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Dreadful. That is the only word to describe the state of Britain.
The Battle of Camlann was the bloodiest battle the Kingdom had faced in years.
Even after the bodies have been laid to rest, the blood still soaks the air weeks later.
And amongst those dead is the body of Mordred, my youngest child and son, and my best chance at killing my brother Arthur.
I gave birth to and manipulated Mordred into hating Arthur in hopes that he could kill him and get the throne that rightfully belonged to me.
But now, now I don't know what to do...
News of the King being fatally wounded in the battle has spread even to my sanctuary on the outskirts of the Kingdom, and that Merlin is only able to help King Arthur stay alive long enough to say his farewells, but that's just the public story.
He died only a few days after the battle, and Merlin was never there to help him. And the wound he died from was a wound he got saving me, the woman who tried to kill him, the friend who betrayed him, and the sister who raped him.
Arthur would never have had to fight if it wasn't for me, he would never have had to kill our son if it wasn't for me, and yet he saved me!
These confusing thoughts have been plaguing my mind for the last few days, because he didn't just take an accidental blow for me. He jumped in front of a charging cavalry and pushed me to the side.
But that wasn't the only attack aiming for me, as lances pierced not only his shoulder, but his stomach, legs, and back.
And yet through all the pain, he still managed to look at me, his piercing green eyes overflowing with tears of pain, from wounds inflicted both physical and emotional, and say with so much heartbreak I felt tears welling up in my eyes from the sound alone, "Run, Morgan! Save yourself!"
The sound of not my king's voice, the sound not a knight's voice, but the sound of my broken brother's voice managed to break through the fog of rage that had welled up inside myself for so long.
All authority lacking, but flooded from the desperation of his wish for me to survive, Arthur's voice came crashing down with a wave of realisation of the horrors I have doomed the people here on this battlefield to face.
And run I did. I teleported myself straight to my sanctuary, And here I have remained for these past few days.
I have not ate.
I have not drank.
I have not slept.
I have only sat here, on my false throne, where I've spun nought but lies and sin, and waited for someone to find me. To kill me. Or for my own disgust for myself to kill me first.
But that is not what happened...
Bang Bang Bang
The knocking on the door to the throne room stirred me out of my thoughts and alerted me to the familiar, and unexpected, face of one of the very few knights of the Round Table who did not fight at Camlann.
One of the doors slowly opened, and a young man with long white hair walked in. With a depressed smile and my voice leaking the hopeful anticipation, I simply ask, "Are you finally here to kill me, Knight of the Grail?"
The knight, however, just kept walking closer, "No, I'm but a simple messenger today. You, on the other hand, look like shit."
The uncharacteristic insult from the most chivalrous of knights, the one who had left it all behind for holier pastures, felt like a slap to the face. But it was obvious with a glance that wherever the angels had taken him these past ten years, his journey had changed him.
"If you're not here to end my misery, then do explain the message."
The knight in front of me lazily waves the envelope in his hand around, "All I know are the final wishes that my king left written on the last page of these letters. Even weak, tired, and dying, my king still found the effort to say goodbye to the only other survivor from the battle besides Bedivere."
My already weakened heart breaks even more when he says this. You save me, and then you're last farewell is to me? Oh, dear brother...
With a shaking hand and shattered will, I accept the envelope and fear the words that may be written inside.
"I do have another message, but…it can wait. I shall take my leave now, my lady."
The knight left without looking back or closing the door, leaving me sitting there, in the dark, with the last words of the brother I hated for so long, and the brother who left me with a whirlwind of emotions to sort through.
I sat there for an unknown amount of time trying to gather strength before opening the letter, and I hoped to find any understanding behind the mystery that is Arthur Pendragon.
Dear Morgana le Fay Pendragon-Loth,
I hope these words find you in a healthy state, and I hope you find it within yourself to read them. I do not know what you are thinking, but I can hope they are positive. Even if they are just more plans to rule over Britannia. After all, the people may have loved me as their King, but the land those people depend on, the land they live on, the land loves you so much more than it loves me. By all rights, you should have been Queen. For what is the opinion of a now-shattered sword to the land that held the blade prisoner?
I understand your hatred for me. You were the firstborn, and carried the power all the Kings before I had. You should have more claim to the throne than I. But father, the late king Uther Pendragon, feared how the world would perceive a Queen holding power rather than a King, so he created me to hold that position, as the world already knew you were a woman and could not be deceived.
