There was a trick to it. There had to be.
He circles the base stone, making sure to put a “deep in thought” look on his face in case anyone was watching. In all fairness he is thinking, just not very deeply or well. Those types of thoughts tended to escape him, always searching for a mind that offered better company.
He reaches out, gives the sword an experimental tug. The sword doesn’t move, but his attempt catches the eye of a passerby. Soon there’ll be a crowd; people are always looking for entertainment.
He wonders how popular public executions are.
He pushes that thought out of his mind – it goes off happily, looking for its companions – and finds a new angle to view the anvil and the projecting sword. The whole thing is set so far off the ground that any idea of a weedy little squire pulling it out seems ridiculous. He supposes the illustrations are wrong, by which he means shots from the Disney film on Google image search, which is as far as his research went.
There was no point doing lots of research when he could just go look at the original, right? Historical records were always wrong anyway.
He puts a foot on the stone and grabs the hilt with both hands. A few people had already gathered to watch him. If they had popcorn, they’d be alternately eating it and throwing it at him. Popcorn-less, they’re reduced to a mixture of mock encouragement and jeering.
Not that he speaks the language. It’s all in the infliction.
The sword doesn’t move, of course. The audience eggs him on, but he takes a step back to look at the anvil again.
In 2023 he’s so far down the line to the throne that twenty people will have to die just for him to get invited to witness coronations. But here there is no line; pull the sword and it’s all yours: throne, round table, some knights, some ladies. And best of all, by changing history, all those people in front of him in 2023 will probably never exist. Which serves them absolutely right, the absolute and non-absolutist wankers.
He wonders how Disney would draw him. Maybe he can nip over to the early 60s, suggest some ideas. His nose could be straighter, for example.
He wriggles the sword. Or tries to, at least; anvils make for determined pincushions. The audience is bigger now, and includes some soldiers. No one tries to stop him and he doesn’t think anyone ever got executed for failing Merlin’s silly little test, but at some point someone might try talking to him, and that’s no good, because people have probably been executed for being foreigners.
Things are simpler back then.
He leaves one finger on the hilt, signalling it’s still his go. Not that anyone here is queueing, or knows the rules of chess.
Laser. He needs a laser to carve the sword out.
He’ll try 2123. There must be laser weapons in the future. There are always laser weapons in the future. Maybe even a lightsaber; someone’s sure to be working on that. Then he’ll come back, get his sword and crown and glory, and make friends with whoever ends up so far down the line to the throne that twenty people will have to die just for him to get invited to witness coronations.
Just on the off chance that guy might get his hands on a time machine and go looking for Uther.
Arkin Prose 
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