Heavy Is The Crown (Harry Potter × Arthurian Legend)

[Third Person's PoV] 

Arthur, Merlin, Gwyneth, and Lance made their way toward the open field behind Hogwarts on a bright, breezy morning just before noon. 

The sky was painted in a soft blue with puffs of white clouds drifting lazily overhead, and the sun's warm light bathed the ancient castle in a golden hue. 

All around the grounds, students strolled and chatted excitedly with their newfound friends, some pointing toward distant towers, others laughing as they explored the vast exterior of the magical school on their first weekend off.

"Alright," Arthur said as they came to a stop on a wide patch of flat, grassy terrain, "how do you want to do this? Wooden or steel?"

Lance glanced around, scanning the field for any sign of weapons. He looked back at Arthur, brow raised in confusion. "Wait—where exactly are the weapons? I thought you said you'd handle that part?"

"I did," Arthur replied, his tone casual. "I'm going to make them now. But I need to know what you prefer to duel with—wooden or steel?"

That caught Lance off guard. He tilted his head. "You're making them? Right now?"

Arthur nodded once. 

Lance raised an eyebrow, both intrigued and confused by Arthur's words, but eventually nodded. "I guess steel—dull blades, though. I don't want to accidentally slice your head off."

"Much appreciated," Arthur said sarcastically with a chuckle.

Arthur reached up and unfastened his Hogwarts robe, pulling it off in one smooth motion before handing it over to Merlin. Without missing a beat, Merlin took it and folded it neatly over her arms. Lance followed suit, though he seemed a little hesitant about placing his robe on the ground. Before he could figure out what to do with it, Gwyneth silently extended her arms with a gentle smile.

"Oh—thanks," Lance said, blinking in surprise as he handed her the robe.

"No worries," Gwyneth replied, mirroring Merlin's careful folding as she draped the robe over her own arms.

With their robes removed, Arthur and Lance were now dressed in white button-down shirts, their uniforms crisp under the morning sun. Arthur began rolling up his sleeves past his elbows, and Lance mirrored the motion.

Then, with a sudden motion, Arthur clapped his hands together. A sharp crackle of magic resonated in the air, and glowing magic circles ignited at the back of his gloves. The light pulsed gently, alive with arcane energy. Both Lance and Gwyneth stared, stunned.

Without a word, Arthur slammed both palms against the ground. The earth rumbled slightly, and from the center of a small crater forming beneath his hands, a pair of sword hilts began to emerge. Soil shifted, hardened, and reshaped, guided by Arthur's precise movements. With his hands slowly rising, the blades followed, being drawn upward like artifacts summoned from the depths.

The twin swords, forged entirely from the very dirt they stood upon, were completed in seconds—each one sleek, solid, and remarkably elegant despite their unconventional origin.

Arthur stood up, one blade in each hand. With a flick, he tossed one toward Lance, who caught it clumsily at first but quickly adjusted his grip, examining the weapon with amazement.

"How did he...?" Gwyneth breathed, wide-eyed.

Merlin chuckled proudly. "That's Arthur's specialty. You saw those glowing circles on his gloves? That's his own creation—the Magic Circle System. It's why he's famous."

Gwyneth glanced from Merlin to Arthur, clearly impressed. Merlin added with a wink, "I'll explain the full system later, but for now—just watch."

Arthur flashed a confident grin as he adjusted his rolled sleeve one more time. He held his sword upright beside his face, eyes focused on Lance. "Are you going to keep staring at it, or are we finally going to get started?"

"Right. Sorry," Lance muttered, still slightly dazed. He looked at the blade more closely, recognizing its make. "A Claymore... beautifully crafted, too." He gave it a few experimental swings around his body, the blade gliding smoothly through the air. He nodded, clearly impressed. "It's perfectly balanced."

"Why thank you," Arthur said with a playful flourish, twirling his own longsword with a casual flick of the wrist. He moved into position, feet spaced evenly, gripping his sword in both hands and holding it up at eye level in a classic stance.