I wish to make one thing clear: neither of us hated you. Neither of us thought less of you. But father took advantage of the fact that no one knew I was born so that I could grow and claim my own territory without the potential incursion of his own enemies. And I already knew this day would come when I drew Caliburn. I knew it since I was fifteen. I never feared it or hated that it would happen. I could never find myself to hate you, or father, or Merlin. I had accepted my fate from the very beginning.
Yet you, my beloved sister, were born by the will of the land as the Queen of the Fairies. I was created to be King of Britain. You had the ability to discover yourself, to live free from the powers at play in the court. Father didn't want you to be on the throne because he loved you, not because he hated you. I was only chosen because of a need to have someone defeat my uncle and father's brother, the white dragon Vortigern. To drive back the Saxons and push out Rome.
You were one of the few people I could be my true self around, to allow myself to act as a human. Everyone around me didn't bother telling rumours or spreading word that the title of King was given falsely, but even with them, the Knights of the Round Table, my nieces and nephews and daughter and sons and friends and comrades, I had my guard up. Even with my own wife, whom I felt no love for but still betrayed me by having an affair with one of my closest friends, I wore a mask. But around you, I could let it fall.
Those few opportunities in the past thirty years where we could talk privately were opportunities I lived for, and the closest thing I had to a maternal figure. You are, and will always be, someone I am willing to die for. As my actions have clearly proven, it seems. But know, I don't regret them.
It is for you, not because of you, that I am to die here. But I'm scared. Scared for Britain. Scared for the people, and the land, and the creatures who walk it. But above all else, I'm scared for my soul.
Will my soul go to the Annwn, or will I walk the earth for eternity? I know that accepting the Holy Lance Rhongomyniad made me more of a Divine Spirit than a human, but I still carry the blood of a dragon, a race so oft considered kindred with the lying serpent. Maybe that alone will send me to the Hell the Roman preachers mention. If not, then maybe spilling the blood of my own kin, my own sons, would be.
My body may be sent to the care of your other half, Vivian, the part of you that reminds me so much of the caring woman I know exists within you yourself, but will my soul? I don't know. And that scares me so, so much. And now I have nothing to do beyond reminisce about the things I missed out on in my short life.
I never even got the opportunity to experience a family of my own. Guinevere may have been my wife, but there was no love. My sons, I could teach chivalry to, but none could stand with me on the battlefield. As Camlann proved. The one son who could never have had the chance to hear me call them as such.
The hatred Mordred had for me in his eyes, the wrath he had because he just wanted me to act as his father just one time. He was mad at me, at you, at us, at the world for preventing him from having a happy family.
It made me wonder, if life were different, had I never pulled Caliburn from the stone, could I be a good father? Would we have been good parents? The Fairy Queen and the Lion King, together with their children. I admit, the idea makes me happy and wish something could have occurred, even if it would've been just for Mordred.
Maybe that was the future we should have had. Unity between our blood and love to the benefit of the Kingdom. We both might share lineage, but the dragons, the earth, the arcana, they have created such a grand divide between us. You never claimed to be human, but I can't help but wonder if Tristan was more correct about me than he intended to be.
But these are just the despondent wonderings of a dying man. If Mordred were the rule to the exception, though, I think the kingdom would have been in wonderful hands, had they had the family he wished for. Even if it had been a political union, there would still be more love than mine and Guinevere's union. Because I do love you, my dear sister.
Alas, I do not know the fate of Britain. My only solace is that you still live. Forgive the humans. Don't hate them. And reconcile with yourself, with Vivian. Become whole again. And take care of your kingdom. But most importantly, take care of yourself.
I realise now how much I could have prevented by just being there with you more. By leaning on you more. Maybe if I had been more involved in your life and you mine, we could have shared the power, as now I believe we should have.
Just remember that Father and I love you, wherever our souls may be by the time you read this. Maybe we are with our mother. Maybe I am able to watch over you, walk in your footsteps and shadows.
Wherever I may be, and no matter your future, your fate, know this, Morgan. I love you, and never once conspired against you, and don't blame you for your hatred. I am just as responsible for the lives lost for Camelot as you are. Even more so, as people joined you and Mordred willingly, while I sentenced them to death.
