Unknownfate
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Chapter 72
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:38:29 +0000 UTCThe room was quiet, save for the gentle scratch of a quill against parchment. Stacks of documents lined the desk, each one demanding a signature, a seal, or a decision. The burden of the crown was not always glorious—most days, it was ink-stained and dull.
Agravain stood across from me, ever composed, a thick leather folder tucked beneath one arm.
“You may begin,” I said, not looking up from the letter I was finishing. “Start with the settlements.”
He nodded crisply and opened the folder.
“As of last week, six thousand three hundred and eighty-two suspected mutants have entered Albion through the official migration channels. Most have settled in the new settlement they have built, though some remain among the rest of the population.”
I paused, placing my quill down.
“How many of them are confirmed?”
“One thousand two hundred and six. Those had either visible mutations, or have shown abilities that likely came from one.”
I nodded at his words. I hadn’t forced people to register as a mutant, I had simply let Raven sign people up for it. I strongly suspected that all of them were mutants, but as a sign of goodwill and respect, I didn’t demand to know.
I knew well that mutant registration was a sore topic. Apparently, the governments of the world had tried to go that route a few times in the past, though they hadn’t passed it, mostly due to Magneto or Professor X, often both.
I knew none other would dare do something like this, but I did because I was confident that I could handle it, handle any problem. The hate of mutants was born from fear and jealousy, and I had no fear nor desire for their power.
Agravain cleared his throat, flipping to the next document. “We’ve also begun implementing the relocation protocols you authorized last month.”
I leaned back in my chair slightly, folding my hands in front of me. “And?”
“As of now, thirteen thousand six hundred and eleven non-conforming noncitizens have been processed. Fewer than we would have liked, but we had more resistance than expected, though we handled it.”
“What kind of resistance? I didn’t hear about Mordred being sent out lately?” I asked.
“Mostly from the international community, and a few citizens who didn’t agree with the policy, it wasn’t violent resistance, so it was handled locally, just taking a bit longer, we also struggled to get the nations in question to agree, but in the end, we side stepped them.”
“Sidestepped them how?” I asked, more curiously.
“We had the people in question loaded onto planes, sent them to the nations, and just unloaded them there, or in a few cases, left the planes since they were of older models.” He explained.
Agravain spoke with perfect calm, but I could feel the weight behind his words. Practical. Cold. Efficient. It was what I had asked for.
“Were they treated with dignity?” I asked, voice level.
Agravain met my gaze without flinching. “They were given clean clothes, food, a small sum in local currency, and basic supplies. No shackles, no threats. Merely… redirection.”
I nodded slowly, letting that sit.
To some, this policy would seem cruel. To me, it was fair. Those who could fight, had a duty to do so. Those who fled a nation in crisis, were cowards. Sure, I sheltered the mutants, those poor things hunted by the world for their very existence. But these others… they had homes. Families. Cultures. Kingdoms rotting under warlords, tyrants, and cowards.
And yet they had chosen to flee.
A man does not rebuild his house by abandoning it. A woman does not reclaim her land by planting roots elsewhere.
I wasn’t without mercy, those who were willing, those who conformed to my reign, to my costumes, they could stay, for they were willing to be my subjects.
But for those who didn’t bow to me as their king, those who didn’t see Albion as their true home, those I sent back to those homes, they would fight for them, free their homes, or die trying, as is just and right.
I picked up another document, scanned it briefly, then set it aside. My desk felt heavier than usual.
“There will be talk,” I murmured. “The world will call us cruel.”
Agravain allowed a faint, knowing smile. “The world already does, my king. But they also tremble when they speak your name.”
I tapped my fingers once against the polished oak of my desk. “Keep an eye on the protestors. I will not punish them—freedom of speech is not treason—but I will not let foreign ideals poison the people either. This realm is new. The roots must grow deep before the winds come.”
Agravain nodded his head and made a quick note. “As you will, there is also another matter, Your Majesty. The Royal Guild of Artisans sent a formal request. They require final direction regarding your official portrait.”
I looked up. “They’ve been asking for some time, haven’t they?”
He nodded. “Yes, and now the nobles are beginning to whisper. A realm must have an image of its monarch. Some see the absence as a deliberate slight. Others… suspect.”
Of course they do.
“I can’t very well sit for a portrait anymore, back when I could pass as a boy, it won’t be as simple today, not to mention I have plans.” I muttered, leaning back slightly in my chair.
Agravain waited in silence. He knew better than to offer counsel here. This was a personal matter—one of identity and image.
After a moment’s thought, I tapped the arm of my chair.
“Fine. Let them paint me in full armor. No face, no features. Just the crown and the sword. Let them see what matters.”
“Which blade, Your Majesty?” Agravain asked carefully. “Caliburn… or Excalibur?”
The question held weight.
I considered it.
“Caliburn,” I said at last. “Let the realm remember the sword of kingship, not the blade of divine judgment. Not yet.”
Agravain bowed his head. “I will notify the Guild. They’ll begin the preliminary sketches at once.”
Agravain flipped to the last page in his folder. His voice took on a measured tone.
“One final item, Your Majesty. We’ve received several petitions from the Church of England regarding your official position on religious matters. The Archbishop seeks clarification. Namely, whether Albion will maintain the Church of England as the state religion under your reign—and how we are to respond to the existence of real, verifiable magic.”
I leaned back, fingers steepled. “The Church of England shall remain the state faith,” I said. “One Crown, One Faith. That is the best system, I think, at least unless other Gods seek permission to gather worshippers in my realm.”
I wasn’t really one of faith. I had once sent my knights on a quest for the Holy Grail, not because I was religious, but because I wanted its power to use it to save my starving people.
Heck, I was even a Goddess myself. I could start a church and make it all about me, but I wouldn’t do such a thing. Being a King was enough of a burden.
I also knew that some Gods were still around, Odin and his were but a few. Yet, Religion was often a matter of division; countless wars were fought over it. So I felt that having too many religions around would just be inviting problems.
Sure, other gods might not like having their worship forbidden, but should another god dare to impose their worship on my people? Ridicules.
Agravain shifted slightly. “The Archbishop also inquires… about the Grail itself.”
I turned my gaze to him, sharp but not surprised.
“He asks,” Agravain continued, “whether Your Majesty will confirm its existence. The legends of your knights seeking it have always been treated as myth—but your reign has made myths real again. If the Holy Grail is real, then by extension, so is the God who guards it.”
I said nothing for a moment. My fingers traced a slow, thoughtful line along the edge of the desk.
“We both know it was real, Galahad made quite a few enemies among my knights thanks to it.” I said after a while. “We also both know that it isn’t the same Grail as the one I hold now. But I see no problem with confirming it.”
Agravain gave a faint nod, his expression unreadable. “Then the Church will take strength in your words. A confirmation from Your Majesty will solidify doctrine—and perhaps calm the faithful.”
I leaned back in my chair again, fingers laced together. “Let it be known, then: the Holy Grail my knights once sought was real. Galahad found it. And it was divine.”
I let the silence hang a moment longer, letting the weight of that truth settle.
“Though,” I added with a faint smirk, “if they begin proclaiming me as a prophet or chosen king of God, you may remind them that I drink wine, wield a sword, and once threatened to hang a bishop for tax evasion. I am not here to be canonized.”
Agravain did not smile, but his eyes glinted with something dangerously close to amusement. “Understood, Your Majesty.”
“I am a divine king, but that divinity is my own, not something granted to me by some God; no, let the Church of England or Church of Albion be the one Religion I allow on my land; all others shall be banned!” I commanded.
Agravain inclined his head deeply, the shadow of steel beneath his calm. “Then it shall be written into royal decree. One Crown, One Faith. The Church of Albion will serve as both spiritual guide and guardian of tradition. All others… shall be outlawed.”
I nodded, slowly. “Let there be no confusion. The gods may roam the world, but they do not rule here. I do.”
I doubted any biblical god was around in this universe, which was why I saw no problem with proclaiming that particular Religion the state one, after all, it would give people something to believe in, without risking another god meddling.
Not to mention it would cause the least amount of problems in the short and long run.
“Tell them this as well—if they dare use their pulpit to spread fear against magic or mutants, if they begin another inquisition beneath my banner…”
I let the words trail off, but the fire behind them remained clear.
Agravain bowed. “They will be warned. And watched.”
I returned my attention to the stack of parchment on my desk, the symbol of my crown etched into the wax beside each signature.
Agravain turned another page in the folder and adjusted his stance slightly.
“There’s also the matter of the economy, Your Majesty. Specifically, an update on the Crown's price stabilization mandates and employment projects.”
“Go on,” I said, already bracing myself for the contradiction I knew would follow.
“The royal decree on staple goods—bread, grain, milk, salt—remains in effect and has largely succeeded. Merchants comply for the most part. The Guild of Bakers and the Millers’ Council both report steady profit margins, thanks to subsidies from the Crown.”
“Largely succeeded,” I repeated. “So not entirely?”
“No,” he admitted. “There has been a notable slowdown in global trade reaching Albion, which is leading to some signs of potential shortages, driving prices up despite our efforts to keep them low.”
I had expected as much, though it was still annoying, but at least it was better than my people starving. “How fare the people?”
“They suffer not, though personally, I do see one problem with the current state of the economy.”
I couldn’t help but give him my full attention at that comment. It was rare for him to openly share his thoughts like that. “Do speak freely, I value your input greatly.” I reassured him while urging him to speak.
He nodded once. “It is this, Your Majesty—too many households now require two working adults simply to remain afloat. It is not a failure of policy, but rather of expectation. A man’s labor should suffice to feed, clothe, and shelter his family. That, to my mind, is the proper shape of a kingdom.”
I leaned back slightly, listening.
“If a man works full hours in your service, Your Majesty,” Agravain continued, “then he should not return home to find his wife equally worn, his children raised by strangers, and his household half-managed. It breeds resentment. It weakens the hearth. And it suggests that labor in Albion is undervalued.”
He didn’t say it aloud—but I knew what he meant. He viewed the current state of things not only as inefficient, but unseemly. Agravain would never say outright that women ought to stay home—he was far too disciplined for such a thing—but the shape of his ideal was clear as glass.
I let the silence stretch before speaking.
“I share the ideal,” I said slowly. “Though not the reasoning. A stable household is important, and all your reasoning is good, I fully approve, though reaching that state won’t be easy.”
Agravain gave a small nod, seemingly satisfied with my agreement, even if I had sidestepped the deeper implications of his beliefs.
“Nothing worth restoring ever is, Your Majesty,” he replied. “But if any realm can achieve it, Albion can. You have brought back kingship, honor, and order. Let us now bring back balance.”
I tapped my fingers lightly on the desk. “Start with a review of wages in the public works sectors. Focus on the crown’s enterprises first—the forges, the rail lines, the mines. Let me know what we would need to raise the base pay to a level fit for a family of four to live comfortably.”
“And if the Guilds resist?” he asked.
“The companies.” I said, slightly correcting him. “Shall be reminded that I will support my people, not them, and if they are unwilling to pay my people what they deserve, then they don’t deserve to exist in my realm.”
Agravain bowed. “It shall be done.”
For a moment, I looked past him, toward the window. The clouds outside were heavy, but the light still managed to break through.
“One man’s labor should build a home,” I said softly. “Not just shelter a body.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Agravain replied. “And one woman’s peace should raise a nation.”
I gave him a look but said nothing. I worried about him, wondering if he would ever overcome his hatred of women and if he would ever find happiness, but it wasn’t my place to speak of such things.
“Anything else that require my attention for the day?” I asked, moving along.
He looked over his notes. “Yes, there is one last thing your majesty, an important one.”
Comments
JL
YES CONFIRM THE GRAIL