Lance squared his own posture, lifting his Claymore so that the tip pointed toward Arthur. He extended his free hand in challenge, a slight smirk forming on his lips.

"Alright, you two!" Merlin suddenly barked, stepping between them and raising a hand like a referee calling the start of a tournament. "I want a clean and honest battle! No dirty tricks, no underhanded tactics—just a chivalrous sword fight between two honorable swordsmen in training! Do I make myself clear?!"

Several students walking through the outer halls of Hogwarts paused, their heads turning curiously toward the source of the sound. Some of them nudged their friends and pointed, murmuring as they spotted Arthur and Lance squaring off.

Still locked in their respective stances, both Arthur and Lance spared a glance toward Merlin. Arthur frowned slightly and asked, "Merlin, what are you even—?"

"I said, DO I make myself clear?!" she snapped with such force that both Arthur and Lance jumped a little, startled.

"Yes, ma'am!" they shouted in unison, instinctively straightening up like chastised cadets.

"Good!" she said brightly, dropping her hand. "Now begin!"

In an instant, the playful air vanished. The mood shifted palpably as both Arthur and Lance turned their full attention back to one another. 

Their postures stiffened, expressions sharpening. The atmosphere between them grew heavier. The joking smiles faded, replaced by cold focus and sharpened determination. It was as if the world around them faded away, and the only thing that existed was each other.

Even Gwyneth felt it. Her breath caught in her throat as she sensed the sudden rise in pressure radiating off the two of them. It was subtle, invisible to the eye, but she could feel it—like the air had grown dense around them.

With synchronized steps, Arthur and Lance charged forward without hesitation.

Arthur swung first, his blade cutting through the air in a wide, downward arc. Lance responded instantly, meeting the blow with an upward guard, grabbing his sword with both hands just in time to catch the strike. The force of the clash rang out in a metallic cry that echoed across the field like a bell.

Clang!

They broke apart, steel scraping briefly before separating. Lance's hands tingled from the impact, and his eyes widened in admiration.

'What power!' he thought, still recovering from the jolt.

But there was no time to dwell. The second their swords parted, they were already on the move again, swords flashing with silver light.

Lance launched a flurry of strikes—fast, sweeping arcs coming from multiple angles. He moved fluidly, attacking with the precision and rhythm of a practiced warrior. 

Arthur, however, remained unshaken. His sword moved with surgical grace, blocking and countering each of Lance's attacks with calculated control. Their blades clashed again and again, the sharp ring of steel filling the air in a relentless rhythm.

Their feet danced across the grass with practiced steps, always adjusting, always in motion. It wasn't just a fight—it was choreography.

A deadly dance, both elegant and fierce. Their eyes never left each other, reading movements, predicting intent, each trying to outmaneuver the other.

Gwyneth stood frozen in place, utterly mesmerized. Her eyes were wide with awe, lips slightly parted as she watched their duel. The grace, the speed, the power—it was breathtaking.

She wasn't the only one. More and more students were beginning to gather around the field, drawn by the noise and the intensity of the duel. They leaned against the outer walls of the castle or stood in small clusters on the grass, whispering and pointing. Some gaped openly, jaws slack as they watched the two combatants with utter disbelief.

Yet Arthur and Lance noticed none of them. They were too deep in the battle, too lost in the moment to care about the growing audience.

Lance suddenly thrust his sword forward, aiming for Arthur's chest in a decisive strike. Arthur deflected it quickly with the flat of his blade, redirecting the momentum upward before countering with a diagonal slash toward Lance's torso.

Lance twisted his body, his sword arcing up just in time to intercept the blow. Their blades met with a piercing shriek of metal, the force of the collision locking them together in a fierce struggle.

They stood frozen for a moment, both pushing against each other's blades, eyes locked. Their foreheads nearly touched. The tension between them was visible in the strain of their muscles and the twitch of their arms.

And then they both smiled.

Wild, competitive grins spread across their faces, eyes lit with adrenaline. The clash of their swords might've been intense, but in that moment, it was clear—they were having the time of their lives.

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