus on anything, but Uther helped his son to sit and got him to drink some water and a little of the medicine Gaius had left. As Uther tucked Arthur back down into his bed, he found himself telling his son about a time when he had been ill as a child, and how his father had cared for him. Arthur's glazed eyes looked through his father for a few minutes before closing again.

Uther continued to talk to Arthur. It was as if once he started, he couldn't stop. He told his son detailed stories about his childhood, people he'd known, places he'd visited, trouble he'd gotten himself into. He told Arthur how much he loved him and wanted him to recover. He rambled on about anything and everything he could think of. He only stopped when Gaius came in to check on the young prince, and declared everything was as well as could be expected. Uther refused to leave Arthur's side, and after Gaius had gone again, he resumed his monologue while he cared for his beloved child.

Sometime during the early morning hours, Uther fell asleep in his chair, his head on the bed next to Arthur's shoulder and his right hand reaching across Arthur's chest to clasp his son's left. Gaius found them that way at dawn, and was delighted to wake the king to tell him that Arthur's fever had broken and the prince was out of danger. Uther felt like shouting his joy and relief from the battlements, but contented himself with placing a gentle kiss on his son's forehead. His attempt to disentangle his hand from Arthur's woke the boy.

"Father," whispered Arthur. "You're still here. I thought I was dreaming."

Uther caressed his precious son. "I'm sure you had many dreams, Arthur. But yes, I was here with you. I stayed until you were better."

"Stay with me some more," begged the boy. "Tell me more stories."

So he had heard, Uther thought with a little embarrassment. Some of the stories he'd told his son weren't exactly…kingly. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I can't stay right now," he said. "I've been here for three whole days, and I must get back to my duties. Gaius will stay with you for a while, and I'll send servants to tend to you until you are completely recovered." He brushed Arthur's hair out of his eyes. "I love you, my son," he said quietly, before squaring his shoulders and striding purposefully out of the room.

Arthur tried hard to swallow his disappointment. What good was it for his father to spend three whole days with him if Arthur slept through all of it? He didn't want Gaius, and he didn't want a servant. He wanted his father!

Gaius sighed, and resumed wiping Arthur's forehead and the rest of his face with a damp cloth. It wasn't really necessary anymore, but he had seen the tears threatening to spill, and thought it might help the boy save face. He gave Arthur something to help him sleep again, and left as soon as the servant came to take over. After all, there was still a dangerous epidemic in Camelot, and Gaius had many patients to see.

The next morning, Arthur was sitting up in bed eating a light breakfast. He did not mention or ask after his father to anyone.

Age 10

As part of his studies, Arthur was expected to learn about the history of Camelot. Geoffrey of Monmouth had just given the prince a large book to read on the subject. It was covered with dust; Arthur suspected it hadn't been opened in ages. But he dutifully carried it back to his chambers and set it down on his table.

As he leafed through it, Arthur realized that something was stuck between two of the pages. He pulled it out, and discovered it was a letter, written in a fine hand. The salutation read: My Dearest Uther. Arthur swallowed hard and looked at the bottom of the letter. Sure enough, it was signed: Your loving Igraine.

Arthur paced back and forth, the letter held carefully in his hands. An actual letter, from his own mother to his father! She had touched the same parchment that he was holding now. Arthur wanted to read the body of the letter, but he suspected that it was a love letter. (Yuck!) It probably wasn't any of his business. Yes it was; this was his mother! He had never held anything of hers before. But his father – the king wouldn't like it. If he knew that Arthur had this letter, he would be very angry. He'd most likely burn it. Arthur thought for a long time. Finally he tucked the letter back where he had found it, unread. And then he went to find his father.

King Uther was standing at a large table covered with charts, discussing taxes with two of his advisors. They had been at this all afternoon, and it was giving the king a headache. He saw his son enter the room, and seized on the respite. "We will meet again to discuss this matter tomorrow," he said, effectively dismissing the advisors. "Ah, Arthur, I am glad to see you. I hope you have something more pleasant to discuss than taxes!" Uther smiled wanly as he walked across the room to join his son.