I asked Bedivere to have my funeral held on Sunday for the people, for my body to be marched from the palace to the Lady of the Lake, where I may rest with Excalibur. A private service should be held for all the Knights of the Round Table on Saturday, and a mass service held for all the lives lost at Camlann, not just the knights of Camelot, earlier that same morning. Please, come to the private service on Saturday. Not for me, but for your children, who both fought with and against me. Give them all peace of mind that their mother is with them even after death. We both know your bastard of a husband won't. But I think, at least as knights, they deserve that much. To know, or at least believe, that you love them all.
I have much more I wish to say, I admit, but I feel that Bedivere has returned Excalibur to the lake, for I myself am growing too tired to continue writing. My last wish, though, is for you to find something to replace the hate in you and to find tranquillity in this life.
Take care, sister,
Sincerely, Arthur
Tears rain from my eyes in a downpour that does nothing to reflect the true amount of regret, grief, and pain I feel.
What have I done!?
So much of my life has been dedicated to hating a man who has done nothing but wish for me to have peace, and even pushed himself to write as such on his deathbed!
"DAMMIT!!!!"
My magic flows through my veins and unleashes itself in chaotic response to my outcry.
"WHY!? WHY DID YOU HAVE TO CARE!? WHY COULDN'T YOU JUST HATE ME LIKE I HATED YOU!?"
All around me, the small fortress hidden by magic is destroyed, the sound of destruction and rampage only broken occasionally by sobs and curses.
The nearby tree lines were destroyed, leaving a mound of rubble surrounded by a ring of splintered wood and foliage.
As quickly as the carnage started, it ended, leaving me sitting there in ruins of rubble and mind. The only sounds coming from the destruction were my cries as I lay broken and knelt in ruins made by my own hands, being pelted by rain that had never once ended since the death of the King of Knights.
Time stretches on before my emotions calm, and when they do, there is nothing but cold hatred that once aimed at my family is now aimed at myself.
Should we have reigned together? Would that balance have prevented this all? Or would we end up pulled apart in decades time? Would Caliburn still have chosen him to be the red dragon? Would I have created a mightier sword to replace it? Would he still use Rhongomyniad? How much would've changed? Would we have loved? Or remain enemies? Would Mordred have been happy?
Would I have been happy?
The quiet sound of the evening twilight is disrupted by the sound of snarling and barking. Beyond the ruins of the former sanctuary, two wolves were fighting over a large stick, one with its eye slashed out and the other with stark white fur. As the wolves played, they would roll the other over, sending the dry autumn leaves into the air to be carried along with the wind.
Eventually, another wolf, large and blonde, howled at the two from atop a large rock. The two others dashed in the third's direction and vanished into the mist.
My body moved on its own, a niggling memory of something long forgotten to me slowly rising to the forefront of my mind as I picked up the stick and inspected it.
Marred by saliva and teeth marks, there was nothing special about it. But as the setting sun's rays traced themselves over it, reflected by its wet coating, I could feel my eyes widen as a feeling of equal parts hope and despair motivated me to move.
With but a thought, the latent arcana in the air and I changed the scenery around me. Gone was the ruined landscape. In its place stood a beautiful lake, surrounded by verdant trees and a forest thicker than any fog. It was a sanctuary. It was a home I long abandoned.
Of the eight women resting within and by its shores, only one approached me.
The woman standing in front of me is nearly an identical copy of me. Except where my hair is white, hers is a light red with eyes as green as emeralds. Light coats her arms and wraps around her back. A collection of iridescent leaves and vines circles around her neck with a pair of streams of light going down and covering her breast. A skirt of glowing rainbow leaves adorns her waist, and her bare feet are still clean despite her earthy environment and home. The only signs of her full fairy blood are the long points on her ears that wiggle with emotion and the star-like pattern of iridescent light in her eyes.
"I was wondering when you'd arrive. We would be honoured to have you join and be part of the ceremony, sister."
"Vivian, where's the Rhongomyniad?"
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It's been six days since I brought my king's body back home, and two since I cast Excalibur into the lake. Twice I tried to lie to Arthur, and twice he saw through my lies. But now my king lies dead, truthfully and forever. I weep alongside the Welsh skies.
"May Britain never stop mourning its king…"
"It's time to go, cousin."
Lucan's crestfallen voice pulls me out of my prayer. My head hangs low as the weight of the future presses it down, but I muster a nod in agreement. The two of us walk forward and take up our spots next to four other survivors of Camlann, with only one of the seven of us missing.
Sanddef, he who was so beautiful that the warriors mistook him for an angel and refused to attack him.
Morfran, he who was so ugly that the warriors thought he was a devil and refused to attack him.
Llacheu, the last of King Arthur's sons and the only one of three, including Mordred, to survive Camlann.
And Cynwyl, the Saint and the last to leave Arthur's side.
We lifted the coffin in unison and began the long procession from the castle to the Lady of the Lake. Our king's final resting place.
All along the way, we were flanked by knights on horseback, by tower shields and spears. Carriages of the sickly who wished to see King Arthur off one last time followed us in a caravan. Onlookers watched from the streets and windows alike, their gazes locked onto the reality of the future. Dissenters and loyalists alike stayed silent, as one truth was spoken without words.
Camelot is gone.
The Round Table is no more.
War will be reaching their doorsteps soon.
Peace was lost.
The uncertainty of everything, all spawned from a famine, made the prospects of a beautiful future seem hopeless. Each and every one of us was staring into an unknown oblivion.
The cobbled streets and secure walls of stone gave way to open fields and dirt roads flooded with mud.
"It feels as though the land is trying to wash away the past forty years…" Llacheu mumbled from behind me.
"The land is grieving for the souls that have died, son," Morfran said from the left side of the king's coffin. "Thousands of lives were lost."
"All for nothing…", Llacheu grumbled. "If I were the spirits of the lands, I'd want to wash away such a scar from history, too."
"Then perhaps…we shouldn't let it," I spoke up unconsciously, my voice barely above a whisper.
"What are you on about, Bedivere?"
"We should chronicle everything. Before our history is forgotten. Before we ourselves forget. Before the deaths of our enemies and comrades alike mean nothing."
"A kingdom that lasts a thousand years, but only in story, huh?" Llachleu said with a distant expression. His eyes turned toward the coffin we carried, where his father rests. "Surprised he stayed silent hearing that."
"If it's that last thing I can do for him, I shall. I was a useless Marshall in the end, but I've always been good with a quill."
"...I'll help you," spoke a gruff voice. The charming face of Sanddef looked gaunt and hungry, yet still held his trademark beauty. He had been starving himself since the battle, I realised instantly.
"As will I," Cynwyl said from in front of Sanddef. "It'll be easier with more heads to recall everything. Most of our boasting was oral pledges of glory rather than any actual recorded facts."
"Perhaps…we can still make right by our king in the end…" sighed Morfran.
"That is the hope."
We were silent for the hours after that. Thunder cracked, hooves, wheels, and boots alike trudged through mud, and trees creaked. But we were silent. As I watched the faces of those around me slowly change from that of grief to melancholy and reminiscing, I knew I wasn't the only one trying to imagine how we were going to tell future generations of King Arthur's Round Table.
The dim light of the day barely peaking through the grey clouds vanished completely as we entered the woods. The final stretch, and it was to be made in near complete darkness. Time lost meaning in the shadows, and the slight aches my body had from carrying the coffin for hours eventually disappeared.
The sound of the rain had changed completely. The trees had stopped creaking. Eventually, even the birds started chirping again. Rays of light eventually gave lustre to the world again, and life for the first time in days began to feel like life truly had purpose again.
It felt as if Arthur's arm was slung over my shoulder, telling me that everything was going to be alright.
I…I felt hope.
I felt serene.
I felt a tranquillity that only rose in providence upon seeing the lake. Whereas before, I felt nothing upon arriving here, today I felt as if I was in the presence of a piece of divinity on earth. All of my woes, my sorrows, had vanished. Even the stump of my right arm stopped hurting.
And then I saw them. Instead of hiding like they usually do in the woods or under the surface of the water, the nine sisters sat there at the edge of the lake, half-submerged and waiting for us.
No one faltered for even a second upon seeing Morgan le Fay there, her black and umbral robes suspending in the water as black streaks of mascara ran down her eyes. She fit in with the rest of the sisters. She was the regret amongst the tapestry of anger and happiness, of grief and indifference that was the nine. All unique.
The carriages and the knights all turned around and circled the lake, forming an audience to the final departure of King Arthur. The six of us carried him into the lake, soaking ourselves from the waist down as we drifted his floating coffin to the sisters who surrounded it and bade us to leave the waters.
What happened next, I knew none of us could accurately describe, no matter how many years were given to study it all in perfect detail. The waters began to glow a bright pink before turning perfectly clear, turning into a watery window of another world. Of Avalon.
A sea of vibrant pink flowers as far as the eye could see. Forests of trees bigger than mountains. Hills that looked like you could roll planets down them. Skies that looked like they've never known a shade other than blue.
It was perfect.
Faeries and insects of vibrant colours flew out of the lake. Fish of such wonder began to circle the sisters and the coffin. A chorus of voices so ancient the earth felt young in comparison began to sing. And the sisters joined hands and spoke with a resonating power.
"Arthur Pendragon. Artorius. The King of Knights. The Once and Future King. Knight of the Silver Sky. The Welsh Dragon. The Red Dragon. The Lion King. We, those of Avalon, the Reverse World, the world of Faeries, the Land of the Eternal Spring, and the Land of Apples, offer you in death comfort and rest in our home."
The words were a balm to our souls, as fragile as they had become. Even the elderly and the sick looked as if they had regained years on their life. Everyone's posture had relaxed. Life was finding its balance. But the sisters kept going, and our hope for a brighter future for Britain and our king soared higher than ever before.
"In Avalon, the Faeries of the Beginning that forged Excalibur will reforge you. They will keep you." As they spoke, strands of light began to whirl out from the lake, forming the familiar Holy Lance of the Rhongomyniad, before unspooling again. The lid of the king's coffin vanished as the rest of the wood turned to crystal. The stark white strands then lowered as they spoke, wrapping around Arthur's body like a cocoon. "When the time comes, when Britain and the world are destined for a great catastrophe, when the divine requires leadership and humanity needs salvation, King Arthur will return. When the Wild Hunt requires a leader, and the winds begin to howl with righteous change, the King of Storms will return, and the Lord of the Furthest Reaches will be born as the embodiment of the Holy Lance. So it is prophesied, and so it shall be! The King is dead! Long live the King!"
The joy of those present who still called themselves loyal to Arthur and his dreams started screaming in joy, weeping rivers and hugging everyone they held dear. Even those who shared the idea of him being inhuman towards the last years of his rule, that change needed to happen, found themselves happy with the prophecy they had just heard.
Because it meant there was going to be a future for Britain after all.
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After Arthur's body was lowered into the water and taken to Avalon, the procession that had followed him and his pallbearers returned to Camelot, and the news of the prophecy would soon spread like wildfire.
Bedivere, however, stayed. He found a fallen log near the entrance to the lake's clearing and simply rested. His head, as full of clutter as it was, needed time and solitude to sort itself out.
Misery, however, loves company. The shadowy figure of the dark witch Morgan le Fay emerged into the clearing and joined him on the log, a small ring of rocks forming as dried branches danced into the centre, fueling a small fire.
Eventually, Galahad, dressed in black steel and purple underclothes, walked out of the dark forest carrying a large boulder that he placed down near the fire and used as a seat.
The silence persisted until the rustling of armour and two pairs of footsteps got closer. A set of armour closely resembling Galahad's and an aged but handsome face, as well as a middle-aged woman in fine dress and auburn hair, emerged. Galahad looked up at the man with a sardonic smirk. "Father."
"Son," he gruffed in reply before turning his attention to the witch, his eyes seeing something in her that Bedivere hadn't. "Mother."
"Lancelot. Gwynevere," Morgan replied with a nod of her head and a wave of her wrist, causing the roots to grow from underneath the dirt to provide seating for the two.
The five of them sat in silence for a time, simply watching the fire in peace.
"So this is how it all ends, huh?" murmured Bedivere. "Without the Rhongomyniad, Britain will struggle to grow crops, the famine will only get worse, the magic will disappear, and our history will either become folklore or be burned away by the Romans just like they did to the Germans."
"Yes," replied Morgan, "Britain will heal and learn to live without the Holy Lance, but the island's romanisation is seemingly inevitable. Which is why my sisters and I decided to become one again. Britain isn't home for us anymore." Morgan's other thoughts didn't have to be said out loud for them to be understood. Everyone present besides her followed Christian ideology to some degree.
"Rome is falling," Galahad said. "They're spreading themselves too thin. Leadership over the expanse they're creating is impossible. Christianity will stay, but the land will be met with wars of succession and territorial disputes for centuries still."
