The Flower of King and Knights

Bloodlines

"Arthur had several children," Holland said solemnly. "But most of them died in their childhood, and with the few who made it into adulthood died during the fall of Camelot or in the battle of Camlann. All except one."

Hector was now concerned with where the conversation was going. "Who exactly is that?" he asked hesitantly.

Holland took a moment to gather the courage to answer. "It’s you Hector. Or really it's Ector, but never mind the semantics. You are the son of King Arthur. His first born, his heir."

Hector was silent for a tense moment. "You're shitting me."

Holland acted as if Hector said nothing. "Now I know this must be a bit much."

"A bit much. A bit much!" Hector's last straw was finally broken, as everything that had happened finally hit him. "No no no no, that thing killing Cecilia, that was a bit much. You having those people murdered, that was way much. Telling me that I’m the son of a guy who’s been dead for what, a millennium at least, if he even existed at all? That is on a level of ‘much’ that I cannot even imagine.”

“Ector my lad, you shouldn’t be like this, it’s so unbecoming of you.”

Hector was hysterical. “What is wrong with you? After everything that’s happened, and this harebrained story who’ve come up with, and you’re saying I’m the one being ‘unbecoming’? You’re a looney! Why not ask me to cut down a tree with a herring while we’re at it?”

“Please, that is ridiculous. Though we all had a good laugh when Tristan tried that one night after he went mad.”

“Will you stop doing that! Cecilia is dead, she is dead. And she was my friend. What was her fault in all this? What’s more, she was hinting on finally getting together on a date, too. Do you have any idea how long I've been waiting to get together with her?"

"Approximately five years, six months, two days, seven hours, three minutes, and 49 seconds…. Give or take a minute or two."

Hector was shaking his head in disbelief. "Who are you? And what have you done with Holland?"

"No one has done anything to me, but my full is name Lucius Quintus Myrlin Ambrosius of what is now London. Though most people just call me Merlin now, or really they refer to me as that since the rest is merely sugar coating and such."

"This has to be a dream. This has to be a dream." Hector then suddenly pulled down his pants and looked at Holland for a moment, hoping to wake up. But nothing happened.

“Um, why did you pull your pants down, in a burial chamber, and in the vicinity of several dead bodies?”

“Son of a bitch! Wake up you bastard, wake up! Why won’t I wake up?” Hector then grabbed a piece of wood, “I’m going to hit myself and then I’ll wake up.” He smacked his head and immediately cried out in pain.

Merlin chuckled to himself. "I see this is not a dream as you insist it is. Now please pull your pants up, you’re embarrassing me now and I doubt your father would appreciate you acting like a lunatic."

Hector groaned, "I think I gave myself a headache. I don’t suppose Arthur was like this when he learned he was king."

Merlin was silent for a moment as he remembered Arthur running around screaming and babbling around the sword. “Let’s just say we’ll stone unturned, permanently. But I do have something for that headache, but it'd probably kill you in the process."

"Okay, that is not helping the situation."

"What's not helping?"

"That! You acting so damn calm and collected. People are getting killed and you're acting like it's just another sunny shiny day."