Unknownfate
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Chapter 190
🕑 Added 2025-07-31 11:12:30 +0000 UTCOnce they all retired for the day, and the kids had been sent home to their own beds, Lancelot bid Mordred and his king good night and withdrew into his own room. There, he sat down heavily, feeling the ever-present weight of his guilt press down upon him.
A chance to once more serve his king, to atone for his sins, it was everything he had wished for. After he heard about Camelot’s fall and the king’s death, he was devastated; not even in death could he find rest.
The guilt had twisted him into a shadow of what he was. Mindless and brutal, he sought only atonement, only wishing he could have faced death by his king’s blade; maybe then he could have rested.
He knew this because he had faint memories of meeting his king, not as he was now, no, as a twisted dark mockery of himself. The memories were faint, something inherited from the throne of heroes; it was but fragments, but it allowed him to put things together and guess at his fate.
Yet, his king was merciful, she had saved him from that fate, summoned him from the throne and given him a new life, a new body, and allowed him to serve her, to do whatever it took to atone. He knew that he could never be forgiven, his actions had caused too much pain, but still, he relished the chance to serve again.
He swore he would serve his king in whatever desire she wished, that he would be her most loyal knight, and carry out her every order without question. And he had done that, from the moment he appeared within the halls of Camelot castle until the moment he sat here now.
It wasn’t always an easy vow to fulfill. His king was different, changed in ways he couldn’t possibly hope to understand.
She was in some ways more human, or maybe she was just better at pretending. She was no longer a human, even if she had but barely been one back then, but now? She was all divine, and it showed at times more than others.
She was less kind, less merciful. Not that she wasn’t beyond compare to any other king or lord he had ever met; none but she would forgive what he had done, the harm he had caused.
And not just himself, everyone, even Mordred, the one who struck her down, was forgiven, and even named heir, something he couldn’t possibly understand.
His king was, as ever, impossible to understand, a mystery. Yet, despite her flaws, which she still had, she was still the same in her essence.
Divine she might be, but she was still the king of knights, and this time, leaning far more towards being a king rather than a mere knight.
Under her leadership, he had helped build a new nation, even if he didn’t agree that it had to be done with blood. He had sworn to follow her no matter what, to always obey, and he wasn’t about to turn his back on her because of a few deaths.
And it wasn’t all bad, she was still just as kind as he remembered, she had saved countless lives, made the lives of millions better, even if that negatively affected the lives of others.
He knew his king had been far too naive back then, trying to save everyone, to make everyone happy, and forgetting about herself.
He knew this, but had still admired that about her, the selflessness it took, that wasn’t an easy path, that of the ideal king, it was one that came with a heavy price.
He was glad she wasn’t still walking that path, that she didn’t have to pay it again, that this time, she could be more selfish, think more about what she wanted, and what she wanted for her people, rather than just fulfill their wishes, to just work for them.
That wasn’t living.
Now however, Camelot was living, teeming with life, and smiles, pure joy filled the once empty city. He had seen it all happen, had helped as much as he could, and he took great joy in it. He still had many burdens to bear though, and much guilt.
His path wasn’t easy, redemption impossible, but he was content just serving his king.
That was why he had been honored when he was chosen to accompany his king on her mission. He might not be happy about Mordred, but he saw that the king was happy around the red knight, despite what she had done. The king had clearly forgiven her.
He couldn’t understand, as far as he knew, the king had never much approved of Mordred, yet evidently, something had changed, and now, his king seemed to enjoy having her around.
So despite his misgivings, he only said his mind, but otherwise accepted it. Even when he had learned that Mordred would be in charge, he had only advised his king to reconsider, and had accepted their will.
To be back in France was a strange experience; it was his homeland. Yet, it was so very different from what he remembered; it might as well have been an entirely different nation altogether.
Gone were the royal family, kings, lords, and knights; instead, it was the people themselves who ruled the nation, something that had also been true for Britain before the king took back his crown.
Normally, this form of freedom, the power in the people's own hands, would have pleased him, but while he admired the idea, he also saw its flaws. While not all kings were great, some were. And a great king could do great for his people.
Much like his own king.
This new democracy, it stopped bad kings from harming the people, but it also ensured that there would be no great leader, no ruler to change the nations fate, to uplift the people.
The nation, and the people, were trapped in a slowly decaying state, unable to move up, unable to improve, yet slowly rotting, and unable to stop it.
