After being revived by his foster father, Diarmuid learns of his treasonous acts and decides to leave Hibernia for sure. Still longing to be a knight, he learns of a certain king that is willing to accept any kind of Knight. Camelot is quite the jou...
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"How do you reckon we will kill Youth? She is not as weak as one might perceive." Diarmuid spoke, taking a deep breath as he steadied his gaze ahead of him, the long stone hallway still well ahead.
The king gave a shrug, armour clinking against itself. There was a small smile on his lips, green eyes bright and stride full of determination, "We have something she does not."
"Dignity?" The ebony haired man questioned, hard cheeks lifting in a smug smirk.
Arthur laughed—no, giggled—and it sounded sort of, cute? Surely men did not sound cute, right?
"Not dignity, although that is a plus." The blond's smile was fully wide now, "I must admit, it was a very bright addition. Yet, it is not what I meant." His tone was still light, almost cloud-like.
Diarmuid returned the smile. There was a time Fionn and him would interact like such, a smile on the man's face while they simply goofed off. There was a time, far away, where his beauty was not a problem, when women did not always cage him and where his fellow knights would not send green glares in his direction. A time when he was truly content with life... but that was much too long ago.
He shook his head, ridding the memory of his previous lord from his mind, instead, focusing now on the bright young man in front of him. Such potential was held in a person. He was deathly young, about the age of nineteen, but his mind was marvellous; he was made for greatness. Arthur could rule the world if he wanted to, anyone would bow down to his equality, justice and morality.
"A weapon, far greater than anything we could ever hope for." The royal's hand immediately dropped down to the pommel of the sword strapped to his waist, "I posses only the best of swords, if nothing Merlin or Morgana do hurts this woman, surely my sword will. My sword sees no enemy it cannot defeat; magic is but a joke to it."
Amazement lit up the Irishman's face, his eyes wide and eyebrows lifted but furrowed tightly, "A single sword?"
Arthur nodded, "Why, yes, it is quite a weapon. It may even be able to destroy something as big as the Gate of Babylon."
"Really? That much is possible?"
Another nod, "Though, I do not know how true the statement is. Merlin assured me, but he is not the creator of this sword. Only the Lady of the Lake would be sure to know."
Diarmuid always got curious—let that not be confused with nosy. He arched a brow and bit his cheek, trying to catch a glimpse of the weapon that the King tightly held while speaking so highly of it.
The King grinned, "I assume you would like to see the treasure I speak of."
A shy nod.
A chuckle escaped His Royal Highness' lips, before he drew the sword.
The sun reflected off the steel, catching Diarmuid in the eyes and causing him to shut them. When the sword was now in front of him, he opened them. Steel was carefully crafted, designed perfectly with intricate carvings. The pommel was spectacular, gold decorating it along with a couple of jewels.