Arthur immediately began having second thoughts. This was not a good idea, not at all. He really didn't want to be yelled at today. But if he backed down now, he knew he would feel like a coward. And Arthur Pendragon was no coward. So he squared his shoulders, lifted his chin, and said, "I found something today that belonged to my mother. I want to keep it. I know you refuse to talk about her, and I don't think that's fair. You have memories of her, but I don't. She was my mother, and I know nothing of her except her name. I am learning about the history of Camelot, and she is part of that history. I want to know about her, what she was like, and who she was." He hesitated, but could think of nothing more to say, except "Please."

During Arthur's speech, Uther's first reaction was anger. But he also realized his son was right. It was time the boy knew something about the woman who had given her life so that he might live. Igraine would have wanted Arthur to know her. Uther stared down at his son for a moment, and finally said, "Let's talk in my chambers."

The two sat side by side on Uther's huge bed. Arthur asked his questions, and Uther did his best to answer them, even though some were painful.

Arthur had known his mother had died when he was a baby, and he had heard rumors that it had happened during childbirth. "Does that mean I killed her?" he asked with trepidation. If it was true, no wonder his father had never discussed her with him. He must hate him!

"No, Arthur," Uther hurried to reassure his son. "It wasn't you. You did not kill your mother." The king kept the rest of the story to himself; it would never be known.

"Are you sure?" asked Arthur.

Uther nodded. "I give you my word."

Arthur relaxed, and rolled onto his back, hands behind his head. "What was she like? Was she beautiful?"

Uther smiled. "Igraine was the most beautiful woman I ever met," he said. "Her hair was like yours, but long, down her back, when we met. You have her eyes, too. She had the sweetest voice, and I loved to listen to her sing."

Uther went on to describe things about Igraine, things everyone had known and things that had been special between the two of them. Arthur listened eagerly, finally having a picture in his mind to fill the empty hole where his mother belonged.

At some point, dinner was brought in, and the two moved to the table, still talking. Uther told Arthur some of the foods Igraine had liked, and that she had absolutely refused to eat pickled eggs. Arthur laughed at that piece of information, trying to imagine the beautiful queen turning her nose up in disgust.

"So what item of your mother's did you find today, Arthur?" His father's question brought Arthur back to reality with a bump. What would his father do with the letter?

Arthur swallowed. "Do I have to tell you?" he asked. At his father's slow, commanding nod, he sighed. "A letter. I think it's a love letter. I didn't read it. But I saw her signature."

"Go get it," Uther commanded. When Arthur hesitated, he added, "I promise I will not destroy it. Get the letter, and hurry back."

Arthur ran back to his chambers and got the letter. He quickly returned to his father and dutifully handed it over.

Uther held the parchment reverently. "Where did you find this?" he whispered.

"In a book."

"And you haven't read it?" the king asked. Arthur shook his head. "Then why do you want to keep it?"

"It was hers," Arthur replied simply.

Uther took a deep breath. "I'd like to have it tonight," he said. "I give you my word I will return it to you tomorrow, and then you may keep it for your own. You may read it if you wish, Arthur. It isn't that kind of love letter. We were apart for a time, and she missed me, and wrote to tell me so."

Arthur nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll keep it safe. It will be my best treasure."

Uther smiled at his son. "I know you will."

That night, Uther read the letter over and over, and missed his Igraine more acutely than he had in a long time. His tears flowed freely. But the things he had shared with Arthur that evening helped him through the pain somehow, and those he shed were healing tears.

The next morning, Arthur awoke to find the letter on his table, along with a tiny oval portrait no bigger than his palm. He didn't need to see the note beside it to know he was looking at his mother's face.

END

A/N: I don't think I've ever seen a fireplace in the throne room. However, I think a castle would have fireplaces in most (all?) rooms, since castles are cold, drafty places. Just because we haven't seen it doesn't mean it isn't there. So I've taken some artistic license and given the throne room a fireplace for the end of Age 4.

I hope it's not too obvious that I know nothing about sword fighting (or broomstick fighting, for that matter!). That being said, Age 15 is a short version of a longer story I started called "Arthur's First Tournament." It had a lot more dialogue, things leading up to him being allowed to compete, etc. I haven't decided whether or not to finish the longer version. (I would definitely have to do research to make the fighting believable.) Opinions?