Unknownfate
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Chapter 130
🕑 Added 2025-05-17 06:09:39 +0000 UTCAsgard wasn’t the only place where people had to leave disappointed, their hopes and dreams dashed in the face of the cruel reality.
For while the Warriors Three and Sif had to realize that getting down to the mortal realm was difficult on Midgard, people realized that ascending to the divine realm was also an impossible task.
Countless people came and went from Mjolnir, each trying to lift it, all failing.
Some locals even tried it more than once, but most couldn’t be asked to stand in line for it after the first failure. Thor too never stepped up to his hammer again.
In fact, after hearing about his father’s death from Loki, Thor grew quiet, hiding in his room, barely coming out for food.
I waited for a few days, yet nothing happened, nothing changed. I stood atop my tower, my eyes looking out over all of Albion. Finding hidden mutants and mages, people slinking around in the shadows for one reason or another.
But I saw no other Asgardians.
None came to find Thor, to bring him back, and naturally, no destroyer came to kill him.
My gaze didn’t reach beyond Earth, so I couldn’t see what was happening within Asgard, I could only guess that something had changed.
And the biggest thing that had changed from the original story was me. Thor was never meant to be in Camelot, because there was never meant to be a Camelot to begin with.
I had assumed that this might happen, and I was prepared for it. “Galahad, I assure you, I am perfectly safe; there is hardly a reason to follow me around all the time.”
I turned to find my knight standing a respectful distance behind me, his silver armor gleaming in the soft, golden light of the morning sun, his tall, imposing frame silhouetted against the open archway behind him.
And he wasn’t alone, ever since Thor arrived, Galahad had decided that I needed extra protection, and given that Galahad was not the most popular of my knights, at least among the others.
Given his own betrayal, his constant presence had brought other knights to also feel like they needed to protect me from him.
The mistrust among my knights was painful; I wished dearly that we could return to the old days, before Lancelot’s betrayal, before the Grail, before all that. Yet I could not turn back time; I could not change what had happened, and I could only live with the consequences.
Galahad’s head bowed slightly, his face expressionless, his hands holding that great shield of his. “Forgive me, my king. It is simply my duty to ensure your safety.”
I sighed, letting my gaze drift back to the distant horizon, the vast, gleaming white walls of Camelot stretching out beneath me, the city alive with the sounds of morning, the distant murmur of voices.
“You worry too much,” I said softly, my voice carrying just enough to reach him over the whisper of the wind. “This is my realm, my sanctuary. No harm shall come to me here.”
Galahad hesitated, his head tilting slightly as if he wished to say more, to voice some deeper concern, but he remained silent, his grip on his sword tightening ever so slightly, the polished metal of his gauntlets creaking faintly in the quiet.
It was an old habit of his, one I had come to recognize over the long years of our shared battles, a silent, stubborn gesture of defiance, a reminder that despite his loyalty, he still harbored his own thoughts, his own doubts.
I glanced back at him, my eyes meeting the shadowed, unreadable gaze behind his visor. “I am not some fragile flower, Galahad. You need not hover over me like a mother hen.”
For a moment, he said nothing, his head tilting slightly as if weighing his words, then he straightened, his armor clinking softly with the movement. “As you say, my king. But know that I shall not stray far. My loyalty to you is unending.”
It was flattering that they cared so much about me, but honestly, they were wasting their time.
I would rather have them out there, in the city, the realm, enjoying themselves. Enjoying this second life they had been granted. This time had so much to offer, and while I wished to keep them close… I also wanted them to be free.
Another of my internal inconsistencies, clearly, one doesn’t just push a dozen minds and souls together without messing things up.
“Honestly, Galahad, you should just leave Father be; someone like you shouldn’t stay so close to him.” Mordred’s voice rang out, sharp and challenging.
“Do you think father so weak as to need constant watching?” she continued, her green eyes narrowing as she fixed Galahad with a pointed glare.
Galahad’s head tilted slightly, his grip on his shield tightening ever so slightly, but he said nothing, merely inclining his head in a small, silent gesture of acknowledgement.
Mordred snorted, crossing her arms over her chest, her dark armor clinking softly with the movement.
“Now, now, let's not start fighting.” I interrupted whatever she wanted to say. Not willing to see my knights end up in a fight.
They were all loyal to me, they all cared for me, and they just wanted to show that.
Still, their history made it difficult for them to get along.
“Enough of this, I need one or more of you to deal with Thor.” I said, “And no Mordred, I don’t need him beaten, I need someone to talk with him, make him recover… if need be, bring him before me, but I want back on the path of recovery.” I said, stopping midway through to stop Mordred.
She didn’t like the fact that I was thinking about some guy. I honestly think she was feeling a little jealous.
I could only lament the guy who would try to steal my heart one day, whoever that might be, they would have a very angry Mordred bothering them.
Mordred crossed her arms, her crimson eyes narrowing as she took a step closer. “I still say you should just toss him out of the city, let him fend for himself. If he can’t even stand without his hammer, he doesn’t deserve your concern, Father.”
Galahad’s grip on his shield tightened, but he said nothing, his posture remaining rigid, his gaze fixed firmly ahead. It was a silent, stubborn gesture I had come to recognize, a sign that he had chosen to ignore the bait, to remain above the petty squabbles that so often flared between my knights.
“Thor is a guest,” I reminded her gently, my tone firm but not unkind. “And while I understand your frustrations, I will not see him cast out in his hour of need.”
Mordred scowled, her armored fingers curling into tight fists at her sides, the metal of her gauntlets creaking faintly. “He’s weak, Father. Pathetic. Why waste your time on someone like that? He’s a disgrace to the title of a god.”
I sighed, my gaze drifting back to the distant horizon, the vast, gleaming white walls of Camelot stretching out beneath me. “Perhaps. But even the strongest among us have moments of weakness, Mordred. And it is in those moments that we must prove our worth, not by casting others aside, but by lifting them up.”
A quiet, measured voice cut through the tension, its tone calm yet carrying a weight of melancholy that seemed to settle over the room like a shroud.
“Perhaps I should be the one to speak with him,” Sir Tristan said, stepping forward from the shadowed archway behind them. His long, dark hair framed his somber face, his armor a muted gray that seemed to drink in the light rather than reflect it. “I know something of despair, of losing one’s purpose. Perhaps I can reach him.”
Mordred snorted, her crimson eyes narrowing as she shot him a sharp, dismissive glance. “You, Tristan? What good will your sad songs and long laments do? He needs a swift kick to remind him of who he is, not some mournful ballad.”
Tristan’s eyes flicked to her, his expression calm, unbothered by her sharp words. “Perhaps,” he replied, his tone as steady as ever, his voice carrying a note of quiet resignation.
“But even the proudest warriors have moments of doubt, of grief. And if what I have heard is true, Thor is a man who has lost everything — his power, his family, his honor. He has been cast down from the heights of the divine to the depths of mortal weakness. That is not a wound that can be healed with steel and fire.”
Mordred opened her mouth to argue, but I held up a hand, cutting her off before she could escalate things further. “Tristan has a point,” I said, my tone firm but understanding. “Thor’s wounds are not of the flesh, but of the heart and soul. He needs more than a sparring partner. For now at least.”
I knew that Mordred wasn’t wrong, Thor could recover by being put in a hard situation, a battle, not for glory, but for others.
Still, I did think it was better to have Tristan handle it, get him motivated again, and if it proved impossible, I would have to reveal Loki’s lie. But not for now.
“Very well, Tristan, you handle this, get some life back into him, and once he is back on his feet, I can’t see why you can’t show him the strength of Camelot, Sir Mordred, but patience,” I commanded, my voice loud enough for all of them to hear it, be it Galahad right behind me, or Agravain standing all the way in the shadow of the entrance.
…
It turned out that Tristan was the right man for the job. I didn’t bother listening in, but not long after, they had their talk. Thor returned to life, he sought out something to do. He got himself a job.
Likely the first he ever had, and it wasn’t like he was doing much. Just carrying garbage, though it wasn’t as much carrying it as it was pushing a cart.
Camelot was a vast and glorious city, made by the fae on Merlin’s request, to be the crowning jewel of my kingdom, the closest place in the mortal realm to Avalon.
This version was even better than the original; it was the great white city of dreams. Streets as flat and smooth as a mirror, walls clean and strong. Gleaming towers, waving banners, and beauty beyond the mortal realm.
Back then, most cities were… small and filthy. The smell was beyond bad. There was filth everywhere. And Camelot had to be different, a shining gem of the ages. A city belonging not to the age of man, but clinging to the age of gods.
Yet, humans created trash, filth, and plenty of it… so how to deal with it.
When I remade Camelot, I couldn’t help but think about the city made by Morgan, the high queen of fairy Britain, the sixth Lostbelt. There, she made her capital next to a bottomless pit.
There, it housed an evil god’s corpse, and all the fairies used it to dump their trash. It was the trash pit of the entire world. Slowly trying to bury the evil god.
And so, now my own Camelot held its own great pit of trash, a magical bottomless hole to house all the trash and filth of Camelot.
And now Thor, once god of thunder, prince of Asgard, son of Odin and heir to the Nine Realms, dragged human trash through the city and dumped it into the bit.
Truly, there was no better way to teach him of the humble mortal life.
Honestly, I hadn’t even done anything to make that happen. I would have ensured he got a more dignified job, but he decided on his own that he would do that.
Yeah… the guy is a bit of an idiot.
(end of chapter)
In the movie, Thor didn’t have a lot of time with the lie of him killing Odin before he was told the truth, but since Heimdall isn’t willing to send Sif and the others to Earth, then he won’t learn the truth, so here he is struggling with the lie far more.
And given that he has plenty of access to cheap ale, he is naturally gonna take that route of dealing with it.
But that won’t be good for anyone. Arthuria still wants him restored to his full power, but she isn’t in a hurry, given that while he is in Camelot, she can build a better relationship with him, and therefore with Asgard.
And, finally, I got around to explaining that big pit I mentioned way back when the Red Room kids moved in. I have been planning on getting back to them for a while, but it just hasn’t happened yet.
Comments
Atzin
You forgot capter 139
TheRiot124
Where chapter 129?