To stop it meant acknowledging that something was wrong, and as an ideal built on the idea that nothing could be better, and nothing was wrong… to acknowledge the truth would mean the end of the illusion that kept their society in check.
He knew changing it wasn’t easy, but had seen how the king had done it, and made Albion a great place, because a great king builds a great nation; this was a rule that was as strong as his sword itself.
Still he followed.
He returned home and got a good look at the place, the darkness and evil that was growing, preparing to attack his new home, to attack the realm of his king.
Countless people were suffering, yet despite that, France seemed almost normal on the surface, though he saw the fear in people's eyes, the distrust.
Everyone was scared, but they had no one to turn to, no king of their own to help them face the darkness, no noble knights to shield them from evil.
He still didn’t approve of Mordred’s reckless actions, really, making them go to a nightclub and starting a fight…
He didn’t know what the king was thinking, but… he didn’t want to say anything, not in front of his king. What right did he have to tell her what to do? Someone who had betrayed her?
Still, despite Mordred’s antics and his own misgivings, he took comfort in knowing that they were helping people. Mordred might be crude about it, but every outing did help people; it did end some threat, even if it was someone minor.
Then, Lyon had happened; he had seen just what they were fighting against, the true face of evil.
He had fought plenty of demons before, dark fae and the likes, but those monsters?
He had never seen anything like them before. They were like a mix between demonic beasts and dark fae. Whatever they were, their actions were unforgivable; the number of lives they claimed in no time was massive.
They took lives and destroyed them as well as homes and families with flame fury and claws, consuming human lives and their very souls.
It had been rather humbling that, despite how easily he could kill those creatures, it didn’t matter; he was reminded that, despite being strong, he wasn’t a god, and he couldn’t save everyone.
Not all problems could be solved with a single sword. That is why kings are important; they can make one sword do the work of ten, not to mention that their king had the best sword.
Yet…
“Excalibur Morgan…” He muttered as she sat there, deep in his thoughts.
Excalibur, the king’s sword was beyond amazing. He had always admired the sacred feeling it gave off, the holiness, the power, the way it felt. Even someone as strong as him felt at ease around it, as if with that sword in her hand, his king could protect him from anything.
He still had trouble believing that Mordred had been able to wound his king. He had fought Mordred since, and yes, he was strong; he didn’t deny that. He was far from his king’s match.
“Morgan…”
That name was important; it was a shadow that followed the king’s every step. Yet, he couldn’t claim the witch was pure evil, not like the one they had faced today.
Morgan was dangerous, no doubt, but rarely did she harm people. She would trick them for sure, play cruel tricks on them, and she might even kill, but never in a cruel way. She wasn’t like that; she didn’t enjoy causing people pain for no reason. She was indeed a shadow of the king.
He could only guess that she must have had something to do with his King’s defeat that day; no other explanation could be found.
Yet… did the king’s connection with that dark witch go deeper than he had expected?
That the king’s dark form would name her sword, the shadow of Excalibur, as Morgan… Surely, there was more than the king had told them…
He sighed, once more he forced himself not to think too deeply about it, to not question the king’s wisdom.
If she hid something, there was no doubt a good reason for it, she was after all, a divine spirit now, and as such, knew far more than anyone else, knowledge that might not be meant for mortals to know.
Still, he worried, should his king truly fall to darkness… What would he do?
He knew some would follow her into the abyss itself, never wavering in their loyalty. People like Gawain and Agravain, like Tristan and Mordred, they wouldn’t hesitate to bow before even that king… but could he?
Could he truly stand by, and do nothing when she went down a darker path?
Truly, he hoped that he would never have to think about it, that such a thing would never happen, that his king would never lose that tiny bit of humanity deep inside her, that she would never forget the value of human life.
Because if that were to happen, he might have to trade his honor for loyalty, he could never be happy to serve a king without a heart… but he didn’t think he could turn away from her… he owed her far far too much.
“My king… please… never forget… that you are… the promised king, that you are a human king, the king of knights.” He whispered softly as he clenched his fist.
What he had learned today troubled him deeply, yet he could do nothing, and that, too, troubled him. Knowing the risk, yet being unable to do anything… so he could only hope, hope that his king would never lose her heart, and never see human life as worthless.
Never forget, humanity itself.
Still… if she could draw that sword out… she must be close… one step from the abyss… truly the king carried a great burden still.
