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Chapter Text

Jaune Arc groaned as he became aware of the light seeping in through the cracks between his eyelids, and twisted away from it even as he tried waving his hand in its general direction, hoping to get back to the comfort of slumber for a few more minutes.

The movement generated a dull ache in his sore arms, and idly a small part of him wondered why he had apparently decided to have a practice spar with Pyrrha after going through one of Nora Valkyrie's special workouts.

It was the only reason his bleary mind could think of to explain why his body felt like a herd of Goliaths had used it as a dance floor during a particularly lively rave, but at the same time it just didn't add up.

After all, why would he ever willingly undergo that experience again, especially when yesterday had been the day of the Vytal Festival Grand Finals, and Pyrrha and Penny had been-

The slight breeze gently caressing him suddenly felt chilling, as disorganized memories from the previous day began flashing through his mind.

The Vytal Festival!

Penny!

The White Fang!

Grimm!

Atlas's robots!

Ozpin!

That fire witch and the Grimm Dragon...

Pyrrha...

Ruby...

Jaune ignored his body's protests as his eyes burst open, and his torso shot up off of the ground as his mind began rapidly piecing together what it could.

The White Fang had attacked Amity Colosseum just as Pyrrha had (for some reason) torn Penny to shreds (and revealed that she was a robot, but that really hadn't mattered considering the events of the day), and hijacked Bullheads carrying Grimm had begun landing throughout Vale and Amity even as the Atlesian Knights (there ostensibly to provide security) had suddenly turned on them, and Atlas's Navy had torn itself apart.

And then, in all the chaos around them, Headmaster Ozpin had suddenly called Pyrrha away.

He'd snuck away to follow them, worried about his partner's recent uncharacteristic behaviour, to find some pods under the school, one of which had been occupied by a comatose lady.

He hadn't been able to learn just what was going on, or who she was, before she'd been unceremoniously killed by a sudden glass arrow to the chest.

And then...

His eyes began watering, as he recalled the final events of the night.

Ozpin had stayed behind to hold the intruder off, while they'd tried to escape.

They'd made it out just in time to see the intruder flying up the elevator shaft of Beacon's Clock Tower, unopposed by their Headmaster.

After that, as the Grimm Dragon had joined the intruder at the top of the tower, he'd sent his partner away to get help (and for her safety; she may have been some big-shot champion, but that woman had taken down the Headmaster) while he'd stayed behind to delay her (between her flying powers, ability to defeat Ozpin, and seemingly-obedient Grimm Dragon... he couldn't let her get to the evacuation Bullheads. Also, Ozpin had said something about making sure the tower didn't fall, but he didn't really understand that).

That... had gone as well as could have been expected, but he'd managed to survive long enough for Pyrrha to show up with Ruby and Weiss.

And then...

Jaune's breath hitched in his throat, and he began frantically running his hands up and down his torso even as he gave himself a quick once-over.

His eyes and fingers didn't lie.

The jagged holes punched through his bloodied breastplate spoke for themselves.

Towards the end, the witch had sent a wave of glass shards flying throughout the room.

Ruby had been too distracted (by him, no less!) to notice until it had been too late.

But he hadn't.

His body had moved instinctively, and before he knew it he was on the ground in front of Ruby, his worn-down Aura finally shattered, leaving his unprotected body to absorb the full force of the attack.

The last thing he remembered was his partner calling out his name while his first friend in Beacon stared at his prone form in horror, all while he'd tried to get up, to reassure them that it was alright, that he was fine, before a silver light had suddenly flooded his vision.

...

Had... had he...?

Sucking in a deep breath, he pressed a trembling finger through the largest hole in his armor, before almost collapsing in relief as he felt not a bloody wound, but his still-intact chest.

He knew he'd been hurt badly, but by the look (or the feel, if he wanted to make his fellow blonde in Team RWBY laugh while everybody else groaned) of things, he'd survived long enough for his Aura to recover and heal him.

Which probably meant that his friends had either won that fight, or at least managed to get him away from it.

... he honestly found the latter option the most likely; his friends were strong, sure, but whoever their enemy was, she'd killed Ozpin!

And that was before she'd gotten a pet Grimm Dragon!

Jaune paused for a moment, as his thoughts turned to Beacon's eccentric Headmaster.

He hadn't really known him well, not like Ruby or Pyrrha probably had (his friends having been scouted by him personally and all), but Ozpin had always seemed like a wise and reliable man, young enough at heart to understand his students while also being old and experienced enough to properly guide and advise them.

It was... difficult, to imagine Beacon as he'd been through it, without Ozpin.

The old man had definitely deserved better.

Jaune closed his eyes for a moment, before shaking his head to clear his thoughts.

No matter what he felt...

... especially after what had just happened throughout the Kingdom...

...

... he had to be strong, if only for his friends and his team.

They needed him to be there for them; he couldn't let himself fall apart while there were still pieces to pick up, and rebuilding to be done.

He would not let them down again.

And hey, that was what heroes were supposed to be, right? Strong, stalwart, and dependable?

...

... he really had his work cut out for him, didn't he?

Even Pyrrha would find it difficult to apply any of those to him (though he knew his partner would still try, Oum bless the best partner he could have ever asked for)!

... well, just like his transcripts, he'd just have to fake it, and hope he eventually figured out how to make it somewhere down the line...

Taking another deep breath, he slowly exhaled, before opening his eyes and taking his first good look at his surroundings.

Instead of sterile walls and bright lights (or even the thin fabric of a tent), he found himself staring at a bright blue sky, and a forest full of tall and thick trees.

Jaune blinked.

This... wasn't a hospital.

...

In fact, this wasn't even Beacon at all.

...

... where was he?

The Emerald Forest?

No, if it were he should have been able to spot Beacon in the distance...

And all he saw around him was forest.

And where was everyone, anyway?

"... Pyr?" Jaune softly called out even as he quickly pushed himself off the ground and reached for his weapon (remembering Beacon's survival rules that Glynda Goodwitch had drilled into him). "Ruby? Ren? Nora?"

A complete lack of any response greeted him, as did a lack of a sword when he grabbed his shield-sheath.

Jaune blinked, and looked back down at the empty sheath, before remembering how that last fight had gone.

...

No friends, no sword, no Scroll, and absolutely no idea where he was.

...

Jaune couldn't help but quietly gulp as he found himself hoping that wherever he was wasn't swarming with Grimm.

-ROYAL STABLES, CAMELOT, AT ROUGHLY THE SAME TIME-

Mordred quietly hummed to herself behind her helmet even as she enthusiastically loaded supplies onto the saddle bags of her horse, and mentally ran through the details of her plan once again.

Sure, getting sent to Camelot and being made a Knight of the Round Table... having her abilities acknowledged by the Perfect King... was the best thing to have ever happened to her (if only because she was finally free from that bitch that she was forced to call "mother")...

But life in Camelot... wasn't as simple as she'd expected.

The other Knights didn't magically respect her, just because she was a fellow member of the Round Table.

The servants and guards in the castle still gave her a wide berth when she passed, and whispered in her wake.

She didn't magically make new friendships, gain new companions.

Not that she cared, of course; she just wanted to serve the King, and even her current situation was leagues ahead of anything she'd ever experienced.

And she most definitely was not envious, seeing the way her older siblings were treated compared to her!

Especially Gareth, who didn't even have to hide her face!

She was twice the fighter Gareth would ever be, and yet Gareth already had a seat number despite still being Lancelot's squire!

And the way everyone else seemed to agree that Gareth would someday be the greatest of the Knights of the Round Table...

Hello? She was so awesome she'd skipped even being a squire!

(The fact that this wasn't in any way Gareth's fault was known to (and ignored by) Mordred. Only Agravain knew Mordred was their half-sibling; Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth had been deemed too soft and compassionate by Morgan, and she'd decided to keep them in the dark. In any case, Mordred's blunt attitude hadn't exactly won her any favors to begin with.)

Of course, it wasn't like she cared about receiving respect from the others.

Of course, it wasn't like she needed approval from the others.

Of course, it wasn't like she wanted to be treated like how the others treated her older siblings.

Oh, no.

She was merely gearing up and preparing to ride to Snowdonia because she'd overheard Sir Bors and Sir Percival discussing how the Addanc that the King had dragged out of Llyn Barfog was preying on unwary travelers once more, and she wanted to be of service to the Perfect King of Knights!

... and if she managed to earn a merit and impress the others with this (just like in the picture books she'd grown up with), well, that would just be a totally-unfortunate-and-unintended side effect, now wouldn't it?

"Sir Mordred?"

A sudden voice from behind her almost made her jump, and she turned around to find Agravain studying her with stern eyes.

"Don't sneak up on me like that, Agravain!" Mordred complained, pouting at her half-brother under her helmet.

Agravain fought the urge to roll his eyes, knowing his youngest sibling well enough to make an educated guess as to her expression under her helmet (Morgan had sent him regular reports about Mordred, having intended for him to be Mordred's handler for her usual treacherous schemes), and instead decided to save his breath and cut to the chase: "What are you doing, Mordred?"

"What does it look like, Agravain?" Mordred didn't bother hiding the bitter sarcasm in her voice, not having forgiven Agravain yet.

"It looks like you're preparing for a trip... despite what was discussed in the previous meeting." Agravain drily observed, before his eyes narrowed. "Mordred..."

"It'll be fine!" Mordred quickly reassured Agravain, not wanting to admit that she may not have been paying attention during the meeting (since it had been Lancelot speaking, and not King Arthur).

"Mordred..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"It'll just be a short trip to Snowdonia and back!" Mordred pressed on. "No one will even notice that I'm gone!"

"That's not the-" Agravain began, before his mind processed her destination, and recalled one of the more recent reports he'd received about it. "Wait, is this about that water demon?!"

Mordred began slowly backing up towards her horse even as she quickly explained: "Yeah... you know... dealing with monsters and protecting the people are what knights are supposed to do, right?"

"What knights are supposed to- is this about what Sir Lancelot said?!" Agravain groaned, as he finally put two and two together, and it was with a deep and quiet sigh that he tried to talk her out of it: "Mordred..."

Unfortunately for him, while he'd been speaking, Mordred had managed to grab the reins of her horse, and it was with a swift and fluid motion that she leapt up, pulling herself onto her horse, even as she shouted a command at the warhorse, who immediately began galloping out of the stables (and forcing Agravain to dive out of the way lest he be trampled).

"Don't worry, Agravain!" Mordred's voice sailed back as her figure disappeared over the horizon. "I'll be back before you know it!"

"DAMN IT, MORDRED!"

Chapter Text

A trail of smoke slowly rose up towards the sky, and the smell of burning flesh filled the air, catching his attention.

Immediately, Jaune turned back down, and quickly yanked the skewers of fish from the fire, before cursing as he inspected his meal, and assessed the damages.

Damn it...

Four hours of work down the drain, just because he'd started thinking about his situation, and taken his eyes off of his cooking.

Then again, he doubted anyone would have really blamed him.

It had been approximately two and a half days (give or take a few hours; he was only keeping track of time by looking at the sun) since he'd woken up in this forest, and he hadn't really had a moment to properly relax until just then.

The first few hours of his arrival had been spent cautiously studying his immediately surroundings, making sure there weren't any Grimm that were about to kill him, before he'd come to a surprising conclusion.

For some reason, as far as he could tell, the massive stretch of land he'd woken up on hadn't had any Grimm on it.

Not that he was complaining, of course, but seeing as how Grimm infested well-over three quarters of the planet, and most of the Kingdom of Vale...

Regardless, with his immediately safety secured, he'd turned his attention to his next pressing concerns - shelter, water, and food.

Fortunately, between his camping experience, Beacon's training and field trips, and Lie Ren's lessons, he'd managed to secure the first two before the first day had ended.

Unfortunately, however, food had been a bit of an issue.

Despite his passable survival skills (he'd gotten a C+ from Glynda Goodwitch), he hadn't been able to identify any of the plants around him, to say nothing of finding anything he knew was definitely edible.

Sure, he'd been taught a few tricks for testing if something was poisonous, but just because it wouldn't kill him (did Aura protect him from food poisoning? He honestly didn't know...) didn't mean he could actually digest it.

He'd finally lucked out earlier that day, though, and come across a sizeable lake near his makeshift shelter.

Better yet, he'd spotted both fish swimming idly within it, and tracks in the dirt near the edge of the water.

Source of food - found, though not secured.

Immediately, he'd worked to rectify that, breaking off a few nearby branches and sharpening them with the edge of his shield, before setting a few simple traps (he made sure to carve a simplified danger symbol next to it, of course; while he hadn't run into anybody yet, he knew his friends would have . It would have been just embarrassing if he ended up accidentally injuring any would-be rescuers...) and trying his luck spearfishing.

He'd never caught anything when he'd been on those family camping trips all those years ago, but as it turned out Aura-enhanced strength, speed, and reflexes, as well as a few semesters at Beacon, more than made up for it.

...

Jaune let loose a forlorn sigh, and shook his head.

No matter how good his intentions had been, no matter how much he'd gained since he'd come to Beacon...

It didn't change what he'd done to his family.

... well, at least they didn't know he'd gone to Beacon (since, if they had, they'd have probably already shown up to drag him back).

He didn't even want to begin to imagine their faces if they found out he was involved in the White Fang attack on Amity Colosseum...

Sighing again, Jaune turned to his piece of charred fish and took a tentative bite, before pulling a face.

Well... at least it was edible...

... to use the term loosely...

...

As he forced the filleted fish down his throat, he quietly swore to begin experimenting with the local flora, in hopes of finding something to improve the taste of his meals.

After all, it wasn't like he had much else to do, honestly.

...

Okay, that technically wasn't accurate.

Even if he wasn't going to be busy just surviving, he'd still be keeping up with his daily drills and training, as well as looking for a way out of there.

But hey, at least this way he had a hobby... something to keep him sane and grounded...

... to keep him from worrying about his friends, about Beacon, while he was stuck here...

Jaune shook his head for a third time and tossed his empty skewer onto the fire.

Logically, he knew he was the weakest student in the history of Beacon, to say nothing of his friends and teammates...

But at the same time...

As the leader of Team JNPR, and as a friend of Team RWBY (mostly Ruby), he still couldn't help but worry about them, especially whenever he remembered the absolute chaos that had been the attack at the floating arena...

No, no use dwelling on it now.

He had to stay focused.

They could take care of themselves.

Grabbing his sheath and a sharpened stick, Jaune decided to clear his head by jogging back down to the lake, both to check on his traps and to get some simple training in.

-TWO MILES AWAY, ROUGHLY THE SAME TIME-

Mordred quietly swallowed a gulp, as she looked between her broken sword and the beast from the lake, and for the first time in her short life wondered if maybe, just maybe, she'd bitten off more than she could chew.

And it had all been going so well, too...

She'd made it to Snowdonia in record time, and after a few pointed questions and showing off of the sword she'd been given when she'd joined the Round Table, she'd been pointed in the direction of Llyn Cwmffynnon, a small lake within a quiet forest.

Even when she'd managed to make it to the lake, and successfully called forth the furred crocodilian demon from the depths of the lake King Arthur had dragged it to, she'd still been confident.

After all, King Arthur had subdued the beast before he'd even become a King, and the Perfect King of Knights had acknowledged her swordsmanship!

And then her sword had simply slid off the creatures thick hide upon her first swing, unable to find purchase, before the creature had countered by swinging its massive and girthy tail at her, shattering her blade as she'd made to block the blow.

To her credit, Mordred didn't simply stare at the blade with dumb shock; her "mother" had trained her too well for that.

But even as her body moved instinctively, jumping back to create some distance, her mind was filled with mortification.

That sword... the symbol of her station... the blade the Perfect King had given her to signify her swordsmanship...

An odd wet sound filled the air, and her conscious mind turned back to her foe to find it warbling with sadistic laughter at her.

That... that...

The fucking bastard was mocking her!

Gritting her teeth under her helmet, she clenched her fist tightly around the hilt of her broken sword even as she snapped out of it, and swore she'd make the monster pay for the perceived slight.

As the Addanc lunged forward, she roared defiantly, and deftly ducked under a swipe of its claws before throwing a punch at the tree-like appendage.

A smirk worked its way up her face as her actions elicited a hiss of pain from it.

She could hurt it!

And that meant she could (probably) kill it!

As she dodged another swipe of its claws, however, its thick tail suddenly came at her from the side, smashing her left arm and knocking her into a nearby tree.

Picking herself up and easily dodging the follow-up attack before it took her head off, she quickly spared a glance at her left arm, and fought down a wince as she saw the twisted and mangled metal.

If this had been a test from Mother, she'd have probably been beaten half to death and starved for a week (at least) for the sheer sloppiness she'd just displayed.

Suppressing a shudder at the thought, she quickly ripped off the metal biting into her swollen arm, and ignored the pain in favor of glaring back at the Addanc, and taking up her stance once more.

And then a voice suddenly cut in, interrupting the tense stand-off between her and the water demon.

"Hello, is somebody- holy crap, what the-"

Immediately she turned towards the source of the voice, and found a tall blonde man in a ragged breastplate burst out of the forest behind the Addanc.

Mordred couldn't help but curse mentally as soon as she saw the new arrival.

Sure, she may have held a mixture of envy and disdain for the common folk, but as a Knight it was her duty to protect them (they were subjects of the King, after all).

And yet, she'd already been having a hard-enough time fighting off the Addanc! How was she supposed to beat it if she also had to babysit a beat-up... was that a wooden stick in his hand?!

... oh, Lord, this was not going to end well, was it?

While Mordred had been cursing her luck and trying to desperately think of a way to turn things around, however, the Addanc narrowed its eyes at the newcomer. Even though its new prey seemed weak, there was something about it that seemed... different.

Off, somehow.

Deciding that the unknown newcomer was a bigger potential threat than the disarmed knight before it, it roared and galloped towards it, its tail helping to counter-balance its weight.

"Look out!" Mordred shouted in concern, even as she began sprinting towards the surprised man, who let out a yelp of shock.

Unfortunately, the monster had a head start over her, and she swore mentally even as she saw the man in ragged armor take a step back, and clumsily get into an amateur guard position with his sheath and his stick as the demon bore down on him...

And then the sheath suddenly transformed into a sturdy shield on the man's arm before her very eyes, and the man braced his legs as the Addanc's head slammed down upon him.

Suddenly, a blinding white light erupted from the pair, followed by a loud booming sound.

Mordred slowly blinked the spots out of her vision and turned back to the Addanc and the newcomer, before her squinted eyes widened under her helmet.

The ground under the point of impact had been cracked.

The trees in the immediate vicinity had been flattened.

And yet, where there should have been little more than a crushed and mangled corpse...

The ragged man still stood, glowing brightly, resolutely withstanding the weight of the Addanc.

Jaune Arc, for his part, felt his heart going a mile a minute as he peeked past his shield and stared at the beaver-crocodile Grimm that had suddenly tried to (and still was trying to) crush him.

How on Remnant had he missed something like this?

What even was this Grimm? He hadn't heard about anything like it!

Even as his mind raced, however, his muscle memory kicked in.

There was a threat that was being blocked by his shield.

Automatically, he ducked forward, and swung his weapon upwards in a wide arc at the creature's exposed neck, channeling all the Aura he could into it.

The creature roared in pain, as Jaune realized his mistake.

Instead of having the family sword in his hand, he simply had a sharpened wooden stick.

Idiot!

He should have stabbed instead of slashed!

Jaune immediately jumped back as a tree trunk-like-appendage came down on the spot where he'd been, before an armored figure suddenly leapt in from the side, and delivered a punch with a satisfyingly brutal-sounding "crunch".

He didn't have time to thank his apparent ally, as even the cursory glance he spared the armored figure showed just how dire their situation was.

Indeed, the both of them were basically unarmed, and he didn't want to see whether their Aura levels would outlast this massive Grimm.

Instead, as his eyes caught sight of one of the traps he'd set up at the lake just a few hours earlier, his mind began to race.

"Psst, hey!" Jaune hissed at the armored Huntsman next to him, even as they raised two arms in a simple brawler's stance.

"What?!" The impatient voice that came out was gruff and distorted, and Jaune couldn't tell if it was male or female.

Then again, it wasn't like that mattered in that situation.

"Follow me!" Jaune shouted, as he jerked his head towards the marked tree.

"O-oi! Are you planning on running away?!" Mordred's hissed back in disbelief, keeping an eye on the Addanc as it thrashed around in pain. "No Knight of the Round Table would ever back down from such a danger to the realm!"

Jaune could honestly say he had no idea what any of those things they'd mentioned were, but he knew better than to argue. Instead, he quickly explained: "Trust me! I have a plan!"

Mordred could safely say she didn't trust the man next to her.

Sure, it was pretty amazing that he'd taken a hit from the Addanc without so much as a scratch, and the fact that he'd then smacked it with a stick (that somehow hadn't broken) was definitely amusing, but Mother had raised her to be paranoid (often by example).

Also, she didn't even know who the guy was, while she was a Knight of the Round Table, one of King Arthur's finest!

But the fact was, her sword was broken, and she had an innocent to protect (and he had helped her...), and a demon to slay.

As the Addanc shook off the pain and turned a hateful glare at them, she made a decision.

Ignoring every instinct in her body, she turned to the young man next to her, and nodded slightly.

Jaune let loose a sigh of relief, before sprinting towards the marked tree, with the armored Huntsman and the beaver-crocodile Grimm right behind him.

Seconds ticked by, with the monster slowly gaining ground on the huntsman and the homunculus, before he finally reached the spot he'd remembered.

"Alright, stop here." Jaune whispered, coming to an abrupt stop as he pretended to pant heavily.

"Hey... are you alright?" Mordred hissed back at him, as she halted next to him, eyeing the Addanc warily as she prepared to drag him off of the road. "What about your plan?"

"This is part of the plan." Jaune answered quietly, looking urgently at the monster as it burst forward, seeing that its quarry was exhausted.

There would be no more playing around; it did not know how the weird human had withstood its weight, but next time it would simply crush it between its powerful jaws!

And then the ground suddenly gave way under one of its legs.

The sharpened stick at the bottom of the trapping pit Jaune had dug to catch deer shattered into splinters against its weight, as the Addanc realized what had just happened.

But in that brief moment, it had been distracted by the sudden fall.

And Jaune didn't miss his chance.

Even as its head fell down, Jaune lunged forward, and thrust his spear at its neck.

Between gravity, his Aura-enhanced strength, and his Aura reinforcing his makeshift spear, he managed to successfully stab the beast, driving the tip of the wood into its neck even as he shouted: "NOW!"

Mordred eagerly charged forward, driving the jagged edges of her broken sword into the wound, bypassing its thick hide.

Jaune had just enough time to register that the Grimm was bleeding (since when did Grimm bleed?) before the armored Huntsman roared in furious triumph, and began hacking away at the wound with all the strength her adrenaline-fueled inhuman form could muster.

Which was a lot.

Jaune could only stare dumbly in confusion as fluids and more... solid bits, began to rain down all around him, occasionally smacking him in the face.

Had... had the creature they'd fought not been a Grimm?

It was definitely dead by now (or so he hoped), but it wasn't dissolving away, and he was pretty sure that was blood...

Mordred delivered a final blow, before jumping off of the Addanc with a satisfied sigh, and taking a moment to admire her handiwork.

Then, it set in.

She'd done it.

She'd slain the Addanc.

Pride and elation swelled within her heart.

God, she could only imagine the looks on their faces when she announced her triumph!

And look at the size of the demon!

Even Gawain and Lancelot would have had a hard time with this thing!

And of course, as any true Knight was, she would be magnanimous in her triumph.

Cheerfully turning to the man next to her, she carelessly slugged him on the shoulder even as she expressed her gratitude: "Good plan-"

Unfortunately for her, between the smell of blood and gore and rotting flesh and stagnant water that had emerged from the Addanc's corpse, and vibrations caused by the impact of Mordred's superhuman strength, Jaune's stomach couldn't take it anymore, and he violently threw up on her shiny armored boots.

Chapter Text

"I am so, so, so sorry!" Jaune wailed in mortification for the umpteenth time, even as he furiously scrubbed at the stained boot with an oversized leaf.

"Hmph." Mordred merely growled in response, quietly reminding herself that noble Knights were supposed to be magnanimous and forgiving.

She knew some in Camelot called her a third-rate knight; she wasn't going to prove them right by lashing out.

And they had slain the Addanc together...

Sighing, she finally turned to him, and deigned a response: "Well... at least it can't be worst than Addanc guts..."

Jaune mentally breathed a sigh of relief at the unknown Huntsman's words, and mentally filed away the information that the creature (that probably wasn't a Grimm) was called an "Addanc", if only so he could look it up once they'd returned.

"Anyway, Vomit Guy..."

Hey, she may have been magnanimous and forgiving, but that didn't mean she was going to just forget about it.

Jaune couldn't help the groan that escaped his mouth, and he looked up from the armored boot to pout at the still-covered Huntsman.

Mordred simply snickered under helmet, not feeling the least bit intimidated by the young man as she continued on: "What were you even doing in this forest, and why do you look like you ran into a Saxon raiding party? What was with the light show earlier? And how'd you withstand the Addanc's blows like that?"

Jaune opened his mouth to answer, before blinking as his mind processed the words he'd just heard.

What kind of questions were those?

What was a Saxon raiding party?

As he tried to think about what he'd been asked, his gaze fell upon the Huntsman's exposed slender left arm, still bruised and covered in gashes.

A nagging sense of unease began to tickle Jaune's mind, but he shrugged it off in favor of concernedly asking the Huntsman: "Um, aren't you going to take care of that?"

"Ah, this?" Mordred looked back at her left arm. "Don't worry about it; I left a few salves on my horse."

Salves?

Horse?

Jaune shook his head, and tried to clarify: "No, I meant... with your Aura?"

"Huh?" This time, it was Mordred's turn to blink in confusion. "My... what?"

A sense of uneasy familiarity filled Jaune, but he repeated himself: "You know... Aura?"

Mordred studied the young man and wondered if he was just messing with her or if it was something she should know about.

He just seemed so earnest and genuinely confused, however, that after a moment she settled on the latter, and haughtily scoffed: "Psch. Of course I know Aura. Do you know Aura?"

Jaune's eye twitched.

The person in front of him definitely had no idea what Aura was.

Which meant...

"Wait, you're not a Huntsman?" Jaune yelped in shocked realization.

"A huntsman?" Mordred echoed incredulously, before her eyes narrowed. "Of course I'm not just a simple huntsman!"

Jaune couldn't believe his ears. The not-Huntsman in front of him, who'd hit the creature at least as hard as Ruby's sister... hadn't even had Aura?!

And what did they mean, a "simple huntsman"?!

Ignoring the confusion on his face, Mordred continued on in an prideful tone: "I am Sir Mordred, a full-fledged Knight of the Round Table! Loyal servant of the King and his Kingdom!"

Knight?

Round Table?

Jaune could feel his confusion only increasing as he heard more words he didn't understand, and so he desperately seized on to the terms he did: "Wait, what Kingdom are we in?"

"You... don't even know where you are?" Mordred raised an eyebrow suspiciously, and even though Jaune couldn't see it under his helmet he could certainly feel it burning a hole in him.

"Not a clue." Jaune shook his head frantically. "I just woke up here about three days ago, and I've been trying to get out of this forest ever since! Anyway, what Kingdom are we in? Mistral? Vacuo? Atlas? Menagerie?"

"... what kind of Kingdoms are those?" Mordred cocked her head in confusion, before shaking it. "This is the Kingdom of Logres, in the land of England."

"... England?" Jaune blinked, as his mind began to race (he was by no means a good student in Beacon, but even he knew basic geography).

Judging by the fact he wasn't in a frozen wasteland, he doubted he was anywhere near Solitas.

Was he near Anima then? Sanus?

But when he'd looked up at the full moon, it had been so distant! Typically, when one looked at the moon in Sanus or Anima, the moon was close enough that one could see the cracked fragments!

Maybe... he'd been blown away to another Kingdom?

One that didn't appear on any maps that he knew of... and that apparently didn't have any Grimm, or any concept of Aura?

Was there even a place on Remnant that didn't have Grimm?

Before Jaune could give himself a headache trying to figure out exactly what his situation was, Mordred impatiently cut in: "Hey, now it's your turn!"

"Huh?" Jaune blinked as his attention was brought back to the mysterious armored Knight in front of him.

"I told you my name, so who are you?" Mordred forcefully pressed. "Where are you from? What were you doing before you woke up here? And what's Au- I mean, what do you know about Aura?"

"..." Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose, and held up a hand to stall any further questions as he tried to figure out how to answer Sir Mordred. Fortunately, between his seven sisters, Ruby, and Nora, he was more than used to dealing with rapid-fire questioning, and it only took him a few moments to finally answer: "Okay, in order... I'm Jaune Arc... of, uh... Beacon, I guess-"

"You guess?" Mordred's eyebrow rose again.

"It's... complicated..." Jaune looked away, unwilling to explain his hesitance. "Anyway, I was training to be a Huntsman, but then we were attacked, and..."

And then I got stomped on by a dragon before getting shot in the chest by a fire witch.

Even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

Then again, they had fought that "Addanc" thing...

"Um..." Jaune tentatively continued, as Mordred began expectantly drumming her fingers on the log she was sitting on. "Well... have you ever heard of dragons?"

"Of course I have-" Mordred scoffed dismissively, before doing an incredulous double-take. "What, are you saying you fought a dragon?"

"Well... "fought" is such a strong word..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "More like I distracted it long enough for my friends to come and help me..."

"Okay, I can believe that much..." Mordred conceded, giving Jaune another once over even as she recalled how the man in front of her had withstood a blow from the Addanc. Certainly, judging by the sad state his breastplate was in, she could believe he'd been in a great and terrible battle...

... but at the same time...

"How come you don't even have a scratch on you?" Mordred's eyes narrowed as she pointed out the obvious inconsistency in his story.

Sure, she was inclined to give him the benefit of the doubt, since he'd helped her with the Addanc, but at the same time her mother had drilled it into her just what kind of people existed in the world. It wasn't out of the realm of possibility that he'd just found a ruined breastplate and made up that story about fighting a dragon, and considering she hadn't heard about any of the Kingdoms he'd mentioned, or a placed called "Beacon", or...

"Aura." Jaune simply replied, as if that explained everything. "It's... well... Pyr, my partner... she told me it was supposed to be the manifestation of our souls or something. I... don't really know how it works, but it heals us, shields us, and we can channel it into other things, too. It's something that all Huntsmen are supposed to have-"

"Okay, now I know you're shitting me." Mordred rolled her eyes from behind her helmet. She hadn't heard about anything like that from Mother (or while she'd been Camelot), and now he was saying it was something that all hunters supposedly had?

"..." For a moment, Jaune couldn't help but recall his time in an unfamiliar forest with an armored badass he'd just met.

... how had Pyrrha convinced him again?

... right, he'd simply deferred to her clearly-superior experience and skill after she'd saved him from that tree he'd gotten stuck in.

Something told him that probably wasn't going to fly with Sir Mordred here.

And then she'd unlocked his Aura...

... yeah, that wasn't going to work either.

To put it bluntly, he had absolutely no idea how to actually unlock someone else's Aura.

... maybe if he just used it in front of Sir Mordred?

As Jaune quietly wondered how best to demonstrate Aura (besides the obvious answer of telling the Knight, who could punch harder than Ruby's sister, to hit him as hard as he could), his gaze once again fell upon his injured arm.

Hmmm...

He hadn't really ever thought about it, since everyone in Beacon had Aura, but what would happen if he channeled his Aura into an injured person?

After all, Aura could be channeled into basically anything, right?

(The Beacon Food Fight had become an infamous legend amongst the students from the other schools, as even Professor Goodwitch's Semblance hadn't been able to repair the holes in the floor caused by the leeks Ren had thrown at Yang, or the hole in the ceiling caused by Yang after Nora had smashed her with a watermelon...)

"What if I could prove it?" Jaune challenged, raising an empty hand slowly.

"Oh?" Mordred raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "You intend on proving that you can... manifest your soul in such a way that it can heal and protect you?"

"... yeah, I guess it does sound kind of far-fetched..." Jaune conceded, though he didn't lower his hand. "But I'd like to try something. Could I see your arm for a bit?"

"What are you planning on doing?" Mordred inquired apprehensively, even as she watched Jaune's hand slowly lower towards her injured arm.

"I'm going to try and channel my Aura into your arm." Jaune explained, before grudgingly admitting: "I... don't know how well this will work, though, so if it doesn't you could always try just hitting me?"

"Wait, what?" Mordred blinked, wondering if her ears had failed her for a moment.

And then, just as his hand gently brushed against her exposed skin, Jaune suddenly began to glow, a brilliant blindingly-bright light that caused Mordred to flinch away and shield her eyes.

Before she could wonder if she'd been intentionally blinded, however, a gentle comforting warmth began to radiate from the point of contact between them, and she couldn't help but subconsciously relax for a moment as it enveloped her.

Then, just as her conscious mind registered the sensations running through her (and she instinctively stiffened in response), the warmth and light faded, leaving behind just a regular-looking Jaune looking at her triumphantly.

"Wha-" Mordred stuttered for a moment as she struggled to find her voice.

"So, do you believe me now?" Jaune asked innocently.

"What the hell was that?!" Mordred demanded as she finally found her voice, before shaking her head and folding her arms. "And what does a light show prove?!"

"Well, your arm's all fixed..." Jaune pointed out.

"..." Mordred blinked again, and looked down at her injured arm to find it bearing no trace of her earlier battle,.

She hadn't even noticed that the pain had faded away, having been so used to simply blocking out pain signals.

"But... how...?" Mordred tested it incredulously, flexing her fingers and gingerly prodding the formerly-bruised spots.

Nope, it was as if it hadn't ever even been touched!

Not even the foul-tasting concoctions Mother forced down her throat during her childhood were that effective!

"Like I said... Aura." Jaune declared, deciding to temporarily forget that he'd admitted he hadn't known that that would happen. "Heals us, shields us, and can be channeled into other things. So, do you believe me now?"

"..." Mordred could only nod dumbly even as she reflected that, if he'd been telling the truth about Aura, then he'd probably been telling the truth about everything else.

Then a thought struck her, and she immediately demanded: "Hey, teach me how to do that Aura thing too!"

"... pardon?" Jaune blinked.

"Help me get Aura too." Mordred repeated simply. "You said it was something all hunters had, right? So it should be easy enough to pass on to others?"

"Uh..." Jaune desperately tried to rack his brains to figure out just where the miscommunication had occurred.

"Come on, Vomit Guy, don't tell me it's some hunter's secret or something!" Mordred pressed on, refusing to give up on the perceived chance to better serve King Arthur. "Think about how much more useful it'll be on a Knight of the Realm, rather than being used to hunt deer and rabbits!'

-ONE BRIEF EXPLANATION LATER-

"... so, let me get this straight, Vomit Guy..." Mordred would have pinched the bridge of her nose, but her helmet prevented her from doing that, and so she instead settled for giving the sheepish-looking "Huntsman-in-Training" behind her a look of utter disbelief. "When you said that all Huntsmen had Aura, you didn't actually mean people that hunt for food, but instead you were referring to some mythical order of warriors that hunt monsters?"

"Uh, yeah, pretty much..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck even as he looked around at his campsite, and made sure he'd gotten everything important.

"Well, why didn't you just say that from the beginning?" Mordred grumbled, feeling embarrassed that she'd even entertained the thought that all the hunters of the land had secret super powers.

"Uh, well... where I come from, everyone knows that Huntsmen and Huntresses are heroes." Jaune explained awkwardly, holding out a skewer of grilled fish as a peace offering even as he shrugged. "I just... didn't think I needed to say it, you know?"

"Yeah, well..." Mordred began to retort even as she accepted the food and raised her visor just high enough to slip the meat into her mouth, before her voice trailed off into unintelligible gibberish as she stuffed her mouth furiously.

Jaune couldn't help but watch in morbid fascination as Sir Mordred all but inhaled the stick, wondering why he kept his helmet on while eating.

"Ah, that hit the spot." Mordred sighed a few seconds later, spitting out the clean stick and lowering her visor once more, before she continued: "Anyway, that kind of sounds like a Knight of the Round Table, now that I think about it..."

"It kind of does, huh?" Jaune mused out loud, as Mordred began to lead them back towards Snowdonia. Unfortunately, his next thoughts were accidentally voiced out loud as well: "... I think I prefer being a Huntsman, though..."

"Hey, being a Knight of the Round Table is the coolest thing ever!" Mordred hotly defended her chosen profession. "We go on cool adventures, fight monsters, help people, and we get to personally work for King Arthur!"

"... you really respect your King, don't you?" Jaune observed simply, deciding to be the mature one and not take the bait (for once).

"Of course I do!" Mordred nodded enthusiastically. "Everybody here loves King Arthur!"

Except for the Saxons and Mother, of course, but that was besides the point.

"He's the Perfect King." Mordred continued gushing, happy to preach about the person she admired the most. "In just the past two decades, King Arthur pushed back the Saxon invaders, slew the White Dragon, and raised the Kingdom of Logres to levels of prosperity not seen since the height of the Empire!"

"I... guess that sounds really impressive?" Jaune offered weakly, unwilling to admit that he had no idea what any of those were.

"I'm sure you'd understand if you saw Camelot." Mordred snorted haughtily, before remembering something. "Hey, you said you were from a Kingdom, right? How was your King? I mean, of course there's no way they could compare to King Arthur, but if your Kingdom was producing Huntsmen then the King had to be doing something right, right?"

"Uh..." Jaune scratched his cheek awkwardly. "We... don't have a King..."

"..." Mordred blinked.

"..." Jaune found a particularly-interesting cloud to look at.

As the pair strolled along the path in an increasingly-oppressive silence, Mordred finally found her voice: "What do you mean, you don't have a King?"

"Exactly what I said." Jaune shrugged. "The Kingdoms of Vale, Mistral, Vacuo, and Atlas haven't had Kings since my grandfather's time."

"But..." Mordred struggled to point out the obvious problem with that statement. "... how can you have Kingdoms without Kings? Who leads your people, then?"

"Well... if I remember correctly... the people choose their representatives, and the representatives form a council." Jaune explained, basing it on what he'd heard his family mention about politics (he'd never had an interest in politics, between his earlier days as a farmhand on the family fields and his recent career as the weakest student in Beacon). Deciding to cut his losses before he could embarrass himself (any further), he changed the subject: "Anyway, what about King Arthur? How was he chosen?"

Falling for it hook, line, and sinker, Mordred eagerly seized the chance to tell one of her personal favorite stories: "Okay, so a few decades ago, the previous High King, Uther Pendragon, died fighting the Usurper King Vortigern. To prevent the land from collapsing upon itself with infighting, and to maintain hope among the people, the Court Wizard Merlin planted a holy sword into a stone outside a church, and delivered a prophecy. "Whosoe'er pulleth out this sword of this stone is rightwise king of all England", that was both what he said, and what was inscribed upon the sword Caliburn.

"For ten years, many tried to lift the Sword of Selection, and all failed. As the situation got more dire, the Knights and Nobles of the land came to an agreement - if none still could lift the sword, then they would hold a jousting tournament, and the winner would be given the right to lead the Britons against the Saxons.

"Of course, on the day of the tournament, none of the gathered drew the sword, and so the tournament began.

"During the tournament, one of the newest and most promising Knights, Sir Kay, realized his sword was missing, and so instructed his squire to fetch his sword.

"As he set about to fulfil his given task, the young boy stumbled upon an abandoned field by a decrepit church, one containing a sword in a stone. Deciding that an old sword was better than no sword, he drew it, and ran back to the tournament..."

Jaune's eye twitched as he tried to process everything Sir Mordred had just told him, even as Mordred continued telling his tale.

What on Remnant had he just heard?

Wizards?

Prophecies?

Holy swords?

... what was this, a comic book?

Did Sir Mordred really believe magic existed?

And so King Arthur had been selected because he could draw a sword from a stone?

What the Dust kind of Kingdom was this?!

... wait, no, maybe the sword just responded to a hereditary Semblance? After all, Weiss had said something about all Schnees being able to use Glyphs, right? Yeah, that made more sense...

"And then, King Arthur and Gawai- oh, we're here, Vomit Guy!" Mordred called back, as the pair finally emerged from the forest.

"Already?" Jaune's thoughts turned away from trying to figure out how Mordred's story made sense, and he instead turned his attention toward the small village they were approaching.

"That's right." Mordred nodded. "Welcome to Snowdonia, Vomit Guy!"

"... thanks for getting me out of that forest, Sir Mordred." Jaune nodded his gratitude to the armored knight even as a part of him quickly studied the village in front of him, and tried comparing the architecture to anything he'd previously encountered.

"Hey, you helped me with the Addanc, and you healed my arm." Mordred rolled her eyes good-naturedly even as she held a fist out towards him. "I mean, not that I needed it or anything, but still..."

"It really wasn't anything..." Jaune began to shake his head modestly, before realizing that Mordred was still giving him a very expectant look.

Finally, Mordred groaned in exasperation, and whined: "Come on, don't leave me hanging, Vomit Guy-"

"Sir Mordred, you're back!"

A voice interrupted her, and she immediately turned to find the village elder who'd pointed her in the direction of Llyn Cwmffynnon running towards her.

"Heya, gramps!" Mordred called back triumphantly. "You won't have to worry about that Addanc anymore, because- geh!"

"Good afternoon, Sir Mordred." Sir Lancelot courteously greeted the shocked Knight of the Round Table as he emerged from the village elder's house, with Squire Gareth following meekly behind him. "Sir Agravain asked me to come and make sure you didn't do anything... reckless."

Chapter Text

The village of Snowdonia was livelier than usual that day, and even in the fields the farmers were excitedly chattering, as they discussed the events going on in their usually-quiet hamlet.

Earlier that morning, an actual, honest-to-God, fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table had briefly dropped by and talked to the unofficial leader of the village, before charging head-first into the Cursed Woods, the domain of the Water Demon that the King had contained all those years ago.

That by itself would have been more than enough to cause an upheaval in their ordinary everyday lives, but then, later in the day, as the sound of thunder had begun to ring out from the depths of the forest, two more members of the Round Table had shown up as well, before the first Knight had returned, along with a new warrior, the scars their armor bore a testament to the ferocity of their battle.

Even as the Knights of the Round Table had sequestered themselves for a private discussion, and the unknown warrior had went to ask the elder a few questions, the villagers couldn't help but talk among themselves.

The Addanc had been slain; while the younger ones speculated on just how it had happened (and would go on to incorporate them into their future games of Knights and Monsters), the older villagers couldn't help but wonder if the death of the Addanc meant that it would be safe to finally enter the woods once again.

While they could certainly survive on what they grew alone (unless disaster struck the land, which was unlikely considering King Arthur ruled it), being able to harvest herbs and gather timber, fish, and meat would definitely not hurt their livelihood.

Of course, while that was the main topic of discussion, other unrelated questions circulated around the village as well.

Who was the unknown warrior?

If the Squire Sir Gareth was here, did that mean that the Knight accompanying her was the legendary Sir Lancelot or Sir Gawain?

And just what were the living heroes of Camelot discussing, in the privacy of the elder's house?

While many children (and no small number of adults) were tempted to eavesdrop (or even just coincidentally find duties to perform near the house), ultimately, the villagers would not dare to break the trust their honorable and chivalrous guardians had bestowed upon them.

(Also, there was a lot of work to do before harvesting season came.)

And so it was that, fortunately for Sir Mordred, none of the peasants were around to overhear Sir Lancelot's... conversation with her.

"So, Sir Mordred..." Lancelot finally began, staring intensely at his fellow knight's visor as he put his flask down. "Would you care to explain your actions?"

"What's there to explain, Lancelot?" Mordred grumbled, though she still insistently refused to meet Lancelot's eyes.

"Well, the most important thing to explain would be why you left Camelot and travelled to Snowdonia without telling anybody, let alone seeking permission." Lancelot calmly pointed out as Sir Gareth gingerly placed a metal cup in front of Mordred, and filled it with the contents of her flask with a strained attempt at a smile for her nominal superior.

"Now, hold on a minute!" Mordred protested immediately, grabbing the proffered cup even as she pointedly refused to give Squire Gareth anything more than a slight nod of acknowledgement. "I told Sir Agravain about my quest!"

"... Sir Mordred..." Lancelot sighed, fighting to keep his voice level as both he and Gareth remembered Agravain's strong reaction to Mordred's departure. "I do not believe that what you did qualifies."

"It doesn't?" Mordred blinked in surprise.

"No." Lancelot bluntly answered. "Shouting out your plans as you jumped on a horse and left Camelot does not count as advance notice, Sir Mordred."

"... tch." Mordred clicked her tongue and glared, before defending herself: "What does it matter, Lancelot? I thought the Knights of the Round Table go on quests all the time!"

"... Sir Mordred." Lancelot took a deep breath, and Gareth hid her wince by refilling Mordred's cup. "Do you remember what was discussed in the last meeting?"

"..." Mordred looked away shiftily, still unwilling to admit that she may not have been paying attention during the meeting (since it had been Lancelot speaking, and not King Arthur).

"Sir Mordred, I'm sure you recall Sir Lancelot explaining that the King and a full half of the Round Table would be on campaign at our borders?" Gareth interjected quickly, trying to throw Mordred a lifeline. "Because the Saxons, the Picts, and even the remnants of the former Empire have been worryingly active?"

"Oh-of course I remember that!" Mordred quickly nodded along, though it still chafed at her that she was accepting help from her older sister (who was still a squire).

"Then why did you leave like that, Sir Mordred?" Lancelot's inquired sternly, causing even Mordred to almost jump. "Knowing that the heart of the Kingdom is the most defenseless it's been since the White Dragon was slain, knowing that even us Knights of the Round Table would also have to do patrol shifts like the regular Knights... what on earth possessed you to suddenly take off like that, instead of talking to Sir Agravain or I?"

"... what would it have mattered anyway?" Mordred finally growled, unable to meet Lancelot's eyes.

"If you had warned us of your plans in advance, we could have adjusted the schedules to accommodate you, Sir Mordred." Lancelot explained with as much patience as he could still muster. "Or at the very least, we could have made sure you didn't face a demon as fearsome as the Addanc by yourself."

"..." For a moment, Mordred found herself at a loss for words, unsure of how to react to Lancelot's chastisement.

Then her ingrained response kicked in, and she scowled as she retorted: "What, you think I couldn't handle the damned Addanc by myself? I would've taken it by myself, no problem!"

That was technically true; she was more than certain that she could've easily killed the Addanc in the first few moments if she'd actually tapped into her magic core.

(Of course, with that said, while she was prepared to use it if the situation was ever dire enough to call for it, the simple fact of the matter was that she had been, and still was, far more interested in proving herself solely with the swordsmanship the King himself had acknowledged, rather than tapping into the magic core that her mother and unknown, never-present father had left her.)

"... clearly." Lancelot responded drily, subtly eyeing the state of Sir Mordred's armor even as he once again thanked God that his squire was nowhere near as brash or impetuous as Sir Mordred.

"..." Mordred's teeth ground together in annoyance, before she snapped: "Okay, so I found a little help in the forest... but I didn't need it, alright? And what does it matter anyway? The Addanc's dead, the village is safe, and nobody got seriously hurt! Isn't that we're supposed to do as Knights of the Round Table?"

"Yes, I can certainly commend your results, Sir Mordred-" Lancelot began.

"Then why am I getting a damn lecture?!" Mordred complained in exasperation.

"But what I cannot praise are your methods." Lancelot continued on as if Mordred hadn't even spoken. "What if the enemies of the realm had attacked while you were gone, infiltrated the castle during your patrol shift? What if you had fallen in your quest, and the Addanc went on a rampage?"

"What does any of that matter?" Mordred rolled her eyes. "Everything turned out fine in the end, alright?"

"And what if it does not next time?" Lancelot challenged. "Sir Mordred, as a Knight of the Round Table, you have responsibilities, and-"

Mordred bit down yet another sigh as it threatened to escape her lips, and quietly tuned Lancelot's words out with another roll of her eyes, having heard his speech about them having duties and responsibilities many times before.

Honestly, she still just didn't get what the big deal was. After all, she'd done her duty, right? Hadn't that been what Lancelot had been talking her head off about the last time he'd done this?

And what did he mean, he could commend her but he couldn't at the same time? So was what she did right or not?

Honestly, sometimes interacting with the older members of the Round Table felt like she was back in Mother's workshop; no matter what she did, she was always in the wrong somehow.

... okay, her head was starting to hurt now.

Probably best to focus on something else.

"... and while I shall not pry into the exact relationship between you and Sir Agravain, I will at least remind you that he bears an extraordinary amount of concern for your well-being, Sir Mordred." Mordred brought her attention back to Lancelot just in time to hear him wrap up his lecture, and pull out a quill and a parchment. "Now, Sir Mordred, if you wouldn't mind giving an account of your battle with the Addanc? I understand you must be tired, but it-"

"Of course I- ahem, I mean, I'm only going to say it once, so you'd better listen up, alright?" Mordred excitedly answered, before clearing her throat and launching into a mildly-embellished retelling of her tale.

Throughout it all, Sir Gareth fervently watched as her mentor Sir Lancelot dutifully transcribed Mordred's words (including the added sound effects for good measure), only interrupting to check on the parts pertaining to Mordred's well-being (namely the broken sword, the twisted and torn-off armor, and especially the lack of physical wounds present on Mordred's flesh).

Finally, after minutes of enthusiastic hand gestures and story-telling, as Mordred concluded her accounting of the battle (and took a deep breath), Lancelot took the time to speak up: "So, if I may double-check, Sir Mordred... after your sword broke against the Addanc, and it got a lucky hit on you, the nameless warrior you were with appeared on the scene, successfully distracted the water demon with a wooden spear, and together the two of you lured it into a trap and felled it, correct?"

"Isn't that what I just said, Lancelot?" Mordred confirmed.

"..." Lancelot could only pinch the bridge of his nose as he felt his temples begin to throb.

Sir Agravain was definitely going to owe him for this one...

Fortunately for him, Gareth took over, and leaned forward expectantly as she excitedly asked: "And who is this nameless warrior, Sir Mordred? How did he fend off the Addanc with a wooden stick where your sword was broken? And how is it you are physically unharmed despite the Addanc's blow tearing off your armor?"

"Oh, Vomit Guy?" Mordred chuckled warmly, her good mood from recounting her tale temporarily overpowering her general disdain for her elder sister.

"... I'm sorry?" Gareth blinked as Lancelot calmly took a sip from his flask, surprised by both Sir Mordred's name for his fellow warrior and his uncharacteristic tone.

"Ah, that's just what I call him after he threw up on my boots." Mordred explained easily, shaking her head in amusement. "For a Huntsman he sure couldn't handle Addanc guts... anyway, he said his name was Jaune Arc, and he was training to be a warrior of some sort called a Huntsman, before..."

"... before?" Gareth cocked her head as Mordred's voice suddenly trailed off.

"... I... well, according to him, he was holding off a dragon after his order was attacked, waiting for reinforcements... and then he woke up in the forest." Mordred explained, knowing just how unbelievable it might have sounded. Folding her arms, she hastily defended: "Hey, you all saw the state of his armor, and he managed to help me against the Addanc, so I figure there's some truth to the story..."

"Warriors called "Huntsmen"?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow as he quietly gave it some thought. "... I'm afraid I do not know of any such group, but if they are anything like the man you describe then they must be noble warriors, men of quality."

"Yeah, the way he described them, it sounded like he was describing a Knight of the Round Table!" Mordred nodded vigorously, before snapping her fingers as she remembered something else. "Right, he also said that something else that they all had was some weird soul-magic-thing called "Aura"! Apparently, they can use it to reinforce their weapons and armor, as well as protect them from harm and heal them from injuries. I didn't believe him at first, but then he healed all the injuries I got from the Addanc with just a touch!"

"That is certainly impressive." Lancelot murmured with a nod.

"Have you ever heard of something like this, Sir Lancelot?" Gareth turned to her mentor.

"Of healing with a touch, certainly Merlin could do it." Lancelot's brow furrowed. "But I know not of any such soul magic called "Aura" that could perform such a feat. Perhaps Merlin, Vivian, or even your mother might know of such a thing, though..."

"... he must have certainly come from a faraway land, if you know nothing of his people or abilities, Sir Lancelot..." Gareth couldn't help but remark.

"Very far." Mordred emphasized. "He hadn't even heard of King Arthur or Camelot before, let alone knowing where he was"

"... so, if I may confirm..." Lancelot inquired as his eyebrow rose again. "This Jaune Arc, despite waking up in an unknown land after fighting a dragon that might have destroyed his order, still chose to rush into battle against a water demon with just a wooden stick in order to help an unknown stranger when he stumbled across your battle with the Addanc?"

"That's... pretty much it, yeah..." Mordred nodded uncertainly.

"... Sir Mordred, would you please introduce me to this Sir Jaune Arc?" Lancelot requested frankly as he rose from the table. "I would like to see the character of this man for myself."

"... huh?" Mordred blinked in confusion even as she jumped out of her seat and shot Gareth a questioning look (which she merely responded to with a shrug).

"Was there anything odd about my request?" Lancelot asked as he opened the door, before suddenly freezing.

"No, but... why are you so... interested..." Mordred began to protest as she rushed after him, before coming to a stop next to him as she saw what had shocked him.

Jaune, for his part, looked up from the field he'd been ploughing to see a familiar suit of armor staring at him, and grinned and waved as he shouted: "Hey, Sir Mordred, you finally done with your meeting?"

""...""

"... Jaune... what are you doing?" Mordred couldn't help but ask. "I thought you wanted to ask the village elder a few questions."

"Well... I did..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, and looked at the farmers around him as he wondered how best to explain things.

Originally, he'd only made up the excuse of seeing if the village elder had ways of communicating with other kingdoms because he could read the atmosphere between Sir Mordred and the other two knights (growing up with seven sisters had its perks), and decided he really didn't want anything to do with it, and Sir Mordred could definitely handle himself.

But even he wasn't in some unknown Kingdom (that was definitely not in CCT range), the village was so primitive it made Higanbana look like Vale, and a cursory glance made it clear why.

Then again, seeing as how he was on a continent without Aura, Jaune felt like he really shouldn't have been surprised by the sight of a pre-Dust society...

As soon as he'd realized that, a mild curiosity had welled up within him.

After all, while he'd seen a fair few villages on Anima and Vale, he'd never seen one that had operated completely without Dust.

And they were even a farming community, too!

He had only been half-joking when he'd told Pyrrha on that rooftop that if being a Huntsman didn't work out he could always become a farmer...

A few minutes of observation (and wondering why they were still using painfully-inefficient methods) later, however, he couldn't help but feel intrusive and awkward, just standing around watching idly as people worked around him, occasionally giving him a side glance and murmuring about him.

After that, it had been an easy decision to go back to the elder, and offer (insist) to help out with anything he could think of. After all, he'd become a Huntsman to help people; even if people here didn't know what a Huntsman was, and even if he wasn't helping them the way Beacon had taught him...

"But I got bored of just waiting around, and I didn't really have any plans, so I offered to just help out for a bit, you know?" Jaune finally tried.

"... of course I get that." Mordred nodded in understanding (though her helmet hid her eyes as they looked away guiltily). "That's what any Knight of the Round Table would do as well, helping people."

"Indeed, Sir Mordred." Lancelot nodded in agreement, before turning to address the blonde warrior. "Sir Jaune, please allow me to express my gratitude to you, both for assisting Sir Mordred in his battle against the Addanc, and for your service to the people of my liege's land."

"Hey, there's no need for any of that." Jaune quickly waved his hands furiously as the gazes and murmurs around him intensified. "It's no big deal, alright? I just happened to be in the area, I saw strangers in trouble, and well... as my mom always says, strangers are just friends you haven't met yet."

""...""

"... did I say something weird?" Jaune looked around his suddenly-silent surroundings in confusion.

"What a beautiful saying..." Squire Gareth finally sobbed, moved to tears by such a simple yet profound sentiment.

"Uh... wha-?"

"I concur, Sir Gareth." Lancelot nodded in agreement with his squire, the naive yet earnest words appealing to his sense of idealism and romanticism.

As he looked over the young warrior with a newfound respect, his sense of chivalry decided it had seen enough of Jaune's character, and compelled him to make an offer, one that would have unintended consequence in the near-future.

Chapter Text

Jaune quietly fed another stick into the campfire, before looking at the fancy tent Sir Lancelot had retired to for the night and sighing to himself as his mind once gain replayed the events of the day, and he tried to make sense of just what in Oum's name had happened.

Let's see, he'd stumbled across Sir Mordred fighting an Addanc, helped kill... whatever it was, learned that his Aura could heal people, learned that there was apparently a whole other continent that knew nothing of Aura (or Huntsmen, or Dust), and, thanks to Sir Mordred's very enthusiastic explanation, learned about the Knights of the Round Table before he'd finally been led out of the forest he'd been lost in for almost three days.

So, far he could still understand all of that.

But how on Remnant had that translated to him getting an invitation by Sir Lancelot (who, based on what he'd deduced so far, was the equivalent of a Huntsman Academy Headmaster if Sir Mordred was the equivalent of a regular Huntsman) to join them as an apprentice (unofficially, pending the King's approval upon his return) in Camelot?

Oum, he could only imagine his friend's reactions when they found out. Nora would probably bruise his back slapping it in congratulations, Ren would probably just give his usual wise-sounding platitudes, Pyrrha would be torn between concern and praise, and Ruby...

...

Well, Ruby had joined Beacon two years early because of Ozpin's recommendation, so there was definitely nothing she could really say that he couldn't turn around on her...

"Hello there!"

A sudden voice next to his ear jolted Jaune out of his thoughts, and he spun around to find the young armored short-haired blonde girl that had been with Sir Mordred and Sir Lancelot leaning down towards him, giving him what he could only assume was a polite and friendly smile.

Jaune smiled back even as he took a moment to search his memories: "Hey... you're... Sir Gareth, right?"

"Please, just call me Gareth." Gareth's grin grew. "It's a bit too early to call me "sir", since I'm still a squire. Anyway, just wanted to properly introduce myself to you, Sir Jaune!"

"Well, it's nice to meet you then, Gareth." Jaune smiled back as he offered a hand to the girl. "And there's no need to call me "sir" either... I was only a Huntsman-in-Training..."

"So I've heard." Gareth nodded as she shook Jaune's hand, and sat down next to him. "Sir Mordred told us about you... truthfully, I believe hearing about your plight is one of the reasons why my mentor has such an interest in you."

"... wait, is that why he asked if I wanted to become an apprentice?" Jaune blinked as he finally put two and two together. Groaning, he quickly explained: "Look, like I told you guys earlier, I didn't mean to get anyone's attention! I just... I just saw someone who needed help, and-"

"And that is exactly it, Jaune." Gareth nodded, smiling with approval. "What the King values above all else, and what the Round Table thus looks for the most, is a heart full of nobility and chivalry. Even in this era of relative prosperity, it is not common that one meets a warrior stranded in a foreign land who still offers such charity to another."

"..." Jaune's smile faltered as he was reminded of his situation, and he looked away as he admitted: "... look, if I'm going to be honest... I still don't know if I can accept Sir Lancelot's offer, As I'm sure you already know... I'm not exactly from around here. And I was trained to be a Huntsman; I don't know the first thing about being a Knight, let alone being a Knight of the Round Table."

"That won't be an issue." Gareth reassured him easily. "Sir Palamedes hails from the other end of the former empire, and many among the ranks are Kings and Lords in their own right, all with their own domains to care for; as long as one's interests do not conflict, they are generally overlooked. In fact... joining our ranks might even help you find your homeland, between the wealth of knowledge within the archives of Camelot, and the access to foreign dignitaries..."

"And I guess whatever I learn about being a Knight will probably help me be a Huntsman?" Jaune asked wryly, before holding up his hands in surrender as Gareth only grinned and nodded. "You know, you're really selling me on this... did Sir Lancelot ask you to do this?"

"Honestly, no." Gareth shook her head. "Sir Lancelot would never act so under-handed; he would have spoken to you personally if he wished to give you further encouragement. But I trust Sir Lancelot's judgement, and based on Sir Mordred's account of your battle with the Addanc, I would definitely feel honored to fight alongside you one day."

"Uh..." Jaune looked away and rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly as he remembered how he'd fared in Beacon for the past few semesters. Even with Pyrrha's teaching him how to fight, Ren helping tutor him, and Nora helping him with his workouts, he was only confident in fighting Beowolves by himself, or maybe Ursai, Nevermore, and Deathstalkers with his team backing him up.

"Or perhaps we could have a practice bout together?" Gareth continued to suggest excitedly. "Do you know how to joust? I heard from Sir Mordred that you used a wooden stick against the Addanc; are you proficient in lances and spears, Jaune?"

"Um... not really..." Jaune tried to explain as soon as Gareth paused for breath. "It just happened to be the only thing I had on hand..."

"Oh." Gareth's expression didn't outwardly change, but for some reason Jaune swore the brown bangs sticking out of the side of her blonde hair seemed to droop. "Then what kind of weapons are you familiar with, Jaune?"

"... uh... well... I used to train with my great-great-grandfather's sword. but I lost it before I came here..." Jaune admitted dejectedly even as he quietly pulled out his scabbard. "This thing's all I've got left."

"... I'm sorry for your loss, Jaune." Gareth murmured as she leaned forward and quietly inspected the empty sheath. "... if it is of any comfort, this is certainly an impressive scabbard. I have not seen many scabbards made out of only metal..."

"Well, it turns into a shield too." Jaune replied off-handedly, still imagining his family's reaction if they ever found out. After all, it was bad enough that he'd run away from home with the family sword, but now he'd gotten it broken, too?!

"... I'm sorry, I'm afraid I must have misheard you..." Gareth blinked.

"Huh?" Jaune simply flicked the scabbard into a sheath, and slid it down onto his forearm in demonstration. "No, see?"

"... how?" Gareth couldn't help but ask as she poked at it. "I mean, I've heard that the royal armory holds a ship that doubles as a shield, but I've never seen a scabbard that could do the same!"

"... you're kidding me, right?" Jaune turned to her and raised an eyebrow.

"No, I'm serious!" Gareth protested with a laugh. "My brother, Sir Gawain, he told me the King has a ship called the Prydwen, that can also function as a shield!"

"... but... how?" Jaune tried to imagine it.

"Hey, you're the one with a shield-scabbard; you tell me!" Gareth continued to prod at the shield in amazement.

"I don't know how it works myself, Gareth!" Jaune raised a hand in surrender even as he flicked it back into a sheath. "I just got it from my great-great grandfather. Anyway, what about you? What've you got?"

"Nothing as impressive as a shield-scabbard, I can assure you." Gareth rolled her eyes modestly as she took the bait and reached for her own equipment. "While my shield is tempered steel, it doesn't transform. My lance, on the other hand..."

Jaune quietly swallowed a gulp as he observed the massive spear, easily taller than he was and thicker than his arms.

... was it just his imagination, or did the lance have a magazine, like Crescent Rose had?

"Uh, Gareth?" Jaune pointed to the part that caught his eye. "Is that...?"

"Ah, I see you've noticed what makes Ira Lupus so special!" Gareth preened. "In truth, this is no mere lance! Lord Merlin helped me design and create it with his magic, allowing it to fire potent bursts of energy from a distance! I believe he called it a... gun-lance?"

"..." Jaune suddenly felt the urge to make sure her and Ruby Rose never met.

Or maybe he should introduce the two...

Ruby could have definitely used more friends, and Gareth definitely seemed to be interested in weapons...

"By the way, Jaune..." Gareth spoke up hesitantly, as a thought occurred to her. "Would you happen to know about guns? So far no one I've talked has even heard of them before, but, since you've come from a faraway place..."

"Uh... I guess I know a thing or two about guns..." Jaune admitted with a shrug, before he quickly added: "Not that much, though, I was always more of a "classics" kind of guy, but one of my best friends loved weapons and had a scythe that turned into a gun, so..."

"A gun-scythe?" Gareth couldn't help but laugh in disbelief. "How does that even work?!"

"Well, if I remember correctly..." Jaune grabbed a stick and sketched out what he could remember from Ruby's excited ramblings into the dirt. "The pole also serves as the barrel, so she buried the blade of the scythe into the ground to stabilize it when firing. Sometimes, when she was swinging the scythe, she'd also fire the gun part to give the scythe more force too..."

"..." Gareth studied his drawings and looked down at Ira Lupus, before turning to Jaune and requesting: "Please help me re-design Ira Lupus."

"Um, I'm really only repeating what my friend told me..." Jaune tried to ward off her enthusiasm as she did her best impression of any one of his many elder sisters when they wanted something from him. "What about that Merlin? Why don't you ask him to help you?"

"Well... I'm... honestly not too fond of Lord Merlin..." Gareth bashfully admitted, her foot fidgeting. "Don't get me wrong, I respect his deeds and appreciate his help! But... I really don't know why, but I find him a bit scary... ah, but please don't tell anyone I said that!"

"Said what?" Mordred's voice caused the two of them to jump, and they turned to see a familiar petite armored form stroll up towards the campfire.

"Sir Mordred!" Gareth squeaked. "N-nothing! Nobody said anything!"

"... tch." Mordred couldn't help but click her tongue as she watched the un-Knight-like behavior of her elder sister, and she bluntly jerked her thumb in the direction she came from as she said: "Then it's your turn to take watch, Squire Gareth."

"Right away then, Sir Mordred." Gareth nodded even as she hastily jumped up and went to her assigned post.

"Ugh, that was boring as hell..." Mordred whined as she slumped against a log near the fire. "This forest's too quiet... if only something like another Addanc would pop out..."

"Um, please remember I still don't have a weapon, Sir Mordred..." Jaune reminded him with a lazy wave of his empty scabbard. "And most of us probably can't beat an Addanc to death with our bare hands..."

"Oh, please." Mordred rolled her eyes at his modesty. "You and I kicked Addanc butt just now, and we didn't have two other members of the Round Table with us! An army of Addancs could come, and we'd turn them all into hides!"

"... please don't tempt fate like that, Sir Mordred." Jaune half-joked, as a small part of him remembered just how Initiation had gone.

"Aw, where's your sense of adventure and excitement, Jaune?" Mordred grumbled before changing the subject. "Anyway, what were you and Gareth talking about?"

"Eh, nothing much..." Jaune shrugged as he leaned back, and stretched out his arms. "We were just discussing weapons, and before that she was trying to convince me to accept Lancelot's offer-"

"Wait, you needed convincing?" Mordred blinked in shock. "Even after how I told you being a Knight of the Round Table was the best thing ever?!"

"I know, I know..." Jaune held up his hands before she could begin to proselytize again. "It's just... my friends and family must be worried about me..."

"..." Even Mordred could see the concern reflected in Jaune's blue eyes as he stared wistfully down at the fire, and while she personally couldn't really understand that (maybe except for Agravain nagging at her)...

... well, like she'd told him, a Knight of the Round Table helped people.

And he had helped her with the Addanc, and healed her arm...

Not that she needed help, of course. She didn't owe him anything.

"Hey." Mordred spoke softly as she placed an arm on his shoulder, and as he looked up she grinned behind her helmet, even if he couldn't see it. "Don't worry. I'm sure you'll see them again."

"... thanks." Jaune smiled back at Mordred. "I can't wait to tell them all about the awesome Knights of the Round Table and my time with them."

"So you'll be accepting Lancelot's offer?" Mordred pressed.

"Well, Gareth said that it's probably my best bet at finding out where my home is." Jaune explained. "And, of course, learning from a Knight will only help me be a better Huntsman in the future."

"Hah! By the time we're done you won't even want to leave!" Mordred declared pridefully. "And wait until you meet King Arthur, too! ... I still can't believe you have Kingdoms without Kings..."

"Yeah... I honestly don't know why they're called Kingdoms, either..." Jaune admitted with a wry smile, having already had this discussion with the small and excitable knight earlier in the day.

As he shifted and stretched his back, however, a yawn escaped his lips, and Jaune suddenly realized just how tired he was.

Then again, for the first time since he'd woken up in this strange land, he didn't actually have anything to worry about.

He'd been fed and watered, he wasn't in any immediate danger, and he finally had an idea of where he was going and what he was doing.

For the first time since he'd woken up here, he could actually allow himself to relax and feel exhausted.

"Hey, maybe you should get some rest before it's your turn to keep watch." Mordred suggested as she watched him.

"Nah, I'm good, I'm-" Jaune tried to reassure her, before another yawn escaped his lips. Once he'd let it fully loose, however, he quickly continued explaining: "Used to do this all the time, during Beacon's survival lessons with my team. At least this forest isn't full of bears and wolves..."

"I wish! It would have certainly made my shift a lot more interesting." Mordred retorted with a chuckle.

Jaune just rolled his eyes even as he looked up to the night sky, and quietly muse about the strange land he'd found himself in, and especially the people he'd met- wait, what?

"Hey, is it just me, or is there something weird about the moon?" Jaune couldn't help but wonder as he focused his eyes upon it.

"What do you mean?" Mordred followed his gaze, and stared. "It's the same as always, isn't it?"

"Huh? But it isn't broken or anything!"

"... are you sure you don't need some rest?"

Chapter Text

The moon was still shining when Jaune Arc stirred from his restless sleep.

As he opened his eyes and looked out of the open window, he couldn't help the forlorn sigh escaped his lips.

Quietly shaking his head, he forced himself to look away from the distant moon, before another sigh escaped his lips as he instead took in the details of his room, barely distinguishable in the faint moonlight.

Where he'd have seen a wall of painted plaster and a Dust-powered lamp on a simple table, an ornate silver candlestand housed three half-melted candles on what could charitably be described as a thick wooden slab, greeting him along with a wall of dull cobblestone.

"... it really wasn't a dream, huh?" Jaune murmured to himself in a hollow voice as he forced himself to sit up, and took a moment to once again try and process just what in Oum's name had happened to him.

His last definitive memory of Remnant had been the attack at Amity, Beacon, and Vale, the death of that woman in the pod and Ozpin, and his desperate delaying action at the top of Beacon's clocktower.

After that...

... after the dragon had stomped on him...

... after half a dozen glass shards had punched through his abused Aura, and he'd fallen...

... after his vision had begun to dim, and his consciousness had slipped away in a flash of silver light,..

After all of that, he'd woken up in a strange and unfamiliar world, less than a week ago.

One that knew nothing of Aura, Dust, or the Grimm.

One that had monsters he'd never heard of, heroes he'd never heard of, and Kingdoms he'd never heard of (ruled by actual Kings, no less).

One that had a distant, unbroken moon gracing its night sky.

... the only explanation Jaune could come up with so far, was that he had died... and somehow been either sent to a different world, or sent so far back in time to Remnant's past that the moon hadn't even been broken yet, and Dust and the Grimm hadn't been discovered yet.

... which would have put him in a time long before the dawn of recorded human civilization on Remnant, based on what little he could remember from Dr. Oobleck's lessons.

... which meant that it may as well have been a different world, for all intents and purposes.

Jaune groaned and buried his head in his hands, as he desperately tried to think of a different explanation, one that didn't sound like it came straight out of a Mistralian comic book.

After all, he didn't feel dead... not that he knew what death actually felt like, of course.

But he still felt hunger, thirst, tiredness, and pain (which also helped rule out it just being a very elaborate dream).

If this was life after death, it sucked worse than Cardin.

But at the same time, the more he thought about it, the more he found himself at least conceding that he had probably died at the tower.

While the wounds he'd sustained didn't have to be fatal... the fact that he'd woken up without his friends around him said enough.

Ruby and Pyr would never have abandoned him.

A pang of worry shot through him as he thought about his friends once again, and he found himself desperately hoping that they'd at least made it out safe and sound.

Then he shook his head again, as the moment passed.

After all, he'd survived by himself for, what, five minutes?

If that was the kind of enemy they were up against, there was no way Ruby, Weiss, and Pyr together could have lost.

... though she had killed Ozpin...

...

Jaune forced that concerning thought out of his head.

After all... wherever or whenever he was... all he could do for his friends, was have faith in them.

Right now, more pressingly, he had to figure out just what he was supposed to do about his situation.

... honestly, was there actually anything he could do?

Even if he'd figured out what had happened (big "if"), he still had no idea how he'd ended up here (the Mistralian comics always just handwaved it with "Semblances", but even if Jaune did have such a Semblance (another big "if"), he had no idea how to even trigger it, let alone control its destination), or what he was supposed to do next.

... well, that wasn't completely accurate.

Of course, when he'd realized he wasn't on Remnant anymore, his initial thoughts (after blind panic and freaking out, of course) had been to try and figure out a way back home. But it had only taken a few minutes of proper consideration to rule that out as a realistic outcome.

Sure, this world had magic (if he took the stories the Knights of the Round Table told him at face value, at least), but their tales of King Arthur's Court Wizard (who was apparently a really big deal) had more to do prophecies and dreams than travelling to different worlds (or time travel).

And considering this world hadn't even discovered central heating and indoor plumbing, he wasn't crossing his fingers for a scientific solution to his problems.

So... if his return was off the table... what was he supposed to do now?

What could he even do?

...

Jaune slowly exhaled as he got out of bed, before slapping himself on the cheeks to psych himself up (an action with zero physical effect, thanks to Aura).

Ironically, the situation hadn't really changed since he'd gotten out of the forest.

After all, he was lost, and had nothing to his name, nor friends to call his own.

... okay, the last one wasn't completely true, but there was no way he could just impose on the Knights of the Round Table like that!

Especially not now, when they were apparently dealing with both border clashes and invaders from across the sea.

... but at the same time, could he really afford to turn down any help he could get?

Besides being a Huntsman-in-Training, the only experience he could really claim to have was working on the family farm, and he'd run away from home for a reason!

Was he really going to spend his afterlife doing what he'd run away from during his first life?

Thoughts of the knights he'd spent the past few days travelling with came to the forefront of his mind, and a small smile graced his lips as he came to a decision.

As Sir Mordred had said, being a Huntsman did sound an awful lot like being a Knight of the Round Table...

And he had agreed to help Gareth with her weird gun-lance. Just because he was dead didn't mean he wasn't an Arc!

Worst come to worst, he'd fail to live up to Sir Lancelot's expectations and leave. Wouldn't be the first time he'd felt like that...

At the very least, though, he'd have to figure out a way to tell Sir Lancelot not to bother helping him figure out where he came from; no point in wasting the man's time looking for a Kingdom that didn't even exist here.

But it wasn't like he could just tell them: "Hey, sorry to waste your time, but I just realized I came from a completely different world and/or timeline! Don't bother looking into my story; the stuff I mentioned don't even exist (yet?)!"

Even in his head it sounded ridiculous.

As Jaune tried to figure out a plausible reason that would get Sir Lancelot and the Knights to stop investigating his story, however, a knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

As it soon morphed into a pounding, Jaune quietly sighed to himself, and moved to open the door and see just who wanted to see him this early in the morning.

To his surprise, a familiar petite suit of armor was waiting impatiently outside the door.

Jaune blinked before finally finding his voice: "... Sir Mordred?"

"Heya, Vomit Guy!" Mordred greeted him familiarly, before tossing him a cloth sack.

Jaune grunted at the unexpected weight as he caught it, and unfortunately for him, that wasn't the last surprise of the morning.

Opening the sack revealed pieces of metal armor, causing his eyes to go wide.

Mordred took the opportunity to nudge him in the side with her elbow, before triumphantly demanding: "Hurry up and suit up, Squire! We're wasting precious time!"

-THE PREVIOUS EVENING-

"I must admit my surprise, Lancelot." Percival couldn't help but remark, as he poured himself a goblet of wine. "When you accepted Agravain's request to come back with Mordred, even I couldn't have foreseen that you'd come back with a new apprentice-"

"Hey!" Mordred hotly interjected from where she sat, still sulking about the fuss Agravain had raised over her little quest. "I'm the one who found him!"

"Of course, Sir Mordred." Percival quickly held up a hand to forestall him, knowing just enough of the brash young knight to know that he would escalate the situation if he didn't clarify his words. "I in no way mean to overlook your achievements; were not our current situation as serious as it currently is, I dare say even the King would raise a toast to your victory over the Addanc. My point, however, was that when we heard you had set off to slay a demon, I feel confident in speaking for us all when I say that none of us expected you to come back with another person..."

"Indeed, I was also surprised when Sir Mordred walked out of the forest with company." Lancelot answered truthfully, as Gareth poured water into his goblet and Mordred huffed in approval and relaxed, mollified by Percival's words. "To say nothing of when Sir Mordred relayed the youth's extraordinary circumstances to me."

"..." Percival quietly recalled the state the youth had been in, when he'd been welcomed into Camelot, and when he'd allowed himself to be led away by young Bors to a guest room. After a moment, he gave voice to his concerns: "Lancelot... if I may ask? Is the boy alright?"

"... physically speaking, Sir Mordred can testify that the Addanc failed to cause any wound to Jaune during their battle." Lancelot replied slowly.

"So the damage his armor sustained wasn't caused by the demon?" Percival blinked.

"Well, of course." Mordred scoffed, rolling her eyes. "What kind of Knight would let an unrelated innocent bystander get harmed like that?"

"You speak the truth, Sir Mordred." Lancelot gave the young knight a rare approving nod (while Gareth surreptitiously gave Mordred a look of shock), before continuing on: "But I believe Sir Percival would like to also know the cause of his injuries."

"Like I told you, he was like that already when I met him." Mordred shrugged, before retelling her account for Percival's benefit: "According to Jaune, the last thing he remembers before waking up in that forest was fighting against a dragon and a witch."

"A dragon and a witch?!" Percival's voice was full of shock as he looked worriedly at Lancelot. "Are you sure?"

"I sensed no trace of a lie from him when he told me his story." Lancelot answered confidently.

"In that case, then we need to send word to the King at once!" Percival insisted in alarm, jumping up from his seat.

"Peace, Sir Percival." Lancelot quickly held up a hand to calm the white-haired knight down. "As far as we can tell, the foes Jaune faced are not a threat to His Majesty's lands."

"Jaune fought the dragon and the witch in the Kingdom he hails from." Mordred clarified. "And he comes from some weird Kingdom really far away. He'd never even heard of Camelot, and the Kingdoms he does know don't even have Kings!"

"Just to be sure, we asked the surrounding villages." Gareth added from behind Lancelot. "None can recall seeing a dragon or a witch recently."

Percival breathed a sigh of relief, before his eyes narrowed in understanding. "... is that why you specified "physically", Lancelot?"

"It is." Lancelot nodded and sighed, recalling how distracted and distant Jaune had been when they'd entered Camelot. "I believe he is currently in a state of shock."

"But he was fine before we got here!" Mordred pointed out with a frown, shifting uneasily as she recalled how she'd tried (and apparently failed) to reassure him.

"Sir Mordred..." Lancelot paused for a moment, as he thought about how best to get his point across. "Jaune simply didn't have the luxury of thinking about his situation until after he joined us, nor did he realize just how far from home until he spoke with us."

"So what, it's my fault for picking him up?" Mordred's tone took on a defensive edge.

"Of course not." Lancelot answered immediately. "While far from ideal, I'm sure even he would agree his current situation is a vast improvement over being alone and lost in a forest, waiting for countrymen who would never come. I feel he simply needs time, time to adjust to the reality of his situation, and perhaps something to keep his mind occupied."

"Wouldn't it be better to just get him back home as soon as possible, though?" Mordred spoke up again.

"It would, Sir Mordred." Lancelot conceded, before countering: "Unfortunately, that isn't a realistic option right now."

"Even Palamedes knew nothing of such Kingdoms as "Vale" or "Atlas", Mordred." Percival chimed in. "With Merlin still uncontactable, our best bet at actually coming into contact with Jaune's homeland is to go questing for lands beyond the great seas to the West, or the great deserts and mountains of the South and East, far beyond even the extent of the old Empire or Alexander the Great. Such an undertaking, while honorable, is simply not feasible with our current situation."

"... hmmm..." Mordred's frown deepened behind her helmet, as she quietly considered their words and reflected that the situation might have been a bit more complicated than how those picture books made things seem.

"In the meantime, based on the stories Jaune shared, being trained as a squire should be similar enough to his time as a Huntsman-in-Training for him to adapt, while being sufficiently different enough to help distract him." Lancelot concluded.

"But... Sir Lancelot... who will train Jaune?" Gareth quietly asked from behind her mentor. "Are there any full Knights of the Round Table currently in Camelot who can take on a new squire? I know Agravain doesn't currently have a squire, but the duties of his station leave him too busy to properly take on an apprentice..."

""...""

A silence fell over the room, as they contemplated Gareth's point.

And then Lancelot finally answered: "Squire Gareth... I was hoping that you could help train Jaune for the time being."

"Me?!" Gareth couldn't hide her shock.

"Indeed." Lancelot nodded confidently. "You may still be a squire, but you have already earned a numbered seat on the Round Table, and I believe helping train another potential squire will serve as valuable experience for you in the future, when you are a Knight of the Round Table and have your own squire. Rest assured, though; I am still your mentor, and I will provide assistance for you should you need it."

"I-I-I'm honored by your words, Sir Lancelot!" Gareth squeaked nervously, before shaking her head. "And I mean no disrespect, but I do not feel as if I am ready yet! Furthermore, I am barely older than Jaune! How could I possibly serve as his mentor?!"

"I believe that the lack of an age gap will only help you relate to him, Gareth." Lancelot tried to comfort his squire with a smile that would have made her swoon if she wasn't too busy panicking. "But if you have a better alternative, feel free to share it."

"Bors definitely isn't ready to take on a squire yet." Percival added simply as Gareth turned to him in desperation. While Bors may have been older and more experienced than Gareth, it was a simple matter of fact that Gareth, like her brothers Gawain and Agravain, was extremely talented; with a single lance she'd defeated numerous prodigious knights and kings to protect the honor of her friend, and even the King agreed that she could easily be the greatest of them all in time.

Mordred, for her part, simply studied her sister with a vague feeling of irritation, though she kept her peace

Ultimately, she felt a degree of responsibility for Jaune, since, as far as she was concerned, she'd been the one to both find him, and help convince him to come to Camelot. And while she may not have had the best relationship with the other Knights of Camelot, she would at least concede that she was still young and inexperienced; being unable to refute their points, she would trust that the men King Arthur and Agravain had selected and fought alongside were acting with her charge's best interests in mind.

But at the same time... did it really have to be Gareth?

Why did Squire Gareth the Ever-Perfect always seem to get everything?!

It was as she chewed on those envious thoughts that she saw it.

Gareth glanced at her for a moment, before hastily averting her gaze.

Her irritation grew as she perceived the act as her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire slighting her, and so she snarled: "Hey, aren't you forgetting that I'm a Knight of the Round Table too?!"

Chapter Text

As Jaune quietly tested the straps on the armor Mordred had given him, making sure he'd properly fitted the metal plate around his body, a small part of quietly marveled at the similarities (and differences) between the armor he now wore and the one he'd bought at a discount shop in Vale before he'd gone to Beacon.

Just a small part, though.

Ren or Dr. Oobleck would've definitely been able to appreciate it a lot more than he did.

As he moved to wriggling his fingers under his new gauntlets, trying to get a feel for his new range of motion in them, a bigger part of him was busy trying to figure out how on Remnant Cardin could have moved in his full plate armor.

Of course, there was also the question of why in Oum's name Cardin had even worn a set of full plate armor during Huntsman training. Sure, Jaune and Pyrrha had armor too, but the only reason Jaune had even gotten the discount breastplate in the first place was because he'd thought it'd help him fit in around Primary Combat School graduates (also, he hadn't known that Aura had existed), while in Pyrrha's case she'd told him that it had been designed to evoke the image of a strong and confident warrior (for the sake of her fans), rather than with any sort of protection in mind (he still remembered that discussion very well, considering she'd made her point by emphasizing her semi-exposed cleavage and the amount of skin her "armor" showed, along with the discovery that the only reason she could actually pull off the ridiculous flips that she did without snapping her heels or twisting her ankles was because of her Semblance manipulating the metal in her heels and Aura reinforcing her feet).

So why had Cardin, who had been to a combat prep school and had his Aura already unlocked, insisted on fighting in such a clunky and restricting suit of armor?

Of course, his biggest question, the most pressing issue on his mind, was wondering why Mordred had suddenly barged in, declared they were wasting time, and demanded he put it on.

"Oh, good, you've already changed." Mordred spoke up as she joined him in the empty courtyard, enthusiastically stretching her limbs as she walked. "Are you ready to begin, then?"

"Uh, Sir Mordred?" Jaune sheepishly raised his hand. "What exactly am I supposed to be ready for?"

"What, don't you remember?" Mordred blinked in surprise, pausing her movements.

You only told me that we were wasting time and I needed to suit up..." Jaune pointed out.

"... oh." Mordred's voice was curt, and she quickly cleared her throat before explaining: "It's simple, really. You agreed to be an apprentice here, right?"

"... yes...?" Jaune nodded as his thoughts once again turned to his current situation, and especially how he really didn't have any other options.

"Well, as an apprentice, you needed a mentor, and I just happened to be available." Mordred crowed modestly, before slapping him on the back with a grin. "By the time I'm done with you, Squire, you'll be able to kill a dragon with your bare hands!"

"..." Jaune wordlessly glanced down at Mordred's petite armored hands, and remembered seeing the Knight of the Round Table tearing that Addanc apart with just a broken sword. "... uh, let's hope I never have to test that out. Anyway, where do we begin?"

"With the basics, of course!" Mordred announced enthusiastically. "I know you're pretty strong and tough, and you have some training... but I still don't really have a grasp on the full extent of your abilities yet! So let's start with a light warm-up! Give me ten rounds around the castle!"

"T-the entire castle?!" Jaune's eyes widened in horror, as he remembered the sheer scale of Camelot (it made Beacon look small, though to be fair Camelot was the heart of a Kingdom while Beacon was just a school, and Beacon was taller).

"Hmmm..." Mordred thought about it for a second. "Yeah, that's probably too light for you. Let's make it a dozen rounds along the outer walls of Camelot!"

Jaune's eye twitched, but before he could curse overzealous trainers and his big mouth, Mordred reassured him: "Don't worry; this is just to prepare you for all the fun and exciting stuff later, Squire!"

"Oh boy... I can... hardly contain myself." Jaune forced a grin onto his face, before sprinting away from Sir Mordred as fast as he could (he'd learned that lesson well, having barely survived Nora Valkyrie's workout sessions).

Mordred's gaze lingered on her newest (and first) student's energetically-retreating form, before she finally relaxed as soon as he was out of sight. Taking a moment to ensure that her surroundings were clear, she surreptitiously pulling out a piece of parchment, and began discreetly reading from it even as she reflected that things were going about as well as could have been expected, considering the utter impulsiveness of her decision.

Oh, she felt absolutely no regret about having pushed Jaune Arc into becoming a provisional member of the Round Table (only King Arthur had the authority to make the final decision regarding his membership); the King would surely be pleased with the talent she'd scouted (considering even Stuck-Up Lancelot had praised him), this truly was the best way to help him (at least, that's what Agravain had told her, though she hadn't really paid attention to the details), and she was definitely more than enthusiastic about the prospect of no longer being the most junior Knight of the Round Table (especially if the newcomer was someone she could actually get along with).

And of course, him being in Camelot would give them more time to experiment with whatever soul magic "Aura" was...

But she definitely hadn't had any intentions of becoming his mentor!

After all, even she knew she was far from a first-rate knight, for God's sake!

But when her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire had not only been considered a potential candidate in training Jaune over her (a fully-fledged Knight), but had also (seemingly) dismissed her as a possible candidate...

Well, she may have lost her temper, and decided to seize the chance to prove herself (especially after seeing the looks of alarm on Percival's and Lancelot's faces)...

Unfortunately, she knew absolutely nothing about being a squire, let alone turning a squire into a full-fledged knight (one of the drawbacks of having skipped being a squire herself).

And she definitely couldn't have asked Lancelot or Percival (or Gareth) for advice, not after how she'd fought to convince them to pick her over Gareth in the first place...

... and so she'd asked (pestered) Agravain for some tips.

Although...

"... the hell's got "court etiquette" and "music and dancing" have to do with being a knight?" Mordred couldn't help but wonder out loud, as she finished reading the first sentence.

Was this what Lancelot wasted Gareth's time with?

Maybe she'd judged her elder sister too harshly...

For a moment, she considered simply tossing Agravain's list and instead going with her own personal experience, but she quickly decided against it.

After all, she may not have been human, but she also wasn't unnecessarily cruel or sadistic; the only part of Morgan's training she'd be using was establishing her subject's... student's current "baseline capabilities", so that she could track how much he improved and how fast (alas, she didn't know any Lightning spells, so she couldn't do the same in-depth tests Mother had always performed on her).

Instead, she decided to simply skip over the topics she had no interest (or experience) in, and ask Agravain about them next time.

Just as her eyes dropped back down to the parchment, however, her ears picked up the sounds of heavy metallic footsteps drawing nearer to her, and she hastily stowed it away just as a heavily-breathing Jaune returned to the castle's courtyard.

"Done with a dozen rounds already?" Mordred couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as her new squire came to a halt in front of her.

"Somehow..." Jaune groaned, before shaking his head as he reflected that he really should have foreseen metallurgy in this world being less-developed than Remnant's; the plate armor Mordred had given him was much heavier than the one he'd originally bought in Remnant (or was that just because Huntsmen had Aura, and thus relied less on actual armor?), to say nothing of running in metal boots (the sensation of which he could only describe as "loose cement shoes").

"Huh..." Mordred blinked, before mentally raising her assessment of Jaune's speed and stamina a few more notches.

Then a grin came over her face, as she realized that she wouldn't have to hold back nearly as much as she'd initially thought (which was good, since holding back was boring, and also she really wasn't any good at it).

Jaune couldn't help but gulp as Mordred cracked her knuckles and moved over to a nearby rack of training weapons, before tossing him a wooden blade as she enthusiastically declared: "Alright, now it's time for us to see how you fare in combat against a real Knight!"

-THIRTY MINUTES LATER-

"Lancelot, about your decision last night..." Percival began, as the pair of senior knights casually made their way to the dining hall.

"You doubt it, Percival?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow as he came to a stop, his voice holding no trace of defensiveness or malice but instead only curiosity at the sincere knight's uncharacteristic words.

"Your judgement has never been proven wrong, Lancelot." Percival prefaced, not wanting his friend to take offense. "But your sudden change of heart last night... I wish to understand the wisdom behind it, old friend."

"I had no reason to oppose Sir Mordred's show of initiative, Sir Percival." Lancelot explained simply. "After all, as he said, he is a fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table, by the will of His Majesty. He has every right to choose to take a squire under his wing."

"And what of Jaune?" Percival fussed. "You know our liege; compassionate and honorable as he is, he will always prioritize the well-being of the realm over all else. The only way we can convince King Arthur to launch an expedition in search of the lands Jaune hails from during this time is that he proves the worth of his people, just as Palamedes proved the worth of the Saracen. With all due respect, I believe your first choice of Gareth would have been far more suitable option."

"Perhaps, but this is one of the rare times I have witnessed Sir Mordred being proactive, and perhaps the only time he has chosen to take responsibility for another, Sir Percival." Lancelot defended, shaking his head. "And Sir Mordred's chivalry has never once been called into question."

"That... is true..." Percival slowly conceded as a bird landed on his shoulder, before chirping once at him. As he reflexively pulled out some seeds for the little creature, he admitted: "But I am still worried for Mordred. Full knight though he may be, he has still spent less time in Camelot than even Gareth; is this not too heavy of a burden, that he has suddenly thrust upon himself?'

"I agree, Sir Percival, and that is exactly why I feel Sir Mordred's first squire should be Jaune." Lancelot countered with a nod.

"... I'm afraid I don't follow, old friend." Percival reluctantly admitted.

"Did I tell you what he said, when I thanked him for aiding Sir Mordred?" Lancelot asked rhetorically, a small smile gracing his face. "He told me, "strangers are just friends you haven't met yet". Can you imagine that? Waking up in an unfamiliar land after a disastrous battle, coming across a duel between a demon and a lone wounded knight, and actively choosing to intervene while armed with only a stick and a shield?"

"..." Percival found himself rendered speechless, not only because of the sheer idealism behind such a saying, but because he could imagine such a situation. "When you put it that way, he almost reminds me of you, Lancelot..."

"You flatter me, Sir Percival." Lancelot began, before the sound of heavy footfalls caught both of their attention. Turning in its direction, they found armored knights sprinting across the corridor. The two senior knights immediately tensed up, and Lancelot stepped forward and demanded: "Knights! What is the hurry?"

"Ah, Sir Lancelot, Sir Percival!" The addressed soldiers immediately halted, and the one leading their group gulped. "Forgive us for not showing proper decorum-:

"It's fine, it's fine." Percival stepped in to reassure them. Just to be sure, they took a surreptitious glance at the First of the Knights of the Round Table, before relaxing at the lack of an impending chastening. "We merely want to know what the rush is, this early in the morning."

"Is there an emergency or something that requires our attention?" Lancelot asked, his hand already resting on the pommel of Arondight.

"Oh, nothing of the sort, Sirs." The knight hastily answered. "We just heard Sir Mordred got a new squire and was training him! Word is, they've been training since before daybreak, so we're going to watch!"

"We've all heard of Sir Mordred's legendary swordsmanship, but none of us have ever witnessed it before!" A second added.

"I'm more curious to see what poor soul ended up with Sir Mordred as a mentor..." The third murmured under his breath.

"Dismissed." Lancelot reflexively nodded to them, before turning to Percival and exchanging apprehensive looks.

"... this I have to see." Percival finally declared, before taking off after them.

Lancelot couldn't help but sigh, and hope he hadn't just made a big mistake as he joined Percival.

The scene that greeted them, as they reached the crowded corridors overlooking the castle's training grounds, was one of absurdity and destruction; Lancelot, veteran of many ferocious battles, managed to maintain his composure, but the younger knights around him couldn't help their hanging jaws.

Meanwhile, below them, at ground zero, a panting Jaune took a quick moment to catch his breath even as he kept an eye on Mordred, and mentally revised his assessment of his new trainer.

Sure, Sir Mordred may not have been quite as agile as Pyrrha (if Sir Mordred could pull off half the flips and twists Pyr had in his full suit of armor, Jaune would have called him a monster), but he was certainly as fast as her (at least), and he had an unholy combination of Nora's strength and Yang's ferocity (at least).

The only reason Jaune (with his zero wins in Glynda Goodwitch's Combat Classes) had even lasted this long was because he'd completely abandoned offense in favor of dodging and running for his life; counter-attacking was completely out of the question.

Of course, that didn't mean he was going to just give up; he did have his pride as Pyr's student, as a Huntsman-in-Training, and as the leader of Team JNPR (also, judging by the way the sparring session had gone, his instincts told him Mordred wasn't going to accept a surrender).

Mordred, for her part, was also panting heavily under her helmet even as she glared at her squire, pleased by his spirit.

Not a whisper of complaint or any indication of surrender after all this time, and no matter how many blows she landed on him he'd always manage to pull himself back up!

Truly, she'd never had such a satisfying sparring partner before (to be fair, the only person she actually dared to ask to spar with her was Agravain, who always rejected her for obvious reasons).

Tightening her grip on her latest training sword, she roared before once again kicking off towards him, creating yet another furrow in the ground.

Jaune gulped and immediately rolled to the side, before instinctively raising his sword just in time to intercept Mordred's own as she easily kicked off the ground towards him.

As soon as the two blades made contact, Jaune immediately poured his strength into his arms, focusing purely on parrying the blade to the side (if he hadn't known beforehand that locking blades with someone who made Nora Valkyrie look like Ruby Rose was a bad idea, he'd definitely learned it repeatedly a few dozen minutes ago).

And, of course, just like the past few hundred times this had happened, Mordred didn't let such a cheap trick let her become overbalanced, but instead followed her momentum to step into his guard, and rammed her shoulder into his gut.

This time, however, Jaune had been expecting it, and managed to grab her shoulder even as he tried to (finally) return the favor and thrust the hilt of his sword into her face.

"Nice try!" Mordred laughed wildly even as she ducked under the blow, having instinctively kept track of his hand as soon as he'd deflected her strike, and Jaune had barely enough time to gulp in apprehension before she butted her head into his gut like a bull, sending him flying away.

Even as her squire bounced off of the stone walls of Camelot with a loud thud, Mordred was already launching herself towards him, swinging her wooden blade at his falling form.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me..." Jaune couldn't help but groan, as he spotted the human missile flying towards him. Unable to manoeuver himself in mid-air, unwilling to let himself get smashed into the ground, Jaune could do little more than tighten his grip around his blade, grit his teeth, and meet her blow directly.

A loud cracking sound rang out across the field as the two blades met, and a gust of wind swept across the abused grounds, as Mordred's blow pushed Jaune back towards the wall.

And then, as his feet made contact with the stone surface, and he braced himself, Mordred's wooden training blade shattered into splinters against Jaune's Aura-reinforced one, splinters that fell to the floor and joined the other remnants of training blades that littered the grounds.

"Tch!" Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance as the two of them landed on the floor, and Jaune quietly breathed a sigh of relief as Mordred pulled away and callously tossed the broken hilt onto the floor, before stalking off to the weapon rack to grab yet another one, neither of them taking their eyes off of the other.

Then Jaune blinked in surprise, and as Mordred carelessly reached for another training blade, Jaune spoke up: "Uh... Sir Mordred?"

"What is it, squire?" Mordred allowed, still not taking her eyes off of him.

"There's no more training weapons." Jaune informed her, as her hand closed around empty air.

"This time, it was Mordred's turn to blink, and she looked at the weapon rack to find that it was, indeed, empty.

Huh.

Just how many swords had they gone through already?

"So... does this mean we're done?" Jaune inquired hopefully.

"... just because there's no more swords doesn't mean there's no more weapons, squire!" Mordred called back, shattering Jaune's hopes, as she gripped the rack with one hand and raised it like a club, grinning ferally the whole time.

Sure, what she was doing now was far from the superb and sophisticated swordsmanship that King Arthur had praised, but the King wasn't watching, and this wasn't an actual fight against enemies of the realm!

This was training.

After all, there were many enemies who wouldn't surrender just because they were disarmed!

She was just doing her job as Jaune's mentor!

Also, this was the most fun she'd had in sparring with a person, and she was not going to lose to her squire!

Jaune groaned again, before gulping as he saw Mordred's grip tighten in anticipation.

And then, just before she could launch herself at him and resume their bout, Agravain's stern voice rang out: "What in the Lord's name has happened here?!"

Chapter Text

"Stupid, stuck-up, nagging..." Mordred grumbled under her breath even as she sulkily swept up the debris that littered the training field.

"Well... to be fair... Sir Agravain did have a point..." Jaune defended with a strained smile even as he continued shoveling soil into a nearby crater, grateful to Sir Agravain for intervening just before his Aura had finally run out (even if he had stuck him with clean-up duty).

"Hey, whose side are you on?!" Mordred immediately stopped her steady stream of insults in favor of glaring at her squire.

"Nobody's!" Jaune immediately answered, raising his hands placatingly as he felt Mordred's glare intensify on him. "I'm just saying, we did probably go a little bit overboard..."

"Overboard? This?!" Mordred thundered, before turning back to the grounds. "We were just getting started! Br- Agravain needs to spend less time with his scrolls and more time with his swords, if you ask me..."

Jaune could feel his entire body aching as he followed Mordred's gaze, and for a moment he couldn't help but wonder if he'd made the right decision by accepting Lancelot's offer (as opposed to, say, running for the hills screaming).

After all, even Nora Valkyrie's warm-ups hadn't been that intense...

"... this... is normal, right?" Mordred couldn't help but ask unconfidently as the silence stretched on, and she mentally compared the damages to the training session Mother had forced her to go through.

Sure, even she knew her mother hadn't bothered with meaningless concepts like mercy, moderation, or restraint, but at the same time they hadn't even broken down any walls!

"..." Jaune sucked in a quick breath through his teeth as he gave the grounds another once-over, and quietly wondered if a Dust missile could have caused as much damage as their "spar".

... but then again...

"... it's... not the worst I've seen..." Jaune finally reassured Mordred, technically telling truth.

After all, at least they hadn't collapsed any pillars, broken any ceilings, or caused any whirlwinds with their fight.

"Though we should have probably spared a thought for anyone else who wanted to use it..." Jaune quickly added as he filled in another crater, not wanting Sir Mordred to take that as a sign that their future sessions should be just as intense.

"Tch." Mordred clicked her tongue in irritation, remembering Agravain's earlier lecture. As she recalled the numerous foes the Perfect King and his Knights had triumphed over, she couldn't help but rant: "If you ask me, Agravain's spent too long administrating Camelot, and needs a good adventure! After all, as your mentor I'm supposed to be preparing you to be a Knight, not coddling you!"

"C-coddling?" Jaune couldn't help but choke out incredulously, wondering which part of that had been a coddling.

"That's right." Mordred nodded smugly, before repeating an impressive line from a book she'd read: "Our foes have no mercy to spare; how can I prepare you to face them by showing you any?"

"..." Jaune's arms paused as he chewed on Sir Mordred's words. It sounded like something Glynda Goodwitch had told them at the start of the year, and it was true that the Grimm were mindlessly aggressive (if one was lucky), to say nothing of the White Fang, or that student from Haven who'd killed Ozpin.

But at the same time...

"What?" Mordred glanced at him uneasily as the silence stretched on to awkward levels. "Did I say something weird?"

"Uh, no, that's not it." Jaune quickly shook his head and waved his hands placatingly, though he couldn't help but remember how he'd been taught. "I mean... I guess it makes sense..."

"It does, right?" Mordred nodded smugly.

"It's just that..." Jaune continued on, as memories of his time in Beacon reared their head, especially the ones involving secret nighttime rendezvous on a quiet rooftop with a green-eyed redhead. "... while I don't think I was coddled, I've never been pushed that hard during training before..."

"Well, welcome to the Knights of the Round Table." Mordred crowed, before clapping him on the back and reassuring him: "Besides, I'm sure you can take it! After all, you didn't do too bad of a job just now!"

"Really?" Jaune wondered out loud, remembering how it'd been all he could do just to survive.

"Well, you could probably do with being more aggressive..." Mordred conceded with a shrug, recalling how her first training session had felt like a game of catch. Then she grinned at him under her helmet, and encouraged him: "But that was just your first training session as a Knight of the Round Table! You've got plenty of time to catch up!"

Jaune couldn't help but gulp as his body began aching in sympathy, but he forced a grin on his face as he replied: "I can't wait."

"That's the spirit, squire!" Mordred enthusiastically answered, and for a moment, Jaune found his smile not quite so forced. "You'll be up to snuff in no time at all!"

He couldn't help himself; as harsh as Sir Mordred's training may have been, the man possessed an energy that was almost infectious.

Then he looked back at the shovel in his hand, and he quickly reminded Mordred: "Though, maybe we should make sure our next training sessions are approved by Sir Agravain..."

"Oh, come on!" Mordred immediately deflated, and she pouted at Jaune under her helmet as she once again grumbled: "Who does he think I'm training, Bedivere?! I swear, next time Saxons invade, I'll make sure to tell Mo- his mother that he's getting soft."

"... are the Saxons really that bad?" Jaune quietly inquired, reflecting that he'd heard more flattering things about the Grimm. "I mean, you've talked about them a few times, and you said the King and most of the Knights were out dealing with another invasion of them, but..."

"... well, I haven't actually fought them before..." Mordred reluctantly admitted, before shaking her head. After all, Mother had drilled the tales of King Arthur and his legendary Knights into her in her youth, if only to emphasize just how much stronger she needed to be if she were to usurp the King of Knights and take the throne (why Morgan had been so obsessed with her taking the throne was still beyond her, and even if Mordred had been interested in fulfilling that particular destiny, her mother was hardly the most welcoming of questions), and she quickly scrambled to defend her dignity in front of her squire: "But it doesn't matter. Even if they aren't, we're expected to inhuman foes! Remember the Addanc? And the King and Gawain had to face down the White Dragon by themselves, during the Reclamation of Londinium!"

"Oh, the King's fought a dragon too?" Jaune cocked his head in surprise, wondering if that was why they'd believed his story about the dragon so easily.

"Right in that very castle, in fact!" Mordred gushed, using her broom to point back to Camelot. "The city of Camelot used to be the Imperial city of Londinium, before it fell into ruin when the Empire collapsed! When the Usurper King Vortigern summoned the Saxons to Britain and killed the previous High King, he turned the city into his stronghold, and it was only after Arthur slew him with the holy lance Rhongomyniad that he was finally crowned the High King of the Britons!"

"... so, Vortigern had a pet dragon?" Jaune wondered if he'd missed something, unable to see where the White Dragon fit into the story.

"Oh, no, Vortigern turned into a dragon!" Mordred corrected him with a grin. "And according to Gawain, he destroyed the castle just by growing in size! Can you imagine that?!"

"..." Jaune looked up at the castle and gulped quietly as he mentally compared it to the Grimm Dragon he'd fought (barely survived).

"God, I wish I could have been there..." Mordred sighed wistfully, before noticing her squire's expression. Clapping him on the back again, she snorted: "What's up with that reaction?! You've faced the Addanc and a dragon already!"

Jaune merely responded by rolling his eyes at his mentor, though his lips twitched slightly at Sir Mordred's antics. While he'd only known the Knight for a few days (and he'd only been in this new land for about a week), he felt relatively confident that he had enough of a grasp of Sir Mordred's character to know that Mordred was being genuinely earnest and well-meaning with his questions.

Though, like Ruby, he could have probably learned how to phrase his words a bit more carefully...

... then again, considering this was a different world, it was also entirely possible that Mordred's way of speaking was normal. After all, Jaune had only really talked to him, Gareth, and Lancelot, and he'd never exactly been the most skilled at social interactions on Remnant anyway...

Jaune sighed and shook his head as the topic grew far more complicated than he was really willing to consider. Interacting with other people his age had already been hard enough in Beacon; considering the intricacies of communicating with people from a completely different time and place, with a different lifestyle and culture, was utterly beyond him. Looking back at Sir Mordred, he began to retort, before a rumbling sound filled the air between them.

"..."

"..."

"..." Jaune fought to keep his face from spontaneously combusting as his stomach reminded him he hadn't eaten since the day before.

-ONE RUSHED CLEAN-UP LATER-

"..." Jaune's face was stiff as he looked around the packed dining hall for a place to sit and did his best to ignore the stares being levelled his way.

Seriously, it was already bad enough that half of Camelot had seen him getting his ass handed to him by Sir Mordred before they'd gotten lectured by Sir Agravain; he didn't want to embarrass himself (or Sir Lancelot, Gareth, and Sir Mordred by extension) any further by being making it obvious just how socially awkward he was as well!

As the murmuring and gazes around him slowly intensified, however, Jaune couldn't help but fix his gaze upon the meaty gruel he'd been given even as he tried to block it all out and get to the least-crowded corner of the room as quickly as was socially acceptable.

As he stared at the stew in his hands, however, and the smell hit his nose, he found himself torn between salivating and gagging.

On one hand, he could easily make something more delicious than... whatever it was he was carrying.

But on the other, it had been maybe eighteen hours since his last meal, and he'd burned a lot of calories that morning.

As he sat himself at a relatively-empty table and poked at it with a wooden spoon, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder how his friends would feel, if they found out he was having a meal in a different world.

He couldn't help the slight grin that crossed his features, before his face fell as he once again thought about his friends, his family, his life.

He just couldn't help himself; his entire life (afterlife?) had been turned upside down in the past week or so, after all, and he hadn't really had much time to process it yet.

But at the same time...

Jaune quietly forced himself to take a deep breath, before taking a tentative scoop of the gruel.

"Jaune, everybody needs a little push from time to time."

He knew his friends were stronger than him.

He knew his friends were smarter than him.

He knew his friends were more experienced than him.

"It doesn't make you any different from the rest of us."

He knew his friends were better than him.

"Come on, I know you get frustrated, but you must keep trying."

And he knew they wouldn't want him to wallow in self-pity.

He'd already accepted there was basically no way home.

He was still... well, perhaps "alive" wasn't the best word for it, but he still existed.

Ruby would want him to learn all about their weapons (especially that "gun-lance" Gareth had mentioned), Nora would probably want to know if there were pancakes, Ren would have been more interested in herbs and tea, and Pyrrha...

Well, Pyrrha would probably be just be happy if he did his best (she really was a bit soft on him, come to think of it), but as her student and partner he wasn't going to embarrass himself in front of the Knights of Camelot (any further, at least)!

...

... honestly, she'd probably already be proud that he was accepting help from Sir Mordred and Sir Lancelot instead of trying to stubbornly do everything on his own!

Sighing, Jaune tentatively lifted the spoon to his mouth.

He knew his friends would be fine, even without him.

All he could do now, was continue on.

The gruel entered his mouth.

Immediately, Jaune recoiled and pulled a face, wondering whether the food was over-boiled or over-flavored.

One thing was for sure, it was certainly a... unique flavor.

But it was still nutritious protein, and definitely the best he could hope to get in this place, so he cautiously took another scoop.

As he swallowed he sensed a figure approaching him, and he looked up in time to see a petite blonde lady taking a seat in front of him, who immediately excitedly greeted him: "Good afternoon, Jaune! I'm honestly surprised to see you here!"

"Hey, Gareth," Jaune managed a smile for his new friend, before his face morphed into one of confusion. "... did you think I'd forget where the dining hall was? I mean, you gave me the tour just yesterday..."

"No, no, that's not it!" Gareth shook her head. "The entire castle's buzzing with news about what you did in the morning! Is it true?"

"Is it true?" Jaune echoed, before dropping his spoon back into his bowl and groaning. "What, you mean the part where we wrecked the training grounds and got scolded by your brother for an hour?"

"What, no!" Gareth exclaimed. "I'm talking about the part where you went toe-to-toe with Sir Mordred!"

"Is that what they're saying?" Jaune blinked, before it was his turn to shake his head. "That's... definitely stretching it a bit..."

"But it is true you had a bout with Sir Mordred, right?" Gareth pressed eagerly.

"I think you mean, I survived a bout with Sir Mordred," Jaune corrected Gareth with an awkward laugh.

"So it is true!" Gareth announced triumphantly.

"All I did was run around trying not to get utterly annihilated by him," Jaune pointed out wryly.

"That's still amazing!" Gareth immediately replied. "Most knights in Camelot would not last five minutes against him, to say nothing of a simple squire!"

"He's that good?" Jaune blinked.

"By skill of sword alone, Sir Mordred is easily among the top of the Round Table, to say nothing of his prodigious strength.' Gareth informed him, before sighing forlornly. "I can't believe I missed your training session with him..."

"Yeah, and I don't think Sir Agravain will allow Sir Mordred to conduct any more lessons like that." Jaune groaned, quietly thankful for his Aura having already healed up most of his bruises and aches.

"..." Gareth's eyes widened in shock, and as Jaune nodded in response she quickly reconducted herself: "... well, I suppose my brother must have a good reason for it..."

"The cost of fixing up the training grounds, mostly," Jaune helpfully informed her. "I think we went through almost a dozen racks of training swords."

"..." Gareth was dignified enough to maintain her composure even as she quietly bemoaned not having even been able to see the aftermath.

Then she recalled something, and spoke up: "Speaking of weapons... do you recall our discussion about Ira Lupus, on the way back to Camelot?"

"Yeah..." Jaune hummed as he raised an eyebrow. "You were talking about re-designing your gun-lance, right?"

"That is correct," Gareth nodded. "Would you mind sparing me some of your time later in the evening? As a fellow squire I would request both combat pointers from you and to discuss my weapon."

"... well, if Sir Mordred doesn't have anything else for me, I guess it's fine." Jaune shrugged. "Just... don't expect too much from me, alright? And share some of your experience with me, too!"

"Very well, then." Gareth smiled at him. "While I doubt it, I hope my experience will have some value to you."

"I'm sure it will," Jaune murmured, deciding not to mention his complete lack of experience.

-MORDRED'S ROOM, LATER THAT DAY-

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune's voice called out along with a sudden knock on the door, and a startled Mordred immediately called her helmet back up as her squire continued: "May I ask you a question?"

"Uh, of course, go ahead!" Mordred shouted back through the closed door even as she hastily stowed away the parchment in her hand.

"I was wondering if you had any plans for me for the evening, Sir Mordred," Jaune inquired. "If there were none, I will be training with Gareth."

"Uh..." Mordred looked back at where she'd kept the parchment. "... nope, I've got nothing for you tonight! Make sure you show her how much you've learned today, squire!"

"Thanks, Sir Mordred!" Jaune called back, before his footsteps began to trail off.

Mordred waited a few more minutes, before dismissing her helmet and pulling the crumpled piece of paper back out, all the while musing that her squire certainly had a commendable level of initiative and dedication to self-improvement.

It was the least she could do, as his Knight-Mentor and a Knight of the Round Table, to not disappoint his efforts.

"What else did Agravain say I should teach my squire, besides all that weird fancy manners stuff? Let's see... weapon maintenance... horseback riding... swordplay... wait, didn't he say I needed permission for any future training sessions? Ugh, I really don't want to have to see him right now..."

Chapter Text

"Wake up, squire! Come on, we're burning daylight!"

As the familiar voice of Sir Mordred called out through the thick doors, Jaune found himself slowly roused from his sleep. As it was quickly followed up with a heavy pounding against the door, Jaune couldn't help but sigh even as he looked out of the window towards the moonlit night sky and quietly ticked yet another day off of his mental calendar.

This marked what? Twenty? Twenty one days, since he'd first woken up in that forest?

Jaune had begun to lost count; he couldn't help it, he'd fallen into something of a routine since coming to Camelot, and the days had just kind of blended together (and wasn't that a funny way to describe his afterlife, that it had become routine).

In the mornings (long before the sun had even risen, despite what his over-enthusiastic trainer would always say), he'd almost always find himself being woken up by Sir Mordred, before being dragged out of Camelot in order to continue their training (presumably, Sir Mordred still couldn't get permission from Sir Agravain).

Fortunately for him, though, Sir Mordred didn't seem to see the need to beat him half to death anymore, and instead of his mornings being spent fighting for his afterlife, his mentor was more than content to actually teach him.

Of course, Sir Mordred could certainly be strict and demanding, especially when it came to practical demonstrations.

For example, where Pyr would have gently corrected his stances or his grip if he found himself making a mistake, Sir Mordred would demonstrate exactly why what he was doing was a bad idea.

On him.

Repeatedly.

And that wasn't even getting into whenever Sir Mordred decided to test his defenses or reflexes...

...

... anyway, after Sir Mordred concluded ended his daily b̶e̶a̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ training sessions with a quick review session (and his Aura had healed him enough for him to catch his breath), the pair would part ways, with Mordred going to take care of some "super-secret Round Table stuff" (Jaune figured he had to reassure Sir Agravain that they weren't destroying any more things) and Jaune heading to grab some breakfast (even if it was usually closer to lunch time).

Meal times were still a mixed bag, though.

On one hand the food wasn't exactly getting any more palatable or edible, and Jaune was seriously beginning to consider whether it would just be better if he made his own meals (he would've certainly done it if he actually had the time or energy to do so)...

But on the other hand, at least things weren't nearly as awkward as they'd first been. The other residents were starting to find him old news (it was helped by the fact that they hadn't broken any more fields or been scolded by Sir Agravain since then), he had plenty of experience when it came to being stared at (that tended to happen a lot when one was simultaneously the leader of a team with Nora Valkyrie on it, the partner of the Four-Time Champion of Mistral, the best friend of the youngest student in the history of Beacon, and the worst student in the history of Beacon), and he usually ate with Gareth whenever they could arrange it.

He still didn't like to be stared at and murmured about, of course, but it was much easier to ignore when he was starving and had someone to talk to.

And speaking of his occasional conversation partner, Jaune felt like he could safely say he'd been right.

Gareth and Ruby would've definitely hit it off.

Honestly, Gareth really reminded him of a more outgoing Ruby Rose (especially when she started discussing Ira Lupus), and more than once Jaune had almost called his fellow squire by the wrong name before managing to catch himself.

... well, putting aside unimportant and complicated matters, Jaune felt confident in saying that without Gareth, he probably wouldn't have been adapting to his time here nearly as quickly as he was.

Sure, he owed his mentor his afterlife for getting him out of the forest and teaching him how to be a knight, but his mentor was often busy with his duties, and it was hanging out with someone his age and having casual chats that helped him to relax, to feel almost normal about his entire situation.

... although he really didn't know how to feel about finding it normal to discuss weapons, especially when he still didn't know how to use anything more complicated than a sword and could only really get by thanks to regurgitating whatever he'd been able to absorb from Beacon, his Scroll, and Ruby Rose...

Well, at least his first friend would have been proud of him.

After meal time, and for the rest of the day, Jaune would typically find his afternoons occupied by further training and studies. The type of training differed depending on who he was spending the afternoon with; sometimes Sir Mordred would suddenly decide that he needed to know something new (recently he'd finally gotten used to properly sharpening a sword; sure, he could sharpen a wooden stick and a kitchen knife, but he'd never learned (or needed to learn) about sharpening the family sword before), sometimes he and Gareth would stick together after lunch and the two would continue discussing whatever they'd been talking about earlier (be it how Jaune was finding Camelot, how his training was progressing, or even what Gareth wanted to improve about Ira Lupus next and how they could achieve it), and sometimes, when no one was free, he'd simply do stuff on his own, from practicing his sword swings and form to jogging around the grounds for a few hours to even spending time in the castle's library to read up more about the world he found himself in.

His teammates would have been so proud of that last part, if they didn't all have heart attacks...

"... squire? You okay, squire?"

Sir Mordred's uncharacteristically-concerned tone cut through Jaune's thoughts, and he looked up from his reveries to see Sir Mordred's signature helmet looking down at him.

"I'm sorry, were you saying something?" Jaune asked politely, knowing there was no way he could pretend he'd been paying attention.

"I was just... it's nothing," Mordred huffed, looking away crossly. After a moment, though, Mordred peeked back in Jaune's direction and asked: "You just seemed distracted during today's training, squire."

"Oh... sorry." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

"..." Mordred studied her squire for a moment as she wondered just what she was supposed to do now. After all, there'd been nothing in Agravain's notes about what to do if her squire was distracted, and she'd never asked since she'd never seen her squire like this before (also, she still didn't want to speak to her brother after he'd scolded her like that).

And while she knew exactly what Mother would do if it were her in that position... she didn't really want to smack her squire's head a few dozen times while yelling at him for messing up.

Ugh, why was this so difficult?

Whose idea had it even been to make him her squire, anyway?!

As she desperately tried to recall what the knights in her picture books would do in situations like this, Jaune reluctantly admitted: "I guess... I was just... thinking..."

"Oh?" Mordred quickly pounced on the conversational lifeline. "Thinking, huh?"

"Yeah, thinking..." Jaune sighed.

"Thinking about what?" Mordred inquired, sitting down next to him.

"Just... you know..." Jaune hummed noncommittally as he looked up at the sky. As an awkward silence descended upon the pair, and Mordred began to fidget impatiently, Jaune finally sighed: "It's nothing major, Sir Mordred. Just... can't believe I've been in Camelot for, what, two weeks already?"

"It's only been two weeks?!" Mordred couldn't help but blink incredulously.

"Yeah, I can't believe it either," Jaune laughed. "Feels like it was just yesterday I was still in Beacon..."

"That's the place that trained you, right?" Mordred asked, before snapping her fingers as she finally recalled a similar story she'd once read. "Do you miss it?"

"I-I... of course I do..." Jaune conceded before shaking his head. "But that's not what I was thinking about. I was thinking about how this place reminds me a lot of Beacon."

"Oh... that's good, right?" Mordred pressed curiously and carelessly. "I mean, if it reminds you of home, then you'd miss it less, right?"

"... I don't know..." Jaune shrugged uncertainly, before forcing a smile on his face as he looked up at Sir Mordred's expressionless helmet. "But at least, it's helped me get used to my time here."

Honestly, that was probably an understatement; if Jaune closed his eyes, he could almost begin to pretend he was still in Beacon.

Almost.

But even if he didn't have to eat Camelot's food or take a crap in a society that hadn't even invented toilet paper, let alone indoor plumbing... he just couldn't do it.

He just couldn't delude himself.

His mentor wasn't Pyrrha or Nora, his weapon-enthusiastic friend wasn't Ruby Rose, and this wasn't even Remnant, let alone Beacon. He'd already accepted that; pretending otherwise was just doing a disservice to himself and his friends, both the ones he'd lost and the ones he'd made.

"That's good to hear!" Mordred cheerfully clapped him on the back, completely unaware of his inner thoughts, before laughing as his back glowed brightly in response. "Ah, by the way, about your "Aura"..."

"I've told you a thousand times already, Sir Mordred, it's not happening" Jaune rolled his eyes in good-natured exasperation, even though he was privately thankful for the change in subject.

"Aw, come on!" Mordred whined.

"I barely know anything about Aura myself, Sir Mordred; there's no way I'm going to mess around with your soul to try and get it to manifest!" Jaune refused to budge.

"Even if I ordered you to do it as your mentor?" Mordred challenged.

"Nope," Jaune firmly stated, before quickly adding as he sensed Mordred's scowl: "Besides, you don't need it anyway, Sir. If anything, Sir Agravain might kick me out if I make you any stronger!"

"Hah! True!" Mordred roared with laughter, easily mollified by her squire's shameless flattery. The mention of her brother reminded her that she'd been purposely avoiding the one person in Camelot who was actually helping her with being a Knight Mentor, though, and after a moment of contemplation (or as close as the five-year-old could get to it) she got up, brushed the dirt from her armor, and murmured: "And speaking of Agravain..."

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune looked up at his mentor questioningly.

"I just remembered, I've got something I need to discuss with him later, squire!" Mordred made up an excuse on the spot, before declaring: "So let's end the session here for today! See you around, squire!"

Jaune could only sigh as he watched his mentor dash off, and hope that Sir Mordred wasn't about to get in trouble with Sir Agravain for whatever urgent matter the two apparently needed to discuss.

Truly, his mentor could be... eccentric, at times.

And even he'd noticed that Sir Mordred was hardly the most experienced teacher in Camelot (he just needed to listen to Gareth describing her lessons to see the difference).

... but at the same time, Jaune had to admit, he was definitely seeing himself improve at a much faster rate than back in Beacon.

That wasn't to say that Pyr was a worse teacher, of course; without her, he wouldn't even have made it past Initiation, let alone passed his combat classes (or known how to stand and how to swing a sword without falling over and which end of the sword was which)!

And he definitely still didn't think Pyrrha had been coddling him!

But maybe Sir Mordred had been on to something, pushing him hard, confident that he could take it...

Or maybe it was just because he was only now seeing his growth; Pyr had always told him when he'd been discouraged that the fundamentals, while important, didn't always show obvious results so quickly.

... oh well, it didn't matter.

Beggars couldn't be choosers, right?

-AGRAVAIN'S CHAMBERS, LATER-

"Heya, Agravain!" Mordred's voice, coupled with the door suddenly being kicked open, made Agravain jump in his seat. "It's been a while!"

"... Sir Mordred," Agravain breathed as he quickly recomposed himself, refusing to give his smirking younger sister anything more than a dirty look, let alone the satisfaction of having surprised him. "This is... unexpected."

"Is it really so unexpected for me to see my brother?" Mordred asked innocently.

"When you've been avoiding me for a fortnight, yes," Agravain sarcastically retorted.

"I haven't been avoiding you-" Mordred began to defend herself.

"Of course you haven't," Agravain rolled his eyes, before sighing and changing the topic: "Anyway, before you tell me what you need from me, I need to ask you some questions involving your squire."

"Oh come on!" Mordred immediately whined. "For the last time, that was not going overboard! And even if it was, my squire can take it! ... not that we've been wrecking any more fields or anything..."

Agravain took a deep breath and pinched the bridge of his nose before slowly exhaling as he reminded himself that he had an important duty that day. "This isn't about that, Mordred. I just want to ask for an update regarding your squire's progress."

"Oh?" Mordred blinked, taken off-guard by the request. Then she puffed up her chest and crowed: "Well, if you must know, he's coming along very well, if I do say so myself! He can sharpen my sword without any problem now-"

"He couldn't sharpen a sword before this?" Agravain interrupted.

"Apparently he never learnt it before I taught it to him," Mordred shrugged, before explaining: "His soul-magic thingy protects the edge of the blade too. It's absolute bullshit, I tell you... but yeah, when I first handed him my sword, he tried to sharpen it like a kitchen knife! A kitchen knife!"

Agravain could feel a sense of foreboding descending upon him, but he forced it down as he focused on the bright side: "But he can now?"

"Yeah, he's gotten the hang of it," Mordred confirmed. "Let's see, what else was there... he's getting really good at fighting. Still got a long way to go before he can lay a finger on me, of course, but I'd wager on him over most regular Knights in Camelot. Hell, I might even put money on him kicking Gareth's butt in a month's time!"

"That's good..." Agravain murmured, feeling reassured by Mordred's words and confidence. But of course, it wasn't his job to be complacent. "And what about the other topics I told you to teach him?"

"Other topics?" Mordred repeated blankly, before realizing what he was talking about: "What, you mean court etiquette and music and dancing and all that fancy crap?"

"Yes, those topics," Agravain confirmed, breathing a sigh of relief that his meat-headed sister hadn't simply forgotten his list.

Unfortunately for him, Mordred's next words shattered his hopes: "Why do I need to teach him all that useless stuff? Actually, the hell's all those things got to do with being a Knight, anyway? Mother never taught me about anything like that!"

Agravain suddenly felt torn between the urge to curse his bitch of a mother for raising a weapon instead of a proper knight, and the urge to simply bury his face into his hands and weep.

-PATH BACK TO CAMELOT, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

As Jaune slowly strolled back up the familiar path to the castle, he spotted two familiar figures approaching him., and it was with no small confusion that he greeted them: "Morning, Gareth, Sir Lancelot."

"Hail, Squire Jaune," Lancelot easily returned the greeting, nodding towards the blonde boy.

"Morning, Jaune!" Gareth enthusiastically waved at her fellow squire. "Did you hear the news?"

"Sorry, I was busy training all morning," Jaune shook his head. "Did something happen?"

"A runner just arrived with a message: the campaign at the borders have been concluded," Lancelot explained patiently. "The King and his army are making preparations to return to Camelot as we speak."

"Oh, that's great!" Jaune could see why the pair seemed so energized now; if there was one thing he'd observed during his time here, it was that King Arthur seemed to be universally beloved in Camelot.

"It certainly is!" Gareth nodded, before asking: "So, are you ready to plead your case to the King?"

"... eh?" Jaune blinked, caught completely off-guard.

"Fear not, Squire Jaune," Lancelot reassured Jaune, misunderstanding his reaction. "The King is just and fair, perform in front of him as you have in front of me and Sir Mordred, and I'm certain your worth will be sufficiently demonstrated."

"..." Jaune could only stare in mortification at the pair, as he finally remembered that he'd completely forgotten to tell them not to bother wasting their time trying to find his home all this time.

Chapter Text

If anybody had been asked what kind of day it was, they would have said that it was a bright, sunny, and cheerful day. made all the happier for the news that the King's campaigns at the borders of Logres had been successful, and their brothers-in-arms were returning to Camelot.

The key word, of course, being was.

As the armored figure stormed down the passages from the living quarters, oppressively radiating negativity, even the hardened men of Camelot quickly found reasons (or invented excuses) to make themselves absent, none of them wanting to attract the ire of a pissed-off Sir Mordred.

For her part, though, Mordred didn't even register that she was being intentionally avoided, busy as she was with sulking furiously under her breath: "Shit... damn Agravain... did he really have to chew me out like that again? It's not my fault I didn't know that all that stuffy noble crap was actually useful..."

And to be fair, even Agravain hadn't been able to deny that!

... but even so, even if it was completely Mother's fault that she'd never been taught in the ways of nobility (despite it being her who'd always gone about how the throne was rightfully hers!), it didn't change the fact that things like court etiquette and social graces were still important things for knights to know.

A sigh escaped from Mordred's unseen lips as she finally paused in her ranting to catch her breath, and her thoughts turned from how Agravain had scolded her to what he'd said.

He really hadn't needed to spend a whole hour explaining exactly why each and every item on the list he'd given her had been necessary for a knight to know (and in exceptional detail no less).

Even she'd gotten the message after the first ten minutes.

Sure, she hadn't needed to know it, between Mother's recommendation and her awesome swordsmanship (though she'd never advance any further as a Knight of the Round Table unless she could prove she was more than a mere brute), but her squire wasn't her.

Hell, as she'd been reminded, her squire hadn't even officially become a squire yet!

Agravain's and Lancelot's plans had been to privately introduce Jaune to the King and explain his circumstances once he'd returned (ideally during the feast to celebrate his great victory at the border), as only the King held the power to formally receive the oaths of a new prospective, to induct them into the ranks of Camelot.

Which meant that her squire had to at least be able to conduct himself in front of royalty by the time the King returned, lest he embarrass himself and ruin his chances of impressing the King and producing a compelling case (a task which he would have had no prior experience with, having hailed from a Kingless Kingdom).

And if he failed...

Mordred couldn't help but gulp, as she recalled exactly what was at stake for her squire.

... but it didn't matter, right?

Her squire had said he'd been getting used to life in Camelot, right?

And even if the King didn't launch an expedition to search for the lands of Remnant, there was no way the King would be cruel enough to banish Jaune from the castle!

... but what if she was wrong, like she'd been about the importance of all those other lessons?

After all, he had said he'd missed his home...

And what was she supposed to do?

They had anywhere between two weeks to a month before the King returned.

Was that enough time for him to learn everything he needed?

Hell, was that enough time for her to learn everything she needed to teach him?

... ugh, why did being a mentor and having a squire have to be so damn difficult?!

As her mind kept going in circles, she absent-mindedly turned a corner, before pausing as she heard Lancelot's voice in front of her: "Are you quite sure about this?"

Mordred reflexively clicked her tongue in annoyance. Personally, even she knew she was just being petty, but she just couldn't help herself at the moment. After all, Sir Lancelot was the epitome of a Knight of the Round Table; his presence right then did little more than remind Mordred of how much she was lacking.

And then she froze, as her squire's voice replied: "I'm sure, Sir Lancelot."

"But... what about your home?" Gareth inquired with an emotional tone as Sir Mordred ducked back behind the corner. "Your friends and family?"

"Squire Gareth, that's enough!" Lancelot's warning tone cut Gareth's words short. Then he sighed, and wearily explained: "Squire Jaune has made up his mind; to doubt his decision any further would be to insult his resolve."

"It's fine, it's fine," Jaune quickly waved it away. "I'm sure Gareth was just concerned and wanted to make sure I wouldn't regret it, right? After all, that's why I wanted to be a squire."

As Gareth nodded both appreciatively and in affirmation, Jaune took a deep breath and ran through what he'd hastily thought up, before speaking: "But... the thing is... I did some reading up in the castle's library... and there's nothing. It's just too far; it'd take at least a lifetime to get there."

Literally.

"Oum, its basically off the entire map," Jaune shook his head, before concluding: "I don't know how that fight with the dragon brought me here... but I can't in good conscience ask you guys to spend any more resources on this, not after everything you've done for me, and not after I now know it's impossible. I'm... it's not worth the effort."

""...""

Even Lancelot found himself moved by the boy's melancholic words, but he quickly recomposed himself and nodded before continuing on: "I see. Then, what will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" Jaune blinked.

"If you no longer wish to search for a way home, what will your next course of action be?" Lancelot elaborated.

"Oh..." Jaune nodded in understanding, before rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly as he answered: "Well... I was thinking I could keep doing what I've been doing here..."

"Oh?" Lancelot raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

"I mean, I don't really know enough about this place to anything else, you know?" Jaune explained quickly, before quietly admitting: "And... well... I became a Huntsman because I wanted to be a hero, to help people. Being a Knight's close enough to being a Huntsman that I figure I can still do it..."

"... for what it's worth, Squire Jaune, I do believe you will be a fine addition to our ranks," Lancelot smiled gently while Gareth nodded her assent behind him, before recalling the original topic. "But still, to be formally inducted into our ranks requires you to meet with the King, receive his approval, and swear your vows to him. So, as I asked before, how has your training under Sir Mordred been progressing?"

"It's... I guess it's going pretty well?" Jaune shrugged.

"That... is good, to hear," Lancelot answered uncertainly, exchanging an uneasy look with his squire. After all, he'd been present for what was now known in Camelot as the legendary "Mordred's Training", to say nothing of what Gareth shared with him from her conversations with her fellow squire.

Jaune picked up on his hesitation, however, and quickly came to his mentor's defense: "Look, I know he's not the most experienced mentor in Camelot, but he's really taught me a lot, and my swordsmanship has definitely improved by leaps and bounds since he became my teacher!"

A smile crossed Lancelot's lips as he saw the young man's loyalty, and so he chose to have faith in his fellow Knight of the Round Table and his initial decision. Clapping Jaune's shoulder, he earnestly replied: "Then, on behalf of Sir Mordred, I'd like to thank you for being his squire, young Jaune."

"Thank me?" Jaune echoed incredulously.

"Indeed," Lancelot nodded in affirmation. "I genuinely believe his role as your mentor is as much to his benefit as it is to yours."

"Really?" Jaune blinked, completely nonplussed.

"Yes, really," Lancelot answered easily. "Sir Mordred has always had the potential to be a great knight, and I truly believe he always means well... but he is still young, and before your arrival he has had little chance to demonstrate an aptitude for the aspects of Knighthood beyond combat. As your mentor, however, he has shown a willingness to display initiative, restraint, and temperance... or so I've been told.

"Anyway," Lancelot continued, as Gareth and Jaune exchanged brief looks of disbelief. "If you wish to continue serving in Camelot, I only wish that you and Sir Mordred will continue to be positive influences on one another."

"... I'll do my best," Jaune promised, seeing that Lancelot was serious. "Arc's word."

"I have no doubt you will," Lancelot nodded confidently, before making to leave. "And I look forward to seeing Sir Mordred present you to the King, squire."

"Ah... right..." Jaune laughed nervously as he waved at the pair, before his shoulders slumped once they were out of view, and he began walking in the opposite direction from them.

Honestly, he'd almost forgotten that he'd actually need to meet with the legendary King Arthur in order to be formally accepted.

... he was going to meet with actual, honest-to-Oum royalty.

Oh, he was so going to mess this up, wasn't he?

So preoccupied was Jaune in freaking out at the prospect of meeting the King that, as he absent-mindedly turned a corner, he found himself tripping over an armored leg.

"Oh, sorry about that!" Jaune reflexively began to apologize as he caught himself, before blinking as he slowly recognized the figure. "... Sir Mordred?"

"..." Mordred simply continued looking down, her expressionless helmet betraying nothing as her mind rapidly processed everything she'd overheard with her inhuman senses, everything she'd learned that day.

Warning bells began ringing instinctively in Jaune's head at his mentor's uncharacteristic silence, and he leaned forward in concern as he tentatively asked: "Is... is everything okay, Sir Mordred?"

"Hey..." Mordred's voice was quiet and shaky as she finally responded. "Am I a good teacher?"

"... huh?" Jaune blinked, caught off-guard by the sudden line of questioning.

"Answer the question, damn it." Mordred growled firmly.

"I... I guess so?" Jaune scratched the back of his ear in confusion. "Sir Mordred, where's this coming from?"

"How?" Mordred ignored his questions as she looked up at him. "How am I a good teacher?"

"I mean... you've taught me so much!" Jaune pointed out, repeating what he'd told Lancelot just a few minutes earlier. "Especially with using a sword; I think I could even give my old partner a run for her money-"

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance, cutting off Jaune, and he immediately knew he'd said the wrong thing. "Nothing about court etiquette, manners during a grand feast, or carrying yourself in front of royalty... nothing about being an actual knight. Brother was right..."

"Brother?" Jaune echoed dumbly. "Wha-"

"Listen up, Jaune," Mordred snapped, interrupting Jaune again. "From now on... you're not my squire any longer."

"..." Jaune could only blink in confusion, before he finished processing what Sir Mordred had said. "Wait, what-?"

"I'm doing you a damn favor, alright?!" Mordred growled furiously as she got up. "I wasn't even supposed to be your mentor! Gareth was supposed to do it! ... god, Lancelot was right..."

And that was probably the most painful part of the day.

She was used to being overshadowed by her Elder-Sister-Who-Was-Still-A-Squire.

She was used to being chewed out by Agravain over some petty matter or another.

But the last time Lancelot had rebuked her for improper conduct (just before she'd gone to kill the Addanc), he'd called her impetuous and brash.

And if he'd said that about her to her squire... to Jaune, she might have been able to shrug it off as usual.

But hearing him instead praise her in private, when he didn't know she'd been listening? To learn that he believed she had potential, that he believed she meant well, that he believed she could be a great knight?

To learn that she'd been wrong about the stuck-up straight-laced First Knight of the Round Table?

All she could think, when she'd heard all that, was that she wasn't one yet.

And that stung, almost as much as the knowledge that she'd basically ruined her squire's chances of ever returning home, all because of a petty, childish, one-sided grudge.

"Hey, wait, where's all this coming from?" Jaune spoke up, utterly lost.

"... it doesn't matter," Mordred shook her head in self-loathing as she turned to walk away. "From now on, you should go and find Gareth for your training; she'll definitely do a much better job than this third-rate knight..."

To her surprise, however, Jaune placed a hand on her shoulder, firmly keeping her in place as he said: "No, no, no. Where's all this suddenly coming from?"

"Let go of me, squire," Mordred growled, placing a hand on the hilt of her sword warningly.

"Then tell me what's wrong," Jaune pressed, unwilling to simply abandon somebody he considered a friend.

"Final warning," Mordred drew her sword.

Jaune didn't let go.

-OUTSKIRTS OF CAMELOT, FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-

"Are you finally willing to talk, Sir Mordred?" Jaune casually asked between pants as the pair sat next to each other, slumped against the scarred and shattered stump of an oak tree.

"Tch." Mordred looked away. "You've certainly grown cocky, Jaune."

"I had a good teacher." Jaune smirked at her, before his face became serious: "Look... I know I'm just a squire, and you're a full knight... but... well... something's clearly bothering you, and I'd like to think we're friends, so..."

"Friends, huh..." Mordred murmured thoughtfully, looking up at her squire. Even she knew she didn't exactly have many (any) friends in Camelot.

Were they friends?

...

What even was a friend, anyway?

"... do you remember how I ended our training early this morning, to go and look for Agravain?" Mordred finally spoke, and as Jaune nodded she reluctantly admitted: "Well... I actually wanted to ask him for some advice on training you. Turns out, there's way more to being a Knight than just teaching you to fight! Did you know that? Because I didn't..."

Jaune didn't know how to answer that, so he elected to simply hum noncommittally, and wait for her to continue.

"Even sis- I mean, Gareth, who's still a squire, could teach you more about etiquette and diplomacy than me..." Mordred laughed self-deprecatingly, before looking down and sighing. "This was all a big mistake... what on earth was I ever thinking?! I should never have insisted on being your mentor over Gareth..."

Jaune's ears perked up at the familiar words, the familiar tone of voice, and he couldn't help but ask: "Why did you want me to be your squire?"

"Why do you think?" Mordred released another bark of harsh laughter, much to Jaune's displeasure. Then she looked down again, and quietly admitted: "I just... I just wanted to get one over my stupid perfect sister... just wanted to prove myself... prove that I was a proper knight too..."

Jaune sucked in a deep breath through his teeth, as the pieces fell into place.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune tentatively began, trying to recall how that conversation had went. "Remember how I was telling you about Huntsmen?"

"Your order of monster-slaying warriors with soul magic that's a lot like us Knights, right?" Mordred played along, wondering what this had to do with anything and why Jaune had brought it up.

If it was out of pity or something she was going to be really pissed.

"Mmmhmm," Jaune hummed in confirmation. "Did I ever tell you how we were trained?"

"Not really," Mordred shrugged, still not seeing the point. "I only know you were coddled by your former trainer..."

"To become a Huntsman, most people start training from their childhoods," Jaune sighed, not even bothering to rebut Mordred's words. "I always wanted to be one..."

"So, what, you've got lots of experience?" Mordred rolled her eyes in irritation. After all, everyone on the Round Table had more experience than her, even Gareth; she was only five! "I mean, if you're trying to tell me that you never actually needed me to prepare you for being a good knight..."

"It's the opposite, actually," Jaune looked away and took a deep breath. Once he'd mentally steeled himself, he finally admitted: "I was never actually allowed to get any training."

Mordred's helmet snapped back towards him immediately.

"My parents never wanted me to become a Huntsman," Jaune continued to explain. "I have more experience plowing a field than swinging a sword. In fact, I had to actually run away from home and lie and trick my way into finally getting Huntsman training at Beacon last year, and I was the worst trainee in the entire school. All because I wanted to be a hero, even though I was never good enough..."

Jaune could feel the gaze boring into him intensify, and he decided to try again.

"Look, what I'm trying to get at is... your desire to prove yourself... to show everyone you can do it... I completely understand it," Jaune's voice was full of empathy. "So..."

"Then, let me help you!"

"... so, that's why I'm not letting you get away from being my mentor, Sir Mordred," Jaune concluded, smiling gently at his newest mentor.

If not for her helmet, a bird might have flown right into Mordred's mouth.

Eventually, though, she found her voice, and incredulously demanded: "Are you insane?! You're telling me you've actually got less training than what you should, and you're still passing up the chance to get a proper knight as your mentor?!"

"Yup."

"You're actually insane!" Mordred threw her hands up in frustration even as she looked at her squire in a new light. God, it was just her luck, wasn't it? That the warrior she'd picked up was actually a farmboy who'd run away from home and lied his way into learning how to fight monsters?!

"... maybe..." Jaune conceded, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. "But, Sir Mordred? You're forgetting something..."

"And what would that be?" Mordred sulked.

"You are a proper knight, Sir Mordred," Jaune pointed out reassuringly, placing a hand on Mordred's shoulder (or pauldron, at least). "Sure, you may be... lacking... in some departments... but nobody's perfect, right? It doesn't make you any different from anyone else! In fact, the King still recognized you as a fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table! That speaks volumes of just what you're capable of!"

"..." Mordred could only stare speechlessly at Jaune.

"And most of all, Sir Mordred..." Jaune still wasn't done. "Most of all, you're my friend. So what if you don't know the rest of the stuff you're supposed to teach me? We'll figure them all out, together. What do you say?"

Mordred dumbly stared at the hand Jaune was offering to her as her confused mind raced.

There was that word again, friend.

Was this what friends were?

Insane, irrational idiots who, despite all logic, didn't give up on each other, who supported one another, who believed in one another?

She still didn't know...

... but a part of her wanted to find out.

A small, tiny, miniscule, completely insignificant part, that of course played absolutely no part in her final response.

"... fine, do what you want," Mordred finally relented with a huff, though she seized the proffered hand tightly. As Jaune beamed down at her, she quickly snapped: "But don't blame me if anything goes wrong... squire."

Chapter Text

Agravain could only stare incredulously at the pair kneeling in front of him for a moment as he processed what he'd just been asked, before he finally found his voice: "... are you serious, Mordred?"

"I have never been more serious about anything, Agravain," Mordred nodded firmly, before lowering her head and begging: "Please, you've got to teach us all that etiquette and manners crap!"

"I don't..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose and glanced at Mordred's squire, before looking back at his youngest sibling and asking: "Mordred... what on earth brought this about?"

"Uh, you're the one who told me how much I messed up, remember?" Mordred cocked her head in confusion at her brother. "And there's no way I can teach him what he needs to know before His Majesty returns, since Mother never-"

"Mordred!" Agravain hissed, quickly interrupting Mordred before she could reveal anything about her circumstances. Sure, as much as he opposed Morgan's plans, he neither wanted his siblings to be suspect of treason nor for them to be subject to their mother's ire.

"... oops..." Mordred quickly covered her mouth, looking as sheepish as she could without her face being visible.

Agravain could only sigh and glance between his idiot meathead of a youngest sister and her squire, all the while wondering what in God's name had happened in the hour or two it had been since they'd last talked.

Sure, he'd anticipated something happening, since he'd made sure to phrase his statements in a way that Mordred couldn't simply ignore or shrug off and had only released her once she'd seemed suitably chastised, and he knew his sister was ultimately a good person at heart.

But his calculations had only predicted something along the lines of Mordred privately asking him to tutor her squire, or asking for tips on how to do it!

Not... well... not openly begging him for help (and right in front of her own squire no less!), or asking him to teach her as well!

Seriously, what on earth happened?!

As he looked back down at his sister, a sigh escaped his lips, before they twitched into a short smile.

Even if he had no idea what had happened, it didn't change the fact that his sister, Mordred the Stubborn, was both openly admitting that she had messed up, and was asking him for help.

And if Mordred the Brash and Impetuous was willing to swallow her pride... how could he possibly refuse her?

"... I'll see what I can do," Agravain finally answered, struggling to keep the familial pride out of his voice.

"Yes!" Mordred pumped her fist victoriously as she grinned up at him. "I won't let you down, I pro-"

Before she could celebrate, however, Agravain continued: "But! I can't make any promises, Mordred; I'm not a miracle worker. I have at most one month to teach the both of you everything you need to know, and I cannot afford to neglect my duties to Camelot to assist you. So there will be absolutely no complaints or talking back; when I tell you to do something, you do it. Understood?"

Mordred and Jaune both gulped and nodded, eliciting a smile from Agravain.

"Then let's begin."

-ONE GRUELLING TRAINING SESSION LATER-

"Ugh... who on earth decided that knights need to know this useless crap..." Mordred bitterly grumbled as she massaged her aching temples with one hand and held a cup in another. Sure, she knew it was important (considering how many times it had been explained to her that day alone, it was hardly a remarkable feat of deduction), but that didn't mean she had to like it!

"There, there, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a hand comfortingly on his mentor's shoulder as she second-guessed her decision for the hundredth time that day. "You didn't do too badly, for your first time..."

"Really?" Mordred perked up and looked at her squire hopefully, before remembering just how he'd performed during their joint training session. Folding her arms sulkily, she huffed: "I don't want to hear that from you, squire! I thought you told me you didn't have any experience with this sort of thing!"

"But I really don't!" Jaune quickly defended himself as he backed up fractionally. "You know my world... the kingdom I come from, doesn't have any royalty or nobility to speak of!"

"Then how come you could do it so easily?!" Mordred glared at her squire. "How come you could talk in that flowery long-winded way or dance or-"

"I get it, I get it already," Jaune held up his hand placatingly, before sighing in relief as his mentor relaxed slightly. Looking up at the sky, he explained: "I wasn't lying, and this isn't the kind of thing they'd teach us in Beacon anyway. But, you see... I have seven sisters."

"Seven sisters?" Mordred echoed, before cocking her head in confusion. "What's that have to do with anything?"

"So, they'd force me to be a servant while they were all princesses!" Jaune explained triumphantly, like it explained everything.

"Wait, I thought you said your kingdom doesn't have royalty?" Mordred blinked.

"We don't," Jaune confirmed. "We were just playing pretend."

"... I don't get it," Mordred finally sighed and shrugged. "I never did anything like that during my childhood..."

"Mmm, yeah, I guess I can see that..." Jaune rubbed the back of his head sheepishly, wondering if he was being insensitive. "I mean, I can't imagine Agravain ever playing pretend like that..."

"Eh?" Mordred blinked, feeling a chill go down her spine.

"But I can see Gareth acting like my sisters," Jaune laughed, before realizing Mordred's unusual behavior. "Is something wrong, Sir Mordred?"

"What do Agravain and Gareth have to do with this?" Mordred asked nervously.

"Uh... I mean... they're your brother and sister, aren't they?" Jaune cocked his head at Mordred.

"..." Mordred was silent for a moment, before demanding: "How did you know that?"

"Woah, hold on!" Jaune quickly held his hands up again. "You told me that, remember?"

"I did?" Mordred repeated dumbly. "Since when?!"

"You mentioned it just now," Jaune reminded his mentor. "You know, when you said something about brother being right, and then told me that you'd just met with Agravain? Honestly, in hindsight it really wasn't that surprising, considering you seem to hang out with him more than with anyone else in Camelot..."

"..." Mordred could feel her stomach sinking.

"And you mentioned that Gareth was supposed to be my mentor," Jaune continued on, oblivious to his mentor's growing discomfort. "And then you mentioned that you became my mentor instead because you wanted to get one over your sister-"

"Okay, I get it!" Mordred quickly cut in even as she buried her head in her hands and wished for a hole to spontaneously appear under her and just swallow her up. God, why did her squire have to have a brain? And why did he have to bring that conversation up?!

As Mordred was torn between embarrassment over recalling her conduct earlier that day and dread as she imagined Agravain and Mother finding out she'd spilled the secret, Jaune finally noticed just how uncomfortable Mordred was getting, and he quickly backed up: "Oh, shit, I am so sorry!"

"Just... just drop it, alright?" Mordred snapped at him, before sighing and hugging her knees.

"... was I not supposed to know about it?" Jaune tentatively asked.

"Nobody is," Mordred huffed. "Not even Gareth. Only Agravain does..."

"... oh," Jaune could only say, before the pair descended into an awkward silence, where Mordred cursed herself for failing to keep the secret a secret and Jaune spent a moment wondering just how complicated Mordred's life was.

At the very least, it did explain why Gareth, who'd talked to him enthusiastically about her three older brothers, had never once mentioned Sir Mordred in similar terms.

Finally, though, he broke the silence by cautiously speaking up: "... I'm sorry, Sir Mordred. I shouldn't have pried."

"... you'd better be," Mordred sulked.

"Just... if you ever want to talk about it..." Jaune offered quietly.

"I don't."

"... I mean... that's what friends are for, alright?"

"..." Mordred fixed her gloomy-looking squire with a look, before moving on: "Let's just get back to the original topic, alright? ... what were we talking about again?"

"Hmmm..." Jaune hummed thoughtfully, playing along. "I was telling you about my seven sisters?"

"Right, right..." Mordred nodded absent-mindedly, grateful to her squire for taking the bait. "So, what does playing pretend have to do with knowing all that stupid bullshit?"

"Ummm, well, you see..." Jaune spent a moment trying to figure out how to make his statement actually believable. "So, all the things they had me learn? It turns out it's all very similar to the manners you guys teach here!"

"... seriously?" Mordred didn't even bother hiding her incredulity.

"I guess manners in front of royals are just universal or something," Jaune shrugged. "But yeah... that's really the only reason why I managed to follow Sir Agravain's lessons, Sir Mordred. Just sheer dumb luck. It's not because you're a worse knight or anything..."

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue and looked away. "That wasn't what I was thinking, squire."

Jaune could only smile with fond exasperation even as he held his hands up placatingly. After a moment of silence, he offered: "You know... if you want... after we do our usual combat training, I can give you some help with this etiquette training?"

As Mordred turned to him with her expressionless helmet, Jaune hastily followed up: "I mean, I did say we'd figure them out together, right? Arc's word, and an Arc never goes back on his word, least of all to a friend."

"... don't get cocky, squire," Mordred answered, before a smile graced her lips, unseen but not unheard by her squire: "You think you'll even be able to move after our next session? Now that I know you're lacking in combat training, you've got to be insane if you think our future sessions will be as easy as they've been so far!"

-A FEW WEEKS LATER-

An oppressive silence filled the room as Lancelot and Agravain focused on the pair as they showed the fruits of their labor.

Finally, as they concluded their display, the silence with a polite round of applause, before Agravain spoke up: "So, Sir Lancelot, as the First of the Round Table, how would you rate them?"

"..." Lancelot thought it over for a moment, before a smile graced his features. "I would give them a passing grade, Sir Agravain."

"YES!"

"Don't get too cocky just yet, Mordred!" Agravain immediately snapped sternly. "You were merely adequate at best! Such a performance is to be expected of any knight!"

"Oh, come on!" Mordred pouted furiously at her brother, though it remained unseen underneath her helmet.

"There, there, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a hand comfortingly on his mentor's shoulder.

"Are you not being too harsh on them, Sir Agravain?" Lancelot inquired. "They display a marked improvement as compared to when Squire Jaune first arrived in Camelot. Does that not deserve praise?"

"Tch," Agravain merely clicked his tongue and looked away, the memories of just how much effort it had taken to wrangle Mordred and her squire (especially his sister) into something with the semblance of presentable still fresh in his mind. "After how much they put me through, that display was the bare minimum!"

Lancelot could only smile at his fellow Knight of the Round Table, knowing that, from Iron Agravin the Executive, that was praise. Placing a supportive hand on his shoulder, Lancelot said: "You have my sincere respect for everything you've done, Sir Agravain. I cannot imagine it was an easy task..."

"Well, they'd better not screw up in front of His Majesty tonight," Agravain sniffed haughtily, though Lancelot knew that it was the equivalent of quiet support, coming from him.

"I'm sure they'll be fine, Sir Agravain," Lancelot reassured him, before continuing: "And speaking of tonight... how go the preparations?"

"The cooks have been busy all morning, and the servants spent the whole of yesterday cleaning the castle and polishing the silver," Agravain reflexively answered, slipping into his role as Secretary of the Round Table. "Her Highness Queen Guinevere is currently performing a final inspection, and the men have already begun organizing themselves along the route from the North Gate to the castle. His Majesty and the army should enter the city before midday, so we still have two hours before we are required to await His Majesty's arrival at the Entrance Hall."

"Splendid!" Lancelot nodded gratefully to Agravain, taking his word for it. "Thank you as always, Sir Agravain. Then, shall we go to freshen up before his arrival?"

Agravain nodded, but before turning to leave he addressed the pair: "Mordred, Squire Jaune! Dismissed! Go and freshen up before the King arrives, and don't do anything to embarrass yourself, Mordred!"

"Yeah, yeah..." Mordred just rolled her eyes at her brother, before gripping her squire by the arm and dashing off. "Come on, Jaune! I can't wait for you to see the King..."

"..." Lancelot watched the pair depart in silence, before turning to Agravain and asking: "... Sir Agravain?"

"What is it, Lancelot?"

"... it's nothing, Sir Agravain," Lancelot dropped the subject, deciding that he'd merely been imagining things.

Agravain knew what Lancelot was thinking, but decided not to correct his misunderstanding.

After all, even he would have had his arm ripped off by his sister if he'd tried comforting her with physical contact, to say nothing of the sheer absurdity one would feel from seeing Mordred in her usual armor chattering excitedly under her breath with another person.

Chapter Text

Throngs of cheering people crowded both sides of the road around them, as they triumphantly marched in parade formation towards the castle.

The figure at the head of the formation couldn't help but let the beginnings of a soft smile creep through the cracks as she observed the smiles on their faces, the intensity of their cheers, the fullness of their cheeks and belies (a complete reversal from how things had been before she'd drawn that sword), before she ruthlessly crushed it back down under the mask of regal nobility.

The perfect King had to always be kingly, after all.

Despite her expressionless visage, though, she couldn't stop all the emotions that stirred within her breast.

Satisfaction, at seeing how her people at been uplifted.

Pride, at seeing all that her knights had accomplished.

Relief, at finally being back home after another season of brutal campaigning.

She ignored all of them with well-practiced ease, and instead absent-mindedly stroked Dun Stallion's mane comfortingly even as she cast her gaze towards the crowds, eliciting another wave of adulation.

As she noticed armored figures ahead of the procession maintaining order (making sure people didn't block the road, mainly), she had to fight to suppress a sigh.

Honestly, while her youngest nephew's sharp mind deserved recognition (more than his older brothers, at the very least), there were times he bordered on paranoid...

Then again, considering who had raised him, she supposed she really couldn't blame him for being suspicious of every shadow.

After all, there was no way she'd ever forget how her sister had caused her to lose Caliburn.

A hint of irritation threatened to creep past her mask as she recalled that day in Listenoise, before she brutally suppressed it.

This procession was both a celebration to the people of Camelot and a reminder that they were safe, guarded as they were by the military might of Camelot as on display.

As the people's liege, it was her duty to stand on ceremony, and so she maintained her dignified expression at the head of the procession as they continued their journey towards the castle, only finally allowing herself to relax once the entire column had passed into the walls of the castle proper, where they were met by the members of her court that she'd entrusted Camelot to in her absence.

In particular, as the chosen few of her Order and her wife approached her, a sincere smile graced her lips.

"Your Majesty," Lancelot greeted her as he genuflected in front of her, followed as he was by the rest of her Knights. "It is pleasing to witness your safe return."

"And it is good to see that you all remain in good health," Artoria returned the greeting, before gesturing with her hands for them all to rise. As the Knights got to their feet, and a page came to take the reins of Dun Stallion from her and lead him into the stables, she inquired: "And how has the realm fared in my absence? Is there any pressing news to report?"

"There is nothing worth mentioning regarding the affairs of state, Your Majesty," Sir Agravain informed her first.

"..." Sir Lancelot, for his part, briefly considered giving King Arthur a quick rundown of what had transpired while he'd been gone, but one look at the King's face convinced him to put it aside for the time being.

Even if he hadn't been working with him long enough to notice the barest signs of stress and fatigue on his liege's unaging features, he'd heard about how some of the border clashes had went.

"Nothing that cannot be discussed during the feast, my King," Lancelot bowed his head.

"Then, once more, you have my gratitude for managing Camelot in my absence," Artoria nodded at them again, before another smile disguised the weariness from her features as she added: "And speaking of the feast, I hope you've paid the cooks well; I know Gawain plans on at least a week of non-stop eating and drinking."

Honestly, she'd have much rather just skipped the dinner entirely, and instead retired for the evening to be with her Queen (there may have been no romantic feelings between them, but Artoria considered Guinevere a close confidant and good friend, and more importantly she knew her secret. At the very least, she didn't have to be King Arthur around her), but the men deserved their celebration.

She would not disappoint the efforts they'd put in for her by not being present at the feast celebrating their victories.

Fortunately, Avalon was able to sustain her physically as she retired to her quarters, removed her armor, and fought down the urge to simply melt away in the bath of scented hot water the servants had drawn for her, and soon enough she was in her more-formal furs, raising a toast to the heroes of the hour, signaling the start of the feast.

As cheers filled the air, and the hall broke into boisterous brags and swapped stories, Artoria looked around with approval, before sitting down and turning to the knight on her left: "Now, Lancelot, you said you had some news for me?"

"So that's the King?" Jaune meanwhile whispered to Mordred as the pair sat side by side in front of a roasted boar and observed the emerald-eyed blonde at the center of the table overlooking the entire room, having been unable to catch a glimpse of him earlier in the day (Jaune hadn't wanted to push his way through the crowds).

"That's right!" Mordred nodded happily, admiring the figure she looked up to the most. "So, what do you think? He's so regal and noble, right?"

"... he looks so young..." Jaune couldn't help but note as he watched the face of the person who would evaluate him later.

"Well, yeah..." Mordred blinked and looked back at Jaune in surprise. "Didn't I tell you?"

"Tell me what?" Jaune asked.

"When King Arthur drew the Sword from the Stone, he stopped aging," Mordred enthusiastically explained even as she began carving pieces of meat from the pig's flank. "A gift from God, or something like that..."

"... oh..." Jaune took a moment to remind himself that this world (most likely) had magic, and he really shouldn't have been surprised. As he joined his mentor in serving himself some food, he asked conversationally: "And how old was he then?"

"Eh, about fifteen," Mordred answered easily between bites.

"And how long ago was that?" Jaune pressed curiously.

"Mmm..." Mordred swallowed her food and took a moment to think about it. "Should have been Christmas, almost twenty years ago."

"..." Jaune could only let loose an impressed low whistle, as he tried to imagine both taking on such a heavy task as being royalty at the age of fifteen and being fifteen for twenty years.

Oum, considering how much of an idiot he'd been at fifteen, he definitely couldn't say the idea of being fifteen forever appealed to him...

"Mmmhmm," Mordred hummed noncommittally before the pair lapsed into a companionable silence, with Jaune observing his surroundings curiously and Mordred focused on both enjoying her meal and sneaking glances at the figure she admired the most.

Then Jaune noticed something, and spoke up: "By the way, Sir Mordred?"

"What is it, squire?" Mordred looked up from the leg she was gnawing on.

"If you don't mind me asking... shouldn't you be up there with the other Knights of the Round Table?" Jaune inquired. "I mean, that special table's meant for the Knights of the Round Table, right?"

"Mmm, well... that is..." Mordred stuttered for a moment, before quickly explaining: "Well, conversation up there can get a bit formal at times... at least down here, I can talk freely like a normal person..."

"... yeah, I can see that," Jaune conceded, understanding his mentor's point. As much as they knew how to speak formally and carry themselves with decorum and dignity, neither of them necessarily enjoyed it.

"Hey, I can always leave you to eat by yourself right now, squire!" Mordred huffed as she looked away.

"Yeah, yeah, thanks for keeping your poor squire company," Jaune rolled his eyes good-naturedly, playing along. "Truly, with Gareth busy up there serving Sir Lancelot and her brothers, I would be all alone if not for your kindness."

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in annoyance at the mention of her sister, before grumbling under her breath: "Yeah, you'd better remember that..."

"... you know, I'm sure you and Gareth would get along if you just gave her a chance..." Jaune idly observed, having heard Mordred.

"Hmph!" Mordred turned her nose up at her squire's words, before picking up a nearby turkey leg and waving it around to emphasize her words: "Maybe I don't want to give her a chance. Stupid perfect older sister..."

"..." Jaune could only sigh at his mentor's behavior, before he decided to do the sensible thing for once and change the subject: "So... are you ready for our private meeting with the King tonight?"

"... I was trying not to think about it..." Mordred reluctantly admitted, as her mind automatically began thinking about all the ways it could go wrong.

"Don't worry, Mordred," Jaune bumped his shoulder against hers comfortingly. "I'm sure you'll be fine."

"..." Mordred couldn't help the smile that appeared under her helmet, but she quickly shook it off and returned the favor with more force as she shot back: "Just don't embarrass me in front of His Majesty, squire!"

Before either of them could continue their conversation, however, a man suddenly approached them and addressed Jaune: "Excuse me, good sir! I do believe this is the first time-"

"What do you want, knight?" Mordred cut in with a bored tone, glaring at the sudden interruption.

"I just wanted to know who the stranger seated next to you was, along with his relationship to you, Sir Mordred!" Sir Lionel quickly explained himself, even as a small part of him marveled at the fact that Sir Mordred had actually responded to his attempts at conversation (instead of merely glaring at him and brushing him off like he normally would have). Perhaps there had been something to the rumors he'd heard from the others when he'd returned with the army...

"Well, why didn't you just say so?" Mordred rolled her eyes impatiently, before wrapping an arm around Jaune and pulling him close as she introduced him: "This is Jaune, who I picked up after he helped me slay the Addanc! He's going to be my new squire!"

"Wait, so the rumors were really true?!" Sir Lionel couldn't hide his shock.

"I told you Sir Mordred had picked up a squire!" Sir Bors exclaimed excitedly as he popped up next to his fellow knight, having been one of those who'd remained in Camelot.

"The Addanc... that was the Water Demon of Snowdonia, right?!" Another voice called out, as the crowd around them slowly grew.

"How did the two of you slay the Addanc?"

"Forget that, how did he survive being Mordred's squire?!"

"I heard Agravain banned them from ever having practice spars within the castle's grounds!"

"Oi, who said that, huh?!" Mordred snapped, looking around furiously at the knights around her.

"Now, now, Sir Mordred..." Jaune placed a placating hand on Mordred's arm and lowered it as the knights all took a step back. Then he looked around at the people surrounding him, and fought the urge to gulp. Oum, he really hated being at the center of attention...

But hey, strangers were just friends he hadn't met yet, right?

Taking a deep breath and steeling himself, he helped his mentor explain: "We're not really banned... we just need to get Agravain's permission if we want to, that's all."

Immediately, Jaune knew he'd said the wrong thing as the murmuring of the crowd swelled in intensity.

"So it really is true!"

"Did you really destroy an entire training field, too?!"

"I heard the half the budget for the feast went to replacing all the training weapons they destroyed..."

"Oh, come on!" Mordred whined. "That was just one time! One time!"

"Uh..." Jaune laughed awkwardly and rubbed the back of his neck, unsure of how to respond (at least, not without either lying or pissing off Sir Mordred even more).

"Back me up here, squire!" Mordred demanded impatiently, not liking his lack of response.

Unfortunately for Jaune, before he could do so, someone in the crowd shouted a different question: "Hey, hey, is it also true you're also Gareth's secret lover, Squire Jaune?"

"Right, I always see them together during meal times!"

"I heard he's in a love triangle with Sir Lancelot over Gareth's affections!"

"... wait, what?"

"Oh-hoh? This is the first time I'm hearing about this..."

"It certainly looks lively over there," Artoria observed idly, comparing the Sir Mordred down there interacting with his fellow knights like any other person (albeit perhaps more boisterously) to the Sir Mordred of her memories.

From the beginning, Sir Mordred had been an enigma to the realm of Camelot, having suddenly shown up one day with a letter of introduction from Morgan.

That alone would have been more than enough to make her wary of Sir Mordred, but despite that questionable backing, no mention of any performed feats, and a suspicious aversion to discussing his parentage, Sir Agravain had insisted that Sir Mordred be allowed to give a demonstration of his prowess.

His superb prowess, and blunt but unyielding mental chivalry, had been enough to impress most of the Knights of the Round, and had that been all Artoria personally felt that most of the Knights would have eventually been able to see beyond Sir Mordred's troublingly non-existent past.

Unfortunately, for all his prowess, and for all his convictions... Sir Mordred was, to put it bluntly, horribly lacking in social skills.

He was diligent and unwavering, but he could also be brash, impetuous, impulsive, and competitive, and after the fifth time he'd sent a fellow knight to the healer over some minor and possibly-imagined slight, most of the occupants of the castle were content with giving the newest member of the Round Table a wide berth (not that Sir Mordred had ever seemed to notice).

Or at least, that was the Sir Mordred she remembered, from before she'd left to protect the borders of Logres.

But now?

"Like I told you, Your Majesty," Lancelot smiled. "I believe his new squire's presence has been nothing but a positive influence on Sir Mordred."

"I'll say!" Gawain exclaimed with a laugh. "I don't think I've seen Mordred actually get involved in a discussion like that before! So, who's his squire-to-be again?"

"His name is Jaune of Arc, Gawain," Gareth informed him coldly as she returned with a new platter of food for them, eyeing the food he'd sprayed all over the table with his outburst. "And his tale is a tragic one, which you would remember if you'd been paying attention."

"Oh, lighten up, little sister!" Gawain raised his flagon of wine to her. "It's a feast!"

"She certainly has a better idea than you, Gawain," Agravain sniped, rolling his eyes.

"I agree with them too, Gawain," Gaheris added lazily.

"So how has the young man been progressing?" Percival asked next to them, having been sent to patrol the countryside a few days after Jaune had arrived. "Have they destroyed any more grounds, Agravain?"

"I'm sorry, what?" Gawain blinked, and even Artoria had to admit to raising an eyebrow at that statement.

"I still can't believe I missed that fight..." Gareth grumbled. "But still, having sparred with him myself, I can believe that Jaune was able to endure half an hour of single combat with Mordred."

"Oh?" Gawain's voice was dangerously low. "Does my littlest sister have something she wishes to share with me?"

"Gawain!" Gareth's face flushed furiously.

"The two of them often dine together, and Squire Jaune and her discuss fighting tips and weaponsmithing," Lancelot explained casually, unwittingly adding fuel to the fire. "By the way, how is Ira Lupus progressing, Squire Gareth?"

"It's going great, Sir Lancelot!" Gareth quickly seized the lifeline, ignoring the furiously-inquisitive gaze Gawain was levelling at her. "I still can't believe he hails from a kingdom that actually understands the concept of guns!"

"Wait, I thought guns were a magical weapon devised by Merlin?" Gaheris cocked his head in confusion.

Artoria felt a pang of envy stab her heart, as she watched Gareth, Gawain, and Lancelot light-heartedly interacting, along with everyone else in the room.

As much as she tried, she could never fully kill the last bit of humanity within her... the last bit of the little girl she'd been before she'd drawn Caliburn.

For a moment, a flight of fancy seized hold of her, and she wondered just what things would be like, if she could be both a King and a woman.

The moment passed, and she buried it back down with the ease of nearly two decades of practice.

Her people had needed their King.

Her wishes, her dreams, her life, could never compare to the lives of her people, her Kingdom, of England itself.

In the end, pretending to be a man had simply been the most effective way to build support for her rule.

And looking around, at the smiling, laughing, and cheering knights that swore their loyalties to her, she once again affirmed her oath to her people, and considered her sacrifice worthwhile.

"Merlin devised the concept with his Clairvoyance," Artoria gently added, finally joining in the conversation again. "He did not come up with it using his own imagination. But that means the lands that Jaune of Arc hails from are likely very advanced... and you told me he no longer wishes to return to them?"

"That is correct, Your Majesty," Lancelot confirmed. "He says he tried doing some research in the archives, and came to the conclusion that the lands of his birth are simply too far away to risk sending an expedition to."

"... then how did he get here, again?" Gawain asked suspiciously.

"He says he woke up in the forest of Snowdonia after fighting a dragon and a witch," Gareth informed him.

"A dragon and a witch?!" Gawain echoed incredulously, but before he could continue his interrogation, Sir Tristan suddenly slammed his flagon against his table, and had a massive emotional outburst that killed off any ongoing discussion in the hall.

-ONE RANT LATER-

It was in a daze that Artoria aimlessly wandered the moonlit halls of Camelot, unable to take her mind off of what had happened during the feast earlier, and especially what it had resulted in.

Oh, she had known that, like many of her Knights, Sir Tristan had grievances with her actions.

After all, it was precisely that compassion, that nobility, that sense of justice, that desire to help others, that chivalric spirit, that she'd selected them for.

And even among the Round Table, Sir Tristan was renowned for being the most compassionate.

But that same compassion was a double-edged sword.

War demanded sacrifice.

Artoria knew many of her knights had difficulty accepting that; they were strong beyond compare and stubborn to a fault, as befitted heroes of the realm.

And that was why she forced herself to accept it.

As their King, as their liege, it was her duty to bear their sins without complaint.

She would do what was necessary for her people, for her Kingdom, and for her Knights.

But she also knew how short of a step it could be, from that to being a cold-hearted tyrant.

In fact, such a tyranny would be all the more oppressive than even the barbaric Saxons; at least the Saxons would never delude themselves into thinking that they were oppressing their enemies for their own good.

That was exactly why she had so valued Tristan's company; his humanity (the archer even cried for those he shot down) helped preserve hers, and she could rest assured that she would never be allowed to fall into such depravity.

Unfortunately, the grievances he had publicly aired were not of that sort.

In the end, Sir Tristan, the Knight of Lamentation, who despaired over friend and foe alike, had simply reached his limits, unable to follow a King who could order thousands to their death without even batting an eye.

The situation had only escalated as she'd forced herself to bear his complaints with a stoic silence (it was her duty, after all, to bear it all for them), allowing him to continue uninterrupted; he had only been incensed further, as he saw the emotionless King fail to react to all the venom he'd been spitting at her, and treated it as proof of her inability to feel.

In the end, he'd stormed out of the feast, and departed from her services, with a single sorrowful mutter.

"The King does not understand the hearts of men."

Even now, she couldn't stop thinking about those words.

Could it really be, that her subjects didn't believe she understood them?

The looks on the faces of her knights had answered that question.

That hadn't been what had hurt the most, though.

It had been what she'd overheard Sir Agravain tell Sir Gawain and Sir Lancelot, when they had expressed concern over what had happened.

"I ask you not to seek the same values as ours from one possessing magic like the gods."

Even the people who supported her didn't think she still had a human heart.

What was she supposed to do?

What could she do?

For the first time in a long while, her Instincts failed her.

Merlin was still only God-Knows-Where.

Sir Kay was still visiting Sir Ector, assisting their father in his advanced age.

And Queen Guinevere...

She had actually been on her way back to her chambers, to ask her closest confidant for advice, but as she'd turned the corner she'd caught sight of a distracted Lancelot entering her wife's chambers, a look of desperate helplessness on his face.

Immediately, she'd decided to go for an impromptu moonlight stroll, guessing that Lancelot was feeling conflicted about the disastrous feast and would thusly not want to hear her voice at that moment.

(As for the potential scandalous nature of an unwed man visiting the bedchambers of a married woman, Artoria paid it little heed. Guinevere was a good friend, and Sir Lancelot was a peerless knight of renown, whose name was sung throughout the land for his virtues. Artoria would never insult the First of her Knights by entertaining such foolish notions.)

So lost was she in her thoughts, that she almost turned the corner before she heard a familiar voice throwing a tantrum: "Seriously... what was up with that good-for-nothing archer?! Going on and on about how the King is too perfect... tch, just saying it out loud makes my blood boil. He's lucky he left when he did! If he hadn't, I'd have thrown him out myself!"

Jaune, for his part, simply looked down at his sheath, and wondered why there had been something about those green orbs that were just bugging him.

Mordred frowned at him under her helmet, and gently nudged him in the side with her elbow to get his attention as she asked: "... hey, squire."

"Hmmm?" Jaune looked up from his sheath to see Mordred staring intently at him.

"... I really don't understand people sometimes." Mordred admitted reluctantly with a sigh. "Seriously, what kind of a complaint is that? If the King is perfect, then why did Tristan have any complaints about him?"

Jaune hummed thoughtfully as he chewed it over, before he recalled a dance, a moonlit night, and those same green eyes.

Right.

That'd been when he'd seen them before.

"Sir Mordred..." Jaune began philosophically, looking away from the figure slumped against the wall next to him in favor of the night sky. "Do you think humans are perfect?"

"Huh?" Mordred blinked, caught off-guard by his sudden question. "What kind of a question is that? Of course they're not."

"And do you think King Arthur is human?" Jaune continued, as his gaze fell upon the moon, an hed remembered its broken counterpart.

"Of course he is!" Mordred nodded vigorously.

"Then why do you think King Arthur is perfect?" Jaune challenged quietly.

"But... that's..." Mordred blinked, as she realized just what she'd said. For a moment, she was tempted to roar at him, chastise him for making her insult His Majesty's good name.

But they were friends, and she had asked for his candid opinion.

What kind of a mentor would she be, if she rebuked him for honestly answering a question that she'd asked?

Instead, vigorously racking her brains, she attempted to defend the person she admired the most: "I mean... look at everything he's accomplished! Look at how much his people adore him! Hell, look at how he was able to maintain his composure, even when Tristan was insulting him so harshly!"

"Maintain his composure...?" Jaune quietly repeated, shaking his head in sympathy. "Sir Mordred... didn't you see his eyes?"

"King Arthur's eyes?" Mordred blinked again.

"He was hurt and heartbroken, Sir Mordred." Jaune explained his mentor, closing his eyes as he remembered the other time he'd seen eyes like those. Unable to forget the sheer loneliness in her eyes and the forced matter-of-fact tone with which she had used to explain her circumstances (like it was normal, expected even), he couldn't help himself as he continued: "The accusations that he didn't understand the hearts of his subjects..."

"When you're placed on a pedestal like that for so long, you become separated from the people that put you there in the first place."

"What do you mean, squire?" Mordred's voice was low and serious.

"Sir Mordred... isn't King Arthur being forced to bear too much of a burden?" Jaune asked quietly, only able to see his partner's face at that moment. "The King is human, and humans aren't perfect... and yet, because the people expect him to be perfect, he's forced to live up to their unrealistic expectations."

"Everyone assumes I'm too good for them - that I'm on a level that they simply can't attain."

"And by living up to them... by being the perfect King his subjects force him to be... people begin to believe the King has lost touch with them. After all, people can't understand perfection, and perfection can't understand people, because people aren't perfect."

"It's become impossible to form any sort of meaningful relationship with people"

"It's not that the King doesn't understand the hearts of his people, Sir Mordred; it is that the people can't understand the heart of their King." Jaune concluded, belatedly realizing that his fist was clenched tightly. "I just... I just feel sorry for the King."

A tense silence followed, as Mordred digested his words.

A part of her wanted to immediately deny it, point out that the King wasn't bearing such a heavy burden because of their expectations, since the King was perfection personified.

Another part of her quietly pointed out that that was exactly what Jaune had just warned her about.

"... do you really believe this, squire?" Mordred finally asked.

"... I could just be mistaken, of course." Jaune conceded, realizing he'd more than overstepped his bounds.

He didn't even know King Arthur, after all; he could have just been projecting Pyrrha's green eyes onto the King's, he had no experience with kings, and he still didn't know much about this world.

For all he knew, considering the King hadn't aged in two decades, it was completely possible that this world had a special magic that really did allow him to be inhumanly perfect, or maybe the King really wasn't fully human.

"After all... you know I'm not from around here, and that was the first time I've seen King Arthur." Jaune pointed out.

"... right... that's true..." Mordred nodded hopefully. Then she sighed dejectedly, and quietly asked: "But... what if you're not? Squire... even if His Majesty isn't perfect... I will always admire the King of Knights. How could I help lessen his burden?"

"I..." Jaune paused, unsure of how to answer.

"You treated me like anyone else."

"Someone who just saw me for me."

He doubted Pyrrha's words would apply here; Arthur was a King, after all, and Mordred was one of his Knights.

Even if Mordred didn't worship the King, he doubted they could ever have a relationship like the one he and Pyrrha used to have.

Instead, he simply looked away, ignoring Mordred's expectant gaze as he murmured: "I guess... maybe you could go and ask Agravain about it? I mean, he's the Secretary of the Round Table and he's been serving the King for quite a while, so he'll definitely have a better idea than either of us..."

"... that sounds like a good idea, squire!" Mordred cheerfully clapped his back, spirits buoyed by the prospect of actually being able to do something. "We'll go seem him first thing in the morning! Now, let's burn off that feast, Jaune!"

Jaune sighed, but his smile was full of fond exasperation as Mordred jumped up and began dragging him off.

Meanwhile, around the corner, out of view of the knight and the squire, a very human heart furiously pounded, as its owner tried to process the words she'd just heard.

Chapter Text

The massive hall was already alive with talk when Mordred and Jaune entered the room that morning.

Immediately, all eyes turned to them, some with suspicion and most with curiosity, and Mordred glared around at the table as she demanded: "What?"

After a moment of silence, a slightly-disheveled Lancelot and Gareth nodded politely in greeting to the pair, and Agravain sighed quietly in exasperation before explaining: "I believe the members of the Round Table are just curious as to what your... prospective squire is doing here with you, Sir Mordred."

"Ah... well..." Mordred scratched her helmet as she turned to look back at her squire, who took a step back.

"Uh, if it's a problem, I can always leave..." Jaune jerked his thumb at the door they'd just entered from as he backed up.

"I'm sure it's fine," Mordred reassured him, before glaring around at the room, daring anyone to speak up. "Right?"

The Knights of the Round Table quietly exchanged looks, unsure of how to react.

After all, such an intrusion was hardly commonplace; the sanctity of the Round Table was almost akin to a commandment to these fabled few, the ones who'd earned their place.

But at the same time, most of them had been on campaign with their liege; they had only heard of the reason behind the changes the young brash knight had undergone through secondhand accounts and rumors, to say nothing of his mysterious new companion.

And thusly they held their peace when Lancelot, first among equals, finally spoke up: "Would I be correct in assuming that you wish to seek the King's approval for your new squire during this meeting, Sir Mordred?"

"Yeah, you would be," Mordred grinned and nodded, much to the surprise of those who'd never seen the two get along (i.e. most of them). "You know, since we didn't get to do it last night... and hey, it's a good way to show him what we do, right?"

"You seem remarkably confident in your companion's acceptance, Mordred," Gawain remarked with just the barest hint of suspicion, still recalling what he'd heard about the mysterious stranger the previous night (namely, his relationship with his baby sister).

"Well, Sir Agravain and I did vet him as well," Lancelot explained while Gareth glared at her eldest brother from behind her mentor. "While the final decision will be made by His Majesty... I do share Sir Mordred's faith, Sir Gawain."

"Oh?" Gawain raised a skeptical eyebrow as he looked back at Mordred's apprentice, who looked like he really didn't want to be there. For all of Lancelot's faults (like the massive stick up his arse and the fact that his baby sister had chosen him to be her mentor instead of her awesome big brother), Gawain did truly respect the man, and that extended to his skill and his judgement.

But at the same time...

"He doesn't seem like much," Gawain pointed out. "Certainly not like the type to have fought... what did you say it was again, Gareth?"

"Hey!" Mordred interrupted defensively, her arms folded defiantly. "Sure, he could do with more muscle, I'll give you that..."

"Thank you for such encouragement," Jaune murmured in a deadpan voice, rolling his eyes at his mentor.

"But he did also help me slay the Addanc of Snowdonia, when we first met!" Mordred continued on, not having heard her squire's words.

"He also managed to hold his own in single combat against Sir Mordred for half an hour, brother," Gareth added on supportively, inadvertently dooming her fellow squire.

"Is that so?" Gawain's voice held all the warmth of a blizzard, and Jaune fought the urge to gulp and run for the door as the senior knight looked him up and down, his instincts all the while screaming that he was in big trouble.

Knowing what was about to come, Lancelot tried to head it off: "Now, now, there's more to being a knight than mere martial prowess, Sir Gawain. I suggested that he consider joining our ranks not because he had helped slay the Addanc, but because he assisted Sir Mordred despite his circumstances-"

"Yeah, yeah, that's great and all," Gawain wasn't interested in listening. "But if he becomes a knight he will also be called upon to combat the enemies of the land... we need to at least make sure he's ready for that, now don't we?"

Immediately, a commotion broke out throughout the Round Table as its members, the greatest heroes throughout the lands, excitedly discussed what was about to happen like old hens (while Lancelot and Agravain could only sigh and shake their heads).

"I'm sure he can take on Bedivere, at the very least," Mordred confidently declared, ignoring the subsequent protest from the knight in question.

"Perhaps if Sir Mordred and Jaune would give us another demonstration?" Gareth asked hopefully, eliciting murmurs of agreement from the crowd (and a protest from Jaune).

"Over my dead body, Gareth," Agravain stated firmly, causing the crowd to groan in disappointment.

"I was thinking, perhaps we should test his skill against a foe he has never faced before," Gawain suggested with feigned thoughtfulness.

"Oh, are you volunteering?" Mordred challenged as she stormed forward, and the room quietened down in anticipation.

"I won't deny my interest in seeing the fruits of your labor, Sir Mordred," Gawain explained magnanimously. "And at the very least, there can be no accusations of favoritism, if I were his opponent..."

"If only you were free of ulterior motives as well, brother," Agravain pointed out drily, not fooled for a second.

"Brother..." Gareth pouted heavily at Gawain.

"It's Gawain..." Gaheris sighed in exasperation.

"H-hey!" Gawain frantically protested amidst good-natured jeers. "I'm not going to do anything, honest! I'll just treat it as a serious duel, that's all!"

"As long as you don't treat it like your duel with the Green Knight..." Percival warned half-jokingly, causing Gawain to blanch at the memory of that encounter.

"Hah! I doubt you'd find it so easy to behead my squire, Gawain," Mordred slapped Jaune's back confidently.

"Wait, what?!" Jaune couldn't help but turn around and exclaim in shock at mention of the word "behead".

"But go ahead and try," Mordred continued on, acting like she hadn't heard her squire's words at all. "I wager he could take you on!"

"Oh?" Gawain raised an eyebrow at the challenge, and he gave Jaune another look as he frantically raised his arms and shook his head. "I'd happily accept your wager, but your apprentice seems... rather unenthusiastic..."

Fortunately for Jaune, before Mordred could "salvage" the situation any further, Agravain spoke up: "Need I remind all those present once again that the one whom the decision ultimately falls to is the King, and none other? What would a duel with you, the Knight of the Sun, even prove, brother? And you, Mordred! Are you trying to get your prospective apprentice killed?!"

"Aw, come on!" Gawain whined in exasperation. "I really did learn my lesson from that time! I was just going to knock him around a bit, and maybe get Mordred to finally show us his face, honest!"

"Oh?" Mordred growled coldly as she stalked forward, and Agravain fought the urge to groan (helped by Gaheris and Gareth putting comforting hands on his back), until she was right in Gawain's face. "What, too cowardly to just take it off yourself in a fair fight?"

"I would never stoop to such lows in a duel," Gawain retorted as he cracked his knuckles. "But if you're giving me permission to do it now..."

As the pair butted heads, and the spectators cheered them on, Jaune couldn't help but quietly sneak his way to the sidelines and ask Gareth: "Uh... does this happen a lot?"

"Mostly when our big brother's around," Gaheris answered from next to his sister as he stepped forward and held a hand out to the blonde boy. "By the way, I'm Sir Gaheris, one of the newer knights, and brother to both Gareth over here and that oaf over there."

"I'm Jaune," Jaune shook the proffered hand firmly, glad to see some relatively-normal social interaction. As the commotion grew behind them, he continued: "Jaune Arc. Gareth's talked about you."

"She's told us a bit about you too, Jaune," Gaheris smiled, ignoring Gareth's expression of outraged betrayal. Then he leaned forward and excitedly whispered: "Is it true Sir Mordred picked you up in a forest after you fought a dragon and a witch?"

"... well..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, taken aback by the obvious enthusiasm in the man's eyes. Fortunately for him, though, before he could answer, the door opened up behind them, revealing King Arthur, dressed in his usual polished armor and regal furs.

Immediately, the room quietened down, as everyone immediately rushed to their seats (save Jaune, who had no seat and instead quickly stood behind Mordred).

Artoria couldn't help but feel a tinge of sorrow as she looked around at the silent room, and a small part of her noted that even Agravain didn't get the same treatment as she did.

Then she forced it down, reprimanding herself for being so affected by the events of the prior night.

This was normal.

This was fine.

She shouldn't allow herself to feel so isolated over something as small as her knights showing their usual deference to her station.

As she continued to look around as though nothing was wrong, some began to fidget uncomfortably, miniscule movements that would have otherwise gone unnoticed, and it took a few moments before she finally realized why it bothered her so, why it felt different from the usual atmosphere of chastised children.

Evidently, she wasn't the only one who was still thinking of the events of the feast.

With a small silent sight she recollected herself, and strode to her place at the table, before sitting down and clearing her throat.

"I bid all of you a good morning, my knights," Artoria began after a moment, once she knew she had the attention of the room. "And now, let us begin this meeting with the most recent event.

"I... am aware that Sir Tristan's actions weighs heavily on all of our minds..." Artoria couldn't help but pause after that statement, in order to judge the reaction of her knights.

Outraged murmurs, sympathetic whispers, understanding nods...

Okay, she'd anticipated all of those, even if it did hurt a bit, listening to the way some of them seemed to be siding with Sir Tristan.

Now came the hard part.

How should she continue from there?

"The King does not understand the hearts of men."

Should she address their concerns?

"I ask you not to seek the same values as ours from one possessing magic like the gods."

Should she brush it off, reassure them that their liege remained stoic and infallible in the face of such an outburst, and that their order's unity was not in question?

"The King is human, and humans aren't perfect... and yet, because the people expect him to be perfect, he's forced to live up to their unrealistic expectations."

...

A third option, of admitting to her trusted friends and comrades that she wasn't perfect, that she was only human, that she truthfully feared becoming fully inhuman, came to mind, before she crushed the temptation with ruthless willpower.

Regardless of what the stranger had said... regardless of the insights he'd shared with Mordred...

A quick look at Sir Lancelot's unusually imperfect appearance sealed the deal for her.

She would not allow herself to be selfish.

The only reason the men had been able to endure some of the less-than-honorable actions they'd been forced to take on their campaigns was because they'd believed in her, believed it was necessary.

To disillusion them by admitting that it weighed on her conscience as well... that she too wondered if there couldn't have been a better way despite her Instincts...

It would break their faith in her, and in doing so undo bonds almost two decades in the making.

And for what?

So that she could try to forge a new relationship with her brothers-in-arms?

Would it serve any greater purpose to the realm?

She'd known from the start that her reign would require sacrifice!

"It's not that the King doesn't understand the hearts of his people, Sir Mordred; it is that the people can't understand the heart of their King."

But still... even so...

...

...

...

... no.

She could not betray them like that, just because of a moment of doubt and weakness.

As their King, as their liege, it was her duty to bear their sins without complaint.

She would do what was necessary for her people, for her Kingdom, and for her Knights.

Sucking in a deep breath, Artoria closed her eyes, and mentally removed the third option from her choices.

... still, that didn't answer what she should do now.

For God's sake, where was Merlin when she needed him?

Even as a small part of her quietly cursed absent pansy godfathers, she decided to follow her Instincts, and finally continued her speech: "But let us remember Sir Tristan not for the circumstances surrounding his departure, but instead for all the good he has done for the Kingdom during his time with our order. Let us commemorate his many great deeds, and let us honor his memory as the Knight of Lamentation, famed throughout the realm for his humanity and compassion."

""..."" As one, the men raised their goblets in solemn silence, echoing their King's own gesture.

Artoria allowed them a few moments on contemplation, before she lowered her own and continued speaking: "Now then... while the feast may have been prematurely ended, I do not see any reason to cut short the men's well-earned rest. Does anybody object?"

An agreeable silence greeted her, though Agravain received a few fearful glances, causing him to scowl fiercely.

Artoria almost couldn't help but smile in fond exasperation, but she managed to maintain her composure in the face of potentially slighting her nephew, the secretary of the Round Table, and instead quickly announced: "Then, should there be no pressing concerns or urgent issues, I have but one matter to raise."

The room collectively went silent in anticipation, and Artoria couldn't help but mentally replay the conversation she'd overheard the previous night as she turned to Mordred and his companion, and gently asked: "Sir Mordred, would you like to introduce your guest to us?"

Mordred and Jaune both gulped and exchanged worried looks, and Mordred quickly stammered: "Your Majesty, I-"

"Peace, Sir Mordred," Artoria quickly held up a hand to reassure the young knight. "This is not a reprimand, but merely to satisfy my curiosity. I have heard some of the details from Sir Lancelot last night, but I'd like to hear a fuller account. So, if you would start from the beginning?"

The pair breathed a sigh of relief, and Mordred proudly got up and gripped Jaune's shoulders, before pushing him forward as she excitedly introduced him: "Your Majesty, fellow Knights of the Round Table... as I'm sure you've heard, this is Jaune Arc. I found him over a month ago in a forest in Snowdonia, where he helped me slay the Addanc, and after a discussion with Lancelot we felt that he would be a valuable addition to our ranks."

"I see..." Artoria hummed thoughtfully as she compared the information to what she'd received, and what she'd seen and heard. "And what was he doing in the forest? I recall Sir Gareth mentioned something rather peculiar..."

"He... um..." Mordred looked back at Jaune as she recalled the reaction Agravain, Lancelot, and Gawain had given her, when she'd told them about her friend's circumstances. Sure, she didn't really care much for what they thought, but this was the King! She didn't want to embarrass either of them in front of him!

A tap on her shoulder drew her attention back to Jaune, and she turned around to see him with a forced smile on his face as he stepped in front of her, and explained: "Uh, Your Majesty, look... this is going to sound crazy, I know, but it's the truth, I swear on my name as an Arc! The last thing I remember before waking up in the forest was my... home, under attack by monsters, and fighting a dragon and a witch. Then I lost, and the next thing I knew, I was waking up in the forest alone."

Once again, the room descended into open discussion, with many knights incredulously shouting among themselves and at the prospective squire, and Artoria spent a quiet moment listening to them all with her superhuman senses before clearing her throat.

Immediately, the room fell silent again, though the tension was still present as Artoria turned to address them all: "I understand all of your concerns and your doubts, my Knights. But is this not Camelot, where stranger things oft happen? Have we all not spent at least a night or two in Corbenic? And who can forget the Green Knight's challenge, and Gawain's response? He has sworn the veracity of his tale in his name, and his presence in this sacred hall is born of the trust and faith placed in him by one among us equals."

As the room calmed down, Jaune couldn't help but release a breath he hadn't even realized he'd been holding even as he reflected that, while he may not have known anything about royalty, if he had to envision an ideal King, the kind of just and fair ruler that fairytales usually talked about...

... well, he probably wouldn't have looked so young, but he'd have definitely acted like how King Arthur just had.

No wonder Sir Mordred always raved about him...

Then King Arthur turned back to him, and gently but firmly asked: "Now, Jaune Arc... I must voice my own concern. For the sake of the realm, I would like to know, what happened to the dragon and the witch you were fighting?"

"Ah, they're no danger to this Kingdom," Jaune quickly reassured the occupants of the room, having faced the question before. "My home,,, the place where the battle occurred, it's too far away, and even... even if it wasn't... I'm sure my friends took care of them."

They had to be.

After all, he'd seen them at the tower, just before everything had gone wrong, and the alternative was simply something he couldn't accept.

It'd been Weiss, Pyr, and Ruby, after all.

They had to be.

The Knights couldn't help but frown as they picked up on the quiet, desperate hope coloring his tone, and Lancelot quickly spoke up to support his story: "Your Majesty, I made inquiries among the villages surrounding Snowdonia as soon as I heard his tale. None of them spoke of any recent sightings of witchcraft or dragons. They are unlikely to be a threat to the realm."

Artoria nodded, having complete faith in Lancelot's ability, before turning her attention back to the young men in front of her and sighing internally.

Truthfully, the more she heard about the situation, the more she could feel a headache growing.

Why couldn't anything in Camelot ever just be normal?

... then again, as she'd told her knights earlier, this may as well have been normal for Camelot (much to her personal dismay).

One thing she couldn't help but wonder about was what Lancelot, Gareth, and Mordred had been doing in Snowdonia while she'd been on campaign, and the fact that they hadn't mentioned it once was certainly telling...

But she had faith in her Knights of the Round Table; if they'd gone to Snowdonia, then they must have had a good reason, and she wouldn't pry any further.

The bigger enigma, though, was Jaune Arc.

Oh, she did sympathize with Jaune Arc's story, truly, and both her well-honed Instincts and her hard-earned experience were telling her that he was telling the truth, but that just raised more questions than it answered.

Where had he come from?

How had he appeared in her lands?

How had he managed to endear himself to Mordred and Agravain?

And most of all, what bugged her the most was that she could see no trace of the conviction and understanding she'd witnessed the night before, the man who had managed to speak to her deepest wishes and worries, in the nervous boy who stood before her.

Which one was the real Jaune Arc?

The sincerity, sureness, and sympathy that had colored his tone as he had spoken to Sir Mordred the Brash about the burdens he'd (correctly) believed she faced as the Perfect King, the sympathy and empathy he'd expressed that had gotten even Mordred thinking...

It had felt too real to have been faked.

She didn't believe it had been faked.

(She didn't want to believe it had been faked.)

But that too could be a threat.

On the off-chance that he was a pawn of one of the realm's many foes (wittingly or not), that level of insight into her insecurities, into the cracks in the unity of England, would be dangerous, especially considering recent events.

A quiet war waged internally within her, as she tried to calculate the different probable futures as Merlin had taught her, before sighing as her eyes fell back onto Sir Mordred's distinctive horned helmet, which for some reason he never removed.

"... even if His Majesty isn't perfect... I will always admire the King of Knights."

She'd said it herself, hadn't she?

One among their number of equals had extended their trust and faith to Jaune Arc.

In the name of justice and fairness, she could not deny him that much.

Taking a deep breath, Artoria finally spoke up, as she made her decision: "If nobody should have any strenuous objection thus far... I would like all to vacate this room temporarily save for Jaune Arc and I, that I may speak privately to him."

Looks were exchanged, and the low din of many simultaneous discussions filled the room, but one by one the Knights got up and filed out without speaking up.

Mordred was the last to leave, with a whispered "good luck" to her friend and apprentice, before she left the room.

Jaune couldn't help but fidget nervously as Sir Mordred closed the doors behind him, leaving the two of them alone.

Sure, he'd known that this meeting was coming, had been prepared for it, but the prospect of dealing with actual royalty had always been a daunting one, and that was before he'd factored in the fact that his future in this new world hinged on his performance, and that he wouldn't have any familiar faces here to guide him.

Seeing the boy's nervousness, Artoria couldn't help but feel a tinge of disappointment, but she ignored it in favor of giving him a fair chance as she began: "Be at ease, Jaune Arc. You have nothing to fear here."

Taking a deep breath, Jaune tried to recompose himself, and he gave the King a shaky smile as he replied: "Uh, thank you, Your Majesty. And I'm not afraid, really! It's just... well... I've never really interacted with royalty before..."

The disappointment grew within Artoria, but she nodded in understanding.

It was natural.

It was fine.

Jaune noticed the slight shift in the King's eyes, however, and after memories of the previous night came to mind he quickly continued: "Ah... ahem... I'm not really explaining myself well here, am I, Your Majesty? I just wanted to... apologize in advance, if my conduct is in any way lacking! Sir Mordred, Sir Agravain, Sir Lancelot, and Gareth, they all tried to prepare me as much as they could for this, but... I have no experience with this, Your Majesty."

Artoria blinked, completely surprised by Jaune's admission, and after a moment she tried to summarize: "... you're worried that a misstep on your part might reflect badly on my Knights?"

Jaune nodded sheepishly, but he forced himself to meet King Arthur's incredulous gaze as he elaborated: "If not for them... I don't think I would have ever made it out of that forest in Snowdonia. They brought me here, helped me get back on my feet, gave me a chance when they didn't need to. I... I owe them my life, and I... it would be a poor way to thank them, by making their lives harder."

"..." Artoria studied Jaune's face for a moment, searching for any sign of deception, before leaning back, satisfied with what she'd found. Then her lips quirked upwards fractionally, and she seized the chance as she suggested: "Then, perhaps it would be in both of our interests to drop the formalities for this conversation?"

"A-are you sure?" Jaune couldn't help but stumble over his words, caught utterly off-guard by the King's offer. After all, he'd gathered from interacting with Sir Agravain and Sir Lancelot that this society was big on formalities and hierarchy.

Perhaps this was a test or something?

"As I said before, this is a private conversation," Artoria reassured him. "On my honor, any lapses in manners here and now will not reflect on you or my Knights in the slightest."

Jaune relaxed as he processed the King's words, knowing that the culture here was really big on sworn oaths and honor. "Well, alright then. So... where should we start?"

"As I mentioned earlier, Sir Lancelot told me some of the details last night," Artoria answered, easily leading the conversation to try and fill in the gaps that bugged her. "Most of which has been corroborated with both your words and that of Sir Mordred's just now. But if you'll indulge my curiosity... I'd like to start by knowing more about the land you hail from, if you don't mind, Jaune Arc."

"It's... a Kingdom called Vale..." Jaune slowly began, before remembering a few details that probably needed to be mentioned: "Ah, right... I think I should tell you, Your Majesty, but even though it's called a Kingdom, neither it nor any of it's neighbors are ruled by Kings, instead, the people elect representatives to form a council that oversees the running of the lands..."

Artoria's eyes widened as she processed these words, before she breathed in realization: "Democracy. You're talking about a Republic."

Jaune blinked, before he slowly affirmed: "... yes... that's exactly it... how did you...?"

"The Athenians of Greece ran their city state in such a manner, and so too did the Romans before they became an Empire," Artoria answered absent-mindedly, even as her mind drew up and analyzed the pertinent information. It had been a long time, though, since she'd had a history lesson from Merlin, and even back then it had been little more than an obscure piece of trivia, something mentioned off-handedly and discarded as unnecessary in the Path to becoming the Perfect King.

And yet, here was a subject of such an antiquated method of government before her.

As a ruler, she couldn't help but be curious about how other lands were run, if only so she could potentially improve the governance of her lands in turn.

"What is the criteria for one to vote?" Artoria inquired curiously, leaning forward. "How often is an election held? How are representatives treated?"

"Umm... well..." Jaune scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "For voting rights... any citizen of age, I guess? And the rest... I'm not too sure... I was just a farmer's son, so I never really had an interest in politics..."

"Is that so..." Artoria managed to keep the disappointment of her tone, instead latching on to the information he had provided. "So, voting isn't limited to land-owners, in the Kingdom of Vale?"

"Well..." Jaune looked away awkwardly, as he desperately tried to recall anything and everything his parents had mentioned off-handedly about politics in Vale.

-OUTSIDE THE CHAMBERS, MEANWHILE-

"Are you done pacing, Sir Mordred?" Agravain asked in a dry tone as he watched over his sister. "Or do you aim to wear that spot down to the very stone?"

"But what if Jaune fails, Agravain?" Mordred countered as she continued walking up and down. "What if he doesn't manage to impress King Arthur, or makes a mistake and messes up?"

"... I know you worry for your squire, Mordred..." Agravain quietly began after sighing, before flinching Mordred's head snapped up towards her brother.

Even through her helmet he could feel the intensity of her gaze.

"Hah?! Worried? Me?" Mordred scoffed haughtily.

"..." Agravain only raised an eyebrow and waited.

"I'm not worried, really!" Mordred snapped angrily, crossing her arms as she finally stopped pacing. "You trained him! Lancelot gave him his approval! I know he won't make a poor showing of himself to King Arthur! There is no reason to worry!"

"..." Agravain's eyebrow rose further.

"I'm just..." Mordred almost began, before catching herself. Then she sighed, and begrudgingly admitted: "I'm just... I just can't help but think, alright? Like, what if the King's still in a bad mood about last night, or what something, anything, happens, that he couldn't prepare for, or-"

"Mordred..." Agravain interrupted her as he pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

"Yeah?"

"That is worry," Agravain bluntly informed her.

"..." Mordred blinked repeatedly, before she insisted: "But I just said-"

"Emotions aren't always logical, Mordred..." Agravain groaned, before carefully placing a reassuring hand on her back, ready to withdraw it should her glare return. When nothing happened, he counselled his baby sister: "But you're right that you shouldn't be worried; his manners certainly put yours to shame, and as for the events of last night... His Majesty is a fair and just King. I doubt that Sir Tristan's outburst even merits a second thought in His Majesty's mind any longer..."

The mention of the King and his emotions was sufficient in taking Mordred's mind off of her squire's interview for the moment, but as she recalled Jaune's words last night she couldn't help but ask: "... uh, really? So... you don't think the King was affected by Tristan's words?"

"Why would he be?" Agravain's eyebrow rose once more. "Sir Tristan's tantrum had no rational basis; in war, sacrifices are sometimes necessary for the greater good. His inability to see that speaks to me more of his personal failings."

"..." Mordred was silent as she digested this. While she personally agreed with Agravain's criticisms of that weird good-for-nothing archer... she couldn't help but also remember the conviction in her friend's voice, and his words still resonated within her, still made sense to her. As she tried to ponder more about this, tried to figure out who was right, she tried once again: "Well... I mean... surely anybody would feel something, after being called out like that by a Knight of the Round Table..."

"That is true, that anybody would," Agravain conceded, before sternly countering: "But the King is no mere person, and I would ask you not to seek the same values as ours from Him who possesses magic like the gods."

"Hmmm..." Mordred could only hum thoughtfully, her brows furrowed behind her helmet.

That... hadn't helped in the slightest.

Sure, Agravain probably had a point about His Majesty possessing a different viewpoint from them, considering he was a wise and just ruler who'd been blessed with immortality...

But at the same time, something about his words just bugged her, which was weird because she'd have probably said the exact same thing before last night.

Then it struck her.

Wasn't this exactly what Jaune had warned her about?

... but then again, he had also admitted that he could have been mistaken, and that Agravain would have had a better idea than them...

Could it be, that he'd just been mistaken?

Before they could continue the conversation any further, however, the thick doors to the meeting hall slowly swung open, and King Arthur's voice called out: "My Knights, you may all return."

Agravain and Mordred immediately exchanged looks, and it was with growing apprehension that Mordred quickly re-entered the chambers ahead of the pack even as she reminded herself that no, she wasn't worried, and she had absolutely no reason to worry.

Then she saw Jaune standing before the King, saw the expressions on their faces, and immediately her worries vanished.

"My Knights," Artoria's voice echoed throughout the hall despite her making no effort to raise its volume. "I would like you all to bear witness to this ceremony.

"Jaune Arc of Vale, do you swear on your name and honor, to hold fealty to the Rightful King of England?" Artoria solemnly asked, as Jaune automatically took a knee as he'd been taught. "To never cause him harm, and to observe your homage to him completely against all persons in good faith and without deceit?"

"I do," Jaune answered.

"And do you swear to serve Camelot loyally, to observe your duty to the realm, to respect and protect the less fortunate, to never lie and remain faithful to your pledges, to give largesse to all, and to be always the champion of the right and the good against injustice and evil?"

"I do," Jaune repeated once again.

"Then, as High King of England, do I, Arthur Pendragon, accept your sworn oaths," Artoria proclaimed with a gentle smile. "May your service to the realm be filled with honor and glory, Jaune Arc."

Jaune's shoulders almost sagged with relief, and he looked out at the audience as they gave him a polite round of applause, before smiling softly as his eyes settled on Sir Lancelot, Sir Agravain, Gareth, and an armored figure with a distinctive horned helmet, cheering louder than everyone else.

Now that the biggest hurdle had been cleared, he could finally think about repaying them for everything.

Chapter Text

It was with a cheerful mood that Mordred casually strolled down the familiar corridor to Jaune's room that morning, humming to herself all the while.

Jaune.

Her squire.

Her new, official squire.

Oh, sure, it may as well have been the case ever since she'd picked him up from Snowdonia, but her lips couldn't help but quirk up behind her helmet as she once again recalled the events of the previous day, and affirmed to herself that it hadn't all been a dream.

All the hard work they'd endured over the past month had paid off.

They hadn't failed; she hadn't failed him.

With the oaths he'd sworn, Jaune's place in Camelot had been secured.

Her friend's future had been secured.

Unbeknownst to her, a full-blown smile was gracing her relaxed face behind her helmet as she continued remembering the previous day, as well as the ramifications of it all.

Oh, sure, Jaune wasn't a full knight (she remained the only person to have managed that feat for the time being), but now that they weren't on a deadline anymore, now that they didn't have to worry about Jaune accidentally messing up and insulting the King... now they could finally take a break from all that boring formal crap (important as it may have been, as she'd been grudgingly forced to admit, nothing could change the fact that the subjects were about as interesting as watching dyes dry) and start focusing on some of the more fun stuff!

... not that she was excited for any of that, of course...

... and she definitely hadn't slept in a little bit because she'd stayed up late drawing up lesson plans and lost track of the time...

She'd just decided, in her infinite kindness and wisdom, to reward her squire for succeeding the previous day by granting him a few extra hours of sleep, that's all!

And now that it was a few hours later...

Hmmm, what should she teach him today, now that they had luxury of time and choice?

Maybe she could drill more advanced swordsmanship techniques into him? Sure, he'd gotten the basics down, and he was a lot stronger and faster than a normal knight, but considering how her ass of an eldest brother had treated him yesterday it probably wouldn't hurt to prepare him in case Gawain tried to push it...

Then again, further practice with a sword might not be the best option, if she wanted to prepare him for a bout with her fellow knights. She still remembered how her own blade had been broken by the Addanc; against the likes of Arondight and Galatine, blades that had slain creatures worse than the Addanc, a mere mundane sword probably wouldn't be enough, even if he reinforced it with his bullshit Aura. Perhaps she could focus on teaching him how to fight unarmed?

Or she could just take him to the stables and begin teaching him how to ride a horse. With the two of them mounted they could venture further from the castle for training, lessons, and other adventures, and now that King Arthur and the men were back Agravain probably wouldn't be able to complain about their departure...

Though Jaune had said he'd had no experience with horses before, during their journey back from Snowdonia, so it'd probably be best if he rode with her for their first few lessons, clinging tightly on to her back lest he fall off...

...

... reaching her squire's door just as she'd made up her mind, Mordred took a moment to once again make sure her bearing was immaculate (had to set a good example, especially now that the King was back), before she knocked on the door and waited.

After five seconds of waiting, she cocked her head in curiosity at the door, and knocked again, before listening intently with her keen senses.

... nope, she still couldn't hear any movement behind the door.

That was odd, and certainly uncharacteristic for him.

Was he still sleeping?

Was he feeling unwell?

A slight tinge of concern for her friend welled up within her, and after a third round of impatient knocking she tried the door, which opened easily.

Then she blinked in surprise, as an empty room greeted her.

Huh...

Had her squire simply gotten up at his usual timing and decided to get some training done on his own, when she hadn't shown up at their usual time?

If so... well, she supposed she could only commend his initiative and reward his enthusiasm...

Of course, that didn't answer the question about where in Camelot he was...

Shrugging her shoulders, she left his room, closing the door behind her even as she decided to go looking for her wayward squire.

After fifteen minutes of fruitless searching, Mordred ruefully reflected that maybe she should have come up with a better plan than simply picking a random direction to walk in while calling out her squire's name.

Oh well. Too late to stop now.

As she turned the corner, preparing to call for her friend once again, she suddenly felt a presence nearby, and managed to turn around and stop her moment just in time to keep herself from being almost run over by a distracted Lancelot.

"Oh, pardon me-" Lancelot quickly apologized as his attention snapped back to reality, before blinking as he realized who'd he almost collided with. "Ah, good morning, Sir Mordred. Lovely day, isn't it?"

"... everything okay there, Lancelot?" Mordred couldn't help but raise an eyebrow. Between his odd behavior and the fact that she'd swear he'd had a dopey grin plastered on his face before they'd almost run into each other, something felt... off.

"Oh, of course, everything's fine," Lancelot answered hastily, his eyes quickly glancing down the corridors. "Is there something that would lead you to believe otherwise, Sir Mordred?"

"... not really, I guess..." Mordred eventually dropped it, deciding that she must have been mistaken. After all, as much as his expression and actions may have been at odds with her usual impression of him, she'd freely admit she didn't know people in general to be sure that he was acting weird, let alone him. Taking her attention away from the older knight, she peered past him, before blinking in surprise. "Did you just come from the King's private chambers?"

For some reason, Lancelot began coughing, before he explained: "Ah, yes, well... I had something I wished to discuss with the King this morning. Unfortunately, he was not in his chambers... anyway, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I'm just trying to find Jaune," Mordred shrugged, taking the bait. "Got some new lessons planned for him, now that he's officially one of us. Speaking of which, any chance you've seen him?"

"My apologies, but I was occupied up until just now," Lancelot tapped his chin in thought, before suggesting: "But perhaps you might want to talk to Squire Gareth? The two of them do train together rather frequently, after all..."

"Gareth, huh..." Mordred couldn't help but frown behind her helmet as Lancelot's words made her recall what the other Knights of Camelot had said, during the feast two days ago.

Sure, she knew that the two of them were friends, but the idea that there might have been something special going on between her elder sister and her friend... for some reason, the more she thought about it, the more irate she found herself becoming...

"... Sir Mordred?"

"Huh?" Mordred blinked as her attention turned away from her sour thoughts and back to Lancelot, who was giving her a look of concern.

"Is everything alright?" Lancelot inquired gently, sensing that something had suddenly bothered the young knight in front of him.

"Yup, everything's fine," Mordred quickly reassured Lancelot even as she turned around as fast as she could. "I'll just go find Gareth, see if she knows where Jaune is. Bye!"

For some reason, she found herself sincerely wishing that the answer would be "no".

-TWO HOURS EARLIER-

Jaune quietly hummed to himself as he checked on the joint of pork he'd been frying, before looking at the herbs, spices, and seasonings he'd managed to scrounge up from the kitchen with a torn look for what was probably the dozenth time that morning.

Good news, the pre-Dust world he'd found himself in did at least mostly share the same herbs, spices, and seasonings with Remnant, and if his nose was an impartial judge, his time spent in the kitchen as the brother to seven older sisters had served him well.

Bad news, the state of England as compared to Remnant meant that said herbs, spices, and seasonings of Camelot didn't exist in nearly the same quantities he was used to in Remnant, and a part of him still felt extremely guilty about even using the miniscule pinches that he had (despite Gareth having reassured him that other knights and squires snuck into the kitchens to do their own cooking all the time).

One of the biggest reasons for why this was so was, obviously, the primitiveness of England's "technology" (just as he'd observed with the farmers in Snowdonia). For example, while salt had been discovered for well over a thousand years in this world, domestic production was largely restricted to the coastal regions and some Empire-founded town called "Salinae", where brine was collected and heated in large open shallow pans until the water was boiled away.

Another conclusion that he'd come to after going through the castle's library, though, was that the fall of the Empire that had once controlled England and most of the nearby continent had basically destroyed the spice trade. According to the historical archives, most of the spices that England had once gotten through the Empire had come from foreign Kingdoms in the Far East if they weren't produced from some other corner of the Empire, and between the downfall of the Empire and all the subsequent wars England had gone through contact with these spice producers had been lost. As for local production... pepper may have been worth more than its weight in gold, but if Snowdonia had been any indicator, most people in England had their hands full just trying to grow enough crops to keep themselves fed.

(Of course, this was just conjecture at best; he'd freely admit he'd always struggled in Doctor Oobleck's classes, though he felt Ren, Pyr, and Oobleck would have been very proud of him for willingly doing research and coming up with his own theories, though Ruby and Nora would've probably been horrified...)

Well, even if he could guess why the castle didn't have much in the way of seasonings, it didn't change the fact that it didn't have much in the way of seasonings. and so all he could do at the moment was appreciate just how valuable the pork he'd just fried was, and try not to feel so guilty as he sliced a loaf of bread in half and melted some cheese over it to make a sandwich.

Fortunately for him, the smell of fried pork and cheese that made his mouth water, the thought of finally having something that wasn't roasted or boiled that made his stomach growl, and the reminder that this meal was not going to be a common occurrence did much to help him ignore his guilt.

And it definitely wasn't going to be a common occurrence; even if Camelot (and his conscience) could afford these meals on a regular basis, there was no way Sir Mordred was going to let him off from their usual morning practices.

Maybe if he bribed his mentor by preparing food for him as well? Sir Mordred had seemed to enjoy his cooking, back when they'd first met...

... no, knowing his mentor's appetite, doing so would almost certainly bankrupt the castle, and get them in trouble with Sir Agravain again...

"Oh, Squire Jaune?"

A voice suddenly cut through his thoughts, and he couldn't help but jump before he quickly turned to the entrance of the kitchen, where a blonde was studying him curiously.

"Your Majesty!" Jaune exclaimed nervously as he recognized the short boyish figure, and he made sure his sandwich was well-hidden behind him as he continued: "I didn't hear you there... how can I help you, Your Majesty?"

"Well, you could start by telling me just what that novel smell is," Artoria's lip quirked fractionally upwards, amused by the reaction the newest member of her knights had just given her.

Not to speak ill of her knights, of course (they were peerless heroes of the realm, noble champions of truth and justice one and all), but between the apparent friction between her eldest nephew and their newest member, the fact that Sir Mordred the Brash was his mentor, and the shifty 'my-hand-is-totally-not-in-the-cookie-jar' look she was getting, she felt certain that Jaune Arc was going to fit right in with her merry order of troublemakers, for better or for worse.

"I was just cooking, Your Majesty," Jaune explained even as he awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck with one hand and held out his sandwich with his other, seeing no better alternative than complete transparency.

"I can see that, and self-sufficiency in the face of hunger is certainly not a virtue I would discourage amongst my knights," Artoria gently reassured the young squire, easily noticing his apprehension. "Though I will admit it isn't common for me to see someone putting that ideal into practice this early in the day..."

Jaune couldn't help but laugh sheepishly: "Well... I had a good teacher, I guess..."

"Sir Mordred?" Artoria prompted with curiosity even as she leaned forward to study what her nose was telling her was the source of the mouth-watering smell that had brought her there earlier.

"Yup," Jaune confirmed, before elaborating: "Usually, by this time, we'd already be training in some corner of the forest, and although today is a rare exception... I guess it's become a bit of a habit by now... anyway, what about you, Your Majesty, if you don't mind me asking? Are you also used to waking up early as well?"

"It's certainly not a habit I'm opposed to cultivating," Artoria deflected with practiced ease, seeing no reason to admit the truth.

After all, what reason would she have to tell the newest squire in Camelot that, even though she was very much physically, mentally, and spiritually exhausted (having only returned from a hard campaign two days ago), she'd still be woken up earlier than usual by her wife, who'd then proceeded to politely suggest she take a walk?

For all the words they'd shared, for all that she'd gotten a measure of his character, she'd already established that she would not betray the loyalties of her Knights and her Kingdom.

Instead, even as she internally pondered the actions of Guin that morning, she still continued their conversation, steering it to safer waters: "In any case, that certainly seems like a unique dish... is it traditional to Vale?"

Jaune looked down at his sandwich, wondering what in Oum's name could be so unique about meat and fillings between two slabs of bread. But as he thought about it, he found himself realizing that, for all the time he'd spent in Camelot, he'd never once actually seen anybody else eating a sandwich.

... was it really that unusual?

"It's just meat and cheese between two halves of a loaf, Your Majesty," Jaune finally spoke, unsure of how else to answer (did something count as a tradition if it was just how things had been done as far back as anyone could remember?). At the same time, though, he found himself feeling a lack of surprise, considering the kind of questions King Arthur had bombarded him with when they'd first talked the previous morning.

Who would have thought the Perfect King everybody that he'd met in this new world had admired would have been a bit of a nerd?

Not that he could blame him, admittedly; if a person from a different world had suddenly shown up in Remnant, he'd have probably shown just as much curiosity as he was receiving (emphasis on probably, though; he'd be the first to admit he wasn't the most studious person around).

Then he took a second look at King Arthur's intense scrutiny of his sandwich, and with memories of his interrogation fresh in his mind, he rapidly put two and two together.

Before King Arthur could comment on his words (or ask him any more questions, like where such a "tradition" originated), Jaune quickly began to fix up another sandwich even as he asked: "Would you like to try one, Your Majesty?"

-ONE BREAKFAST LATER-

"That was certainly an... interesting way to eat," Artoria finally commented as she finished wiping her mouth, and did her best to ignore her stomach and sense of taste as they pointedly requested for seconds (hunger may have been the enemy, but Gluttony was one of the Seven Deadly Sins).

"I was going to go with 'convenient', myself," Jaune offered between bites of his own sandwich, having decided to take his time in savoring the semi-familiar taste of his own cooking.

"It certainly seems so, Squire Jaune," Artoria agreed with a nod, before adding appreciatively: "Although I doubt I would have found the meal as interesting as I did, had the dishes not been so well-cooked. Would you happen to have a lot of prior experience with this?"

"My seven older sisters made me cook for them all the time," Jaune explained easily, trying to disguise his pride and embarrassment by making a comment about his family like he typically did, although a fond smile did make its way onto his lips as he talked about them.

Artoria fought down a snort of amusement at his words, remembering both her own childhood with Kay and Ector as well as watching her nephews and niece interact (truly, it seemed that having demanding elder siblings was a universal phenomenon). Instead, retaining a dignified composure, she inquired: "If you don't mind me asking, what other dishes would you consider yourself proficient in cooking? This meal has left me curious about the cuisine of Vale."

"... well..." Jaune couldn't help but rub the back of his neck awkwardly this time as he racked his brains trying to think of anything that the Kingdom of Vale would have considered a national dish. Finally, he gave up, and admitted: "Honestly, I'm not sure if I'd be able to name any dishes from Vale that would really stand out... though I'd say I'm at least good enough at cooking that I could probably recreate them here to demonstrate? Uh, well... as long as they don't need too much seasoning... they're a lot easier to find in Vale than here, no offense..."

"Oh, is the Kingdom of Vale rich in herbs and spices?" Artoria pressed as she leaned forward, a part of her trying to recall any lands of record that had met such a criteria. Sure, Jaune Arc had told them that he'd tried going through the Castle's archives to look for any mention of his home, but there had been a good number of documents that hadn't survived the Fall of the Empire and the chaos that had followed the death of her father, and when she had an ancient dream-walking wizard as an advisor the physical destruction of a local copy wasn't quite as final as it might otherwise have been.

Beyond whatever curiosity she'd admit to possessing about a Kingdom that no longer needed a King, beyond the simple want to help her fellow Man, establishing diplomatic contact (and possible trade relations) with a country of great technological might and a wealth of natural resources was really just common sense as a head of state.

"... I guess you could say that..." Jaune answered after a moment's thought. "I mean, I wouldn't really have called it rich before, but compared to here... well, I mean, it can't be helped that Vale just has more advanced farming methods..."

"You did say you were a farmer's son, correct?" Artoria hummed thoughtfully, before remarking: "I did find myself curious about your remarkable literacy and knowledge despite your apparent background, but if your home possesses more advanced farming methods, it would make sense for the profession to require a greater degree of literacy and knowledge than it does here..."

Jaune couldn't help but wince, and he immediately tried to correct King Arthur's misconception: "Um, well... I mean, sure, our methods are more advanced, but I wouldn't say farmers specifically need to be smarter than the average person... sure, there's some specialized stuff like soil chemistry or composting, but on the whole everyone in Vale's expected to be able to read and write... in fact, I'd be the first to admit I was never the best at studying..."

"I see..." Artoria murmured, taking a moment to examine the squire's face for any sign of falsehood even as she tried to digest the thought of everybody in a Kingdom being literate. "I suppose that widespread literacy would be a requirement in a democracy where voting is open to all citizens of age..."

"I mean, it'd probably be hard to read a manifesto or write your chosen candidate's name on a ballot if you couldn't," Jaune pointed out with a shrug.

"That is true," Artoria nodded, before sighing and reflecting that it been a good thing that she hadn't truly been considering democracy as anything beyond an intellectual curiosity, if a requirement for it to function was for everyone to be able to read and write.

Considering most of her people were too busy just growing enough food to see themselves through the next winter (and considering this was already a lot better than how things had been two decades ago), it would be unreasonable of her to expect them to set aside some additional time for education, let alone getting further involved in local governance.

And that wasn't even considering what the nobles under her would have done if she'd tried empowering their peasants.

The obligations imposed upon nobles by the Lord and their liege, while far from perfect, was at least for the most part sufficient in ensuring the welfare of their subjects.

With foreign invaders arriving on their shores from beyond the seas every year, she could not risk any social upheaval or rebellion.

And of course, that wasn't the only way what she was hearing could benefit her people.

"You mentioned earlier that farmers in Vale required some specialized knowledge and used advanced methods, correct?" Artoria inquired with barely-disguised curiosity, rewinding the conversation slightly. "Could you elaborate briefly on how Vale's methods differ from here? And could you tell me a bit more about this 'specialized knowledge' of yours?"

Jaune couldn't help but curse his luck at the fact that the King he'd sworn an oath to serve was a massive nerd even as he tried to figure out just how to translate what he knew into terms his liege would actually understand.

Well, at least it wasn't about politics anymore.

Chapter Text

"Oh my, if it isn't Camelot's newest squire," a voice spoke up as he dragged his tired body down the now-familiar hallway, one part teasing and one part surprised delight, and Jaune immediately turned to face its owner even as she jogged up to him, the sweat and dirt and plate armor doing little to detract from Gareth's radiance as she grinned at her fellow squire.

As she caught up to him, and he clasped her gauntlet with his own hand in greeting, he returned the grin even as he easily shot back: "Nice to see you too, Camelot's youngest squire."

Gareth laughed and rolled her eyes, and as the pair separated she asked: "I didn't know you were back in Camelot, Jaune... when did you and Sir Mordred return?"

"Actually, we just got back," Jaune informed her even as he stretched his back. "Sir Mordred's gone to deliver his account of our trip to Sir Agravain, though."

"I see," Gareth nodded, giving her friend a quick once-over, before eagerly pressing: "And is it true?"

"Is what true?" Jaune blinked and cocked his head in confusion.

"What the men are saying you and Sir Mordred got up to during your travels in the past few weeks!" Gareth prompted excitedly.

"What we got up to?" Jaune echoed bemusedly. "All we did was go around the surrounding towns and villages as a learning journey, like we said we were going to..."

"So... you didn't rout an entire Saxon raiding party?" Gareth asked with only mild disappointment.

"... I don't think I've even seen a Saxon before..." Jaune admitted, shaking his head.

"What about levelling a score of forests from here to the lands of the Picts from the fury of your countless duels?"

"We've only been gone for a few weeks, and we definitely never went that far North!"

"And is that a 'no' to slaying a rampaging dragon and save a town?"

"... is that an actual problem that happens here often?" Jaune couldn't help but ask, even as a part of him realized belatedly that Gareth wasn't being completely serious with her questioning.

After all, they had believed him with remarkably little difficulty about his own battle with a dragon, and while he hadn't looked a gift horse in the mouth back then...

"Well, Sir Lancelot slew one in single combat a few years ago, just before he became my mentor, and Sir Kay was said to have shocked fire dragons into flying back from whence they came..." Gareth recalled, before chuckling and admitting: "But I would have definitely been most surprised had that story turned out to be true."

"Well, either way, Sir Mordred and I definitely did not do anything of those things," Jaune rolled his eyes, before rhetorically retorting: "Do you really think Sir Agravain would have allowed Sir Mordred to take me on a field trip if he'd thought such a thing was likely?"

"That is certainly true..." Gareth conceded, even as her hand went up to her chin thoughtfully, before she mused: "You know... Agravain is the only one besides His Majesty who can actually get Sir Mordred to listen to him most of the time..."

"Really?" Jaune tried to inject as much disinterested skepticism as he could into his voice even as he suddenly found an interesting cloud to fix his gaze on.

"I'm serious!" Gareth protested, heedlessly following her thoughts wherever they guided her. "And come to think of it... when Mother first introduced Sir Mordred to the Round Table, Agravain didn't seem surprised or impressed at all."

"Does Sir Agravain ever seem surprised or impressed?" Jaune wondered off-handedly, still trying to steer the conversation back to safer topics.

"Perhaps not to most people, but I can read my brother, Jaune," Gareth pointed out, still refusing to be distracted from piecing together the image slowly forming in her head (much to Jaune's dismay). "But even though he was neither surprised nor impressed, he was still among the first to voice his support for Sir Mordred's membership..."

Fortunately for Jaune, though, before he could accidentally put his foot into his mouth and potentially incriminate himself any further, Gareth wondered out loud: "Do you think brother helped train Sir Mordred before he came to Camelot?"

Jaune didn't quite breathe a sigh of relief that his mentor's secret had been preserved, but it was a close thing, and after a few moments of recomposing himself (which he cleverly disguised as thinking the question over, in the spirit of younger siblings trying to get out trouble everywhere), he deflected: "... well, I suppose, you'd know better than me..."

"Hmm, that is true..." Gareth hummed thoughtfully, before she shook her head and sighed after a few moments: "Sir Mordred's skill with the blade far outclasses Agravain's, and considering both his duties in Camelot and his dedication to them, I do not believe he would have had the time or inclination to take on an apprentice, save perhaps as a scribe..."

Jaune nodded along encouragingly, even as a part of him felt conflicted over Gareth coming to the wrong conclusion about Sir Mordred's relationship with Sir Agravain (and her, by extension).

Sure, the misunderstanding was both to be expected (he doubted Gareth could even conceive of the notion that her mother had kept another brother a secret from the entire family save Sir Agravain) and convenient (it wasn't his secret to tell, and Sir Mordred had made it very clear he didn't want Gareth to find out, no matter how many times he'd asked), but at the same time he couldn't help but feel like Gareth would have been a good influence on Sir Mordred.

Still, though, he'd only gotten as far as he had because Team JNPR had respected his secrets, and so he instead changed the subject: "And speaking of training, how's yours coming along? Are we about to see the youngest Knight of the Round Table any time soon?"

"Oh, Sir Lancelot said he's willing to bestow my knighthood upon me as soon as I am of age!" Gareth informed him cheerfully, perking up at the chance to speak about her mentor (just as Jaune knew she would). Then the brown bangs that accented her blonde hair drooped, and she quietly murmured: "Though, recently..."

"Is everything alright?" Jaune leaned in, unable to help the concern that welled up within him.

After a moment of hesitation, where Gareth weighed her admiration for Sir Lancelot with her worry about his recent behavior, she shook her head and smiled reassuringly: "I am sure it's nothing, Jaune. He has been a bit... distracted, ever since the feast, but who can blame him? The words Sir Tristan spoke still haunt many of the men who were present, and he has not allowed it to affect his mentorship of me, such is the strength of his character."

"..." Jaune looked back at the castle for a moment as he remembered that feast, before shaking his head, not wanting to think about how much harder someone who'd actually known both the King and Sir Tristan would have taken it.

Silence descended on the pair for a few moments, before Gareth took her turn to change the subject: "So, want to see the progress I've made on Ira Lupus so far?"

"Sure, why not," Jaune said with a smile and a shrug, a small part of him quietly giving thanks to Ruby Rose for all the times she'd talked about weaponsmithing as he did so. Sure, he was nowhere near the level of even a blacksmith's apprentice (or a Signal student), but he'd picked up enough via simple proximity and osmosis to at least give a few pointers.

As the pair made towards their new destination together, however, and the whispering of passers-by around them only grew in intensity, Jaune barely managed to fight down the urge to look around curiously even as he quietly wondered why it seemed like people in Camelot still hadn't gotten used to his presence.

-AGRAVAIN'S CHAMBERS, MEANWHILE-

Agravain stared at the armored figure as she leaned back, having finished giving her brother the report he'd demanded.

He blinked.

Nothing changed.

He blinked again.

His youngest sister's body language remained the same.

He blinked for a third time.

Unfortunately for his blood pressure, Mordred was still just as oblivious as she was insufferably smug at the moment.

Agravain exhaled slowly, taking a moment to collect himself, and Mordred leaned forward, seemingly misunderstanding his actions.

"... Mordred?" Agravain finally began. "Do you remember what we discussed, what you promised, before I allowed you to take your squire away from Camelot for the month?"

"Uh, to make sure I taught him well?" Mordred cocked her head quizzically, not understanding why she was being asked such an obvious question.

After all, based on her own judgement, she was pretty sure they'd done a good job of helping the towns they'd visited during their travels (at least, when compared to the tales she'd been told, and the picture books she'd grown up with).

And as for his horse-riding...

Jaune's brow was furrowed in intense concentration as he tried to hold onto to the warhorse's reins (as opposed to its neck), and quietly prayed that it wouldn't try to buck him off again (as it had been ever since they'd left the castle).

"You need to relax, squire," Mordred chastised him as she rode up next to him, looking him over and quietly picking out the flaws in his form even as she explained: "If your grip is too tight, and your mind too focused on simply riding your horse, it may cost you seconds in drawing your blade, and I know you know how important that can be in combat..."

Jaune took a deep breath, before exhaling slowly as he forced himself to loosen his grip on the length of leather.

Mordred had just begun to nod in approval, before the old horse took the chance to stamp a hoof violently and snort, sensing his rider's inexperience and lack of confidence.

Before Jaune could tighten his grip, however, Mordred quickly intervened, growling at the horse even as she seized the reins from Jaune.

As the horse calmed down, knowing better than to press his luck at that moment, Jaune could only look sheepishly at Mordred as she sighed and remarked: "You know, I was expecting you to be a lot better at handling animals, between your youth on a farm and your training as a Huntsman..."

Jaune laughed awkwardly as he quickly averted his gaze, not knowing how to respond. After all, it wasn't like he could explain that his family's farm hadn't had any animals (since that would have just opened him up to more questioning, and it'd have been hard to describe what a tractor or combine was to people who used oxen and horses to pull carts and carry packs), to say nothing of how the preferred mode of transport for Huntsmen was the Bullhead...

Mordred narrowed her eyes at his laughter, wondering if there was something she was missing, before she shook her head and sighed again.

Nudging him in the side with her elbow to grab his attention, she pulled herself even closer to her squire, but her touch was gentle as she gripped his hands beneath hers, and guided them to the old horse's reins once more.

"Again," she instructed, though it came out far softer than the impatient bark anybody who knew of her would have expected from her, nor would they have expected the small smile hidden behind her helmet as she watched Jaune do his best to follow her instructions.

But then again, she was teaching a friend, someone whom she'd sworn to be a mentor to, even if they had to figure things out together.

... though, judging by the way things were going, he might need to share her horse again when they entered the next village (still a much more dignified fate than getting bucked off his horse in full view of the local peasantry).

Strangely enough, she found that she could live with that.

... well, considering he'd been able to ride that ornery steed she'd picked out for him three weeks into their journey, she could confidently declare him capable of riding just about any regular warhorse in Camelot...

"Besides that," Agravain prompted sharply, bringing her back to the present.

"Um, to ensure his safety?" Mordred answered confusedly, still not seeing the problem.

"Yes," Agravain confirmed in a dry tone even as he looked back at the dictation he'd taken of Mordred's report. Waving a hand back to her account of how their journey had gone, he demanded: "And what would you call that?"

"A safe journey?" Mordred ventured.

"A dozen wolf packs, two rampaging bears, and a group of Pictish bandits raiding the countryside disqualifies the entire endeavor from being "safe", Mordred," Agravain pointed out, unamused.

"Really?" Mordred inquired, genuinely curious.

"Yes," Agravain's tone was clipped as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

"But they were just wolves and bears and bandits!" Mordred protested defensively. "It wasn't like I let him fight another demon or dragon..."

"Mordred, I know that your judgement has been skewed by mother's upbringing," Agravain sighed, before shifting to a more understanding tone. "But that doesn't change the fact that wolves, bears, and bandits are dangerous to most people."

"I doubt any Knight of Camelot would fall to such paltry foes, not even Bedivere," Mordred retorted, taking offense at her brother's lack of confidence in her squire.

"But Jaune is not yet a full Knight, Mordred," Agravain pointed out.

"But he's faced far more dangerous foes than that!" Mordred countered. "Remember how we found him? Remember his tale of how he ended up here, with the dragon? Remember his soul magic Aura?"

"And do you not remember how the Addanc almost fell you, whose swordsmanship and natural ability far surpass most humans?" Agravain reminded her. "Do you not remember how his tale ended with his near-death at the hands of the witch and the dragon?"

As Mordred fell silent for a moment, Agravain seized his chance, and placed a hand on Mordred's shoulder as he quickly continued: "And I do remember your squire's magecraft, Mordred. I acknowledge that your squire is stronger than many, and I'm sure that he has only improved under your tutelage. And I can only commend the deeds you have done, the aid you have rendered to the subjects of His Majesty!

"But! What I cannot accept is your faulty judgement, to believe that what you have encountered is in any way acceptable, let alone "safe"! Mordred, as a Knight of the Round Table, you have been selected by the King personally, and with that honor comes expectations, responsibilities! Not to mention