"Humanity and war…" Morgan murmured.
After a brief silence, Lancelot turned to Galahad. "What…happened to you after you found the Grail?"
Galahad closed his eyes and sighed before reaching one hand towards his chest. A radiant light began to glow from his torso before settling into the form of a small golden chalice in his hand. "God…bound it to me, for lack of a better term. He said I was going to be the first of many such cases where powerful artefacts, divine or daemonic, monstrous or human-made, are bound to a human's soul. Said it was the start of the Sacred Gear System, and that he had already bound three artefacts to people's souls. The spear that pierced Christ's body, the True Longinus, the Holy Grail, the Sephiroth Graal, and the cross Christ was crucified on, Incinerate Anthem."
"Divine artefacts of such importance…being bound to human souls…but you also said that daemonic artefacts were being used too…" Morgan mumbled to herself, "Well, that explains what happened to the spear of Longinus after Sir Balin died."
"Except this time it fully lacks the seals Balin and I placed on it. Again."
"What is he planning?"
"War."
Galahad said the word as easily as breathing, like it's an inevitable fate that he's resigned himself to. But for the others, especially Gwynevere, who was about as normal as it could get, the idea of God needing to gather artefacts for a war felt like something apocalyptic in scale was destined in the near future.
"So this is what you wanted to tell me, wasn't it…"
"It is," Galahad said. "You're the only one here who will live long enough to see it. I thought it'd be best to give a warning to you, and for you to tell the other races that don't have whole pantheons to protect them."
"So this isn't going to just be a holy war between Father and Son…" Gwynevere whispered.
"My best guess, from everything I've seen on Heaven's side of things, is that we're looking at a wait of at least five hundred years. But when that grace period is over… no one is safe. Only the humans will be spared, but…we'll still end up dragged into the conflict. It's why He is arming us with the sacred gears. Heroes are a scarcity, but if he can arm anyone with a weapon of mass destruction…"
"Then not only will he have the angels on his side, but the humans, too," Morgan answered.
Five hundred years.
She could accomplish a lot in five hundred years.
But she's also…grown tired of fighting.
"Only fae can enter Avalon freely. If they try to enter, we have Excalibur, Merlin, me, the Rhongomyniad, the rest of the A-ray faeries, and the largest surplus of natural mana in any dimension. We'll be fine."
"I thought as much, but that's not the only thing. The Wild Hunt will need to grow inside of Avalon."
"Why?" she asked with a stern expression.
"Because when King Arthur returns, he won't be the only one trying to rule over it. Odin, Cain, Gwyn ap Nudd, and even Lucifer himself are all possible candidates for leadership. The prophecy of his return isn't new; it's just older than his other prophecies. It was confusing. But now…"
"Now that there's knowledge of a possible war, if any of them try to take the lost souls of Britain for their own wars, when Arthur comes back to life, the number of souls in his army will be smaller…"
"I volunteer," spoke Lancelot and Bedivere at the same time as they stood, only for their glares to turn hostile towards each other.
"Oh, so you can leave behind the woman you betrayed your king and country for!? What a man! What! A! Man!"
"You don't know what it's like to be forgiven for your crimes by one of the people you hurt the most while committing them! I have to atone, even if it means dying and leaving everything behind, Lefty!"
"You're right! I don't know what it's like because, unlike you, the Strongest of the Round Table, I had the nerves to show up and stay and survive Camlann, Frenchy!" Bedivere said, waving the stub of his bicep out from under his cloak.
"Why yo-"
"Sit." The one command word alone forced the two to obey, compulsion and magic interweaving for an instant. "Both of you can live your lives. Die of old age. I'll…I'll be watching. In Britain. France. Africa. If others want to play their games, then so will I. Heroic spirits across the world will be given the chance to spend their afterlife in Avalon."
"Always so ambitious…" Galahad said, his long hair falling over his shoulder as he and Morgan both stood up and picked his sword off the ground. "I might have sworn myself to the Church, but I'll be travelling around, spreading the word. Conflict is inevitable between God and the Devil at this rate, but I would rather let people know. I'll also be keeping my ear to the ground for the Devil's movements, but it's not likely that I'll be able to inform everyone, so…be careful, Le Fay."
As Galahad turned to leave the clearing, Lancelot stood up and hugged him as tightly as he could. "Hey, I…I know I didn't get to say it before you left, but…I'm proud of you, son."
Galahad stood frozen, not expecting the genuine love Lancelot, his estranged father, was pouring into this one moment. But slowly, his arms reached around his father as he embraced him in kind. "Thanks…thank you, father. This…means more to me than you could know…"
The two of them were both surprised when a third pair of arms wrapped around them. "The two of you have become fine young men. It makes me happy," Morgan said, her voice oozing Viviane's warmth and motherly affection.
"Ah, right, before you go, you should have this," Lancelot said as he began to unfasten Arondight from his waist, but Galahad put a hand on his arm and stopped him.
"Keep it. After all, you'll need it when you're dead."
The older man chuckled as he nodded his head. "You're right. You're right. Just take care of yourself, son."
"You too, old man," said the thirty-six-year-old knight as he walked out of the woods.
"I oughta go to," said Bedivere as he stood up and covered his arm up. "Me and a few others from Camlann are gonna try to find a priory to holed up in and start writing down our stories from memory. If you three want anything written down for the ages, or if you just want to talk, come find us. I, at the very least, would be delighted to converse with old friends."
"I'll make sure to take you up on the offer, Sir Bedivere," said Gwynevere.
Bedivere bowed to the group before he took his leave. With Gwynevere and Lancelot following him out shortly after, leaving Morgan alone to her thoughts. Slowly, as she watched the fire go out, her thoughts all turned in one direction.
With a flash of the arcana around her, the Queen of the Faeries appeared over the ruined field of Camlann, the moonlight reflecting on the blades still buried and the armour still worn by the rotting corpses. And there she could see them. All of the Knights of the Round Table and those sworn to them who had not yet felt satisfied with their deaths.
'Arthur, I promise you, you will have compatriots who will make sure you remember what it's like to be human.'
She spoke to them, and her voice captivated them.
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1500+ Years Later: Japan. June 2008:
'Yo! Yo! Who's so cool!? Who's so cool! You! You're so-'
"Argh! Dad! What are you doing calling this early!?"
"It's not early, is it?"
"Open the window, it's still twilight hours…"
"...Oh my bad…just thought I'd wake you up and wish you a good day at school, Erika."
"...It's Saturday…"
"...My bad…"
"I'm going back to sleep…"
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YOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO AND ITS BACK AND WAY DIFFERENT THAN BEFORE! So this was a Highschool DxD fic with an Artoria protag instead of Issei protag when I first wrote this. But my god did I lose interest in it because of people commenting things that were just wrong lol. Like, when I first wrote this fic I pretty much just copy pasted most of the light novel in and partially rewrote it in terms of delivery but never changed the lore and you'd have people saying that the source material itself was getting the lore wrong, not even on parts where I actually tried to implement Fate lore into DxD lore. Just normal DxD lore that was copy pasted. So yeah I stopped trying to deal with people like that because Nasuverse fans are either chill or toxic as shit which is why I'm prefacing that while this fic has Nasuverse stuff, like Rhongomyniad and the terminology and some of the Camelot characters' designs will be my basis, this ain't Nasuverse Fate lore. It's my personal blend of everything and if the ages of characters didn't tip you off I'm using old Arthurian legends estimated ages so instead of Artoria's ten-year-long reign I'm using an at least forty year scale. Get your Fate knowledge and get oooooout. Only try to correct me if you actually know Highschool DxD lore because that's the lore that will matter. Arthurian legends are a story all on its own and I'm using to have fun because theres a lot of fun ways Highschool DxD's, our world's, and Nasuverse Arthurian legends blend together. Like Sir Balin using the Longinus spear in Fate's lore and that Galahad had a holy sword in his Saber variant that can contend with the Longinus spear and that in Fate the Longinus spear is weaker than Rhongomyniad even during the 500s when Artoria was basically using it as a glorified lance. Oh and for the newcomers, don't worry, I will not be copypasting the story again. I was a teen that was bored out of my mind during Financial Management class so I just did a thing but those that do somehow remember what my old plot was should immediately be able to tell the difference in narrative. Also, this is more so a sample chapter to get a taste for who would want me to continue this, what other people think etc etc because I've been lacking the mojo to write and this was my way of getting myself out of my funk by just experimenting but yeah anyway i live off comments so do the thing. Comment. Comment now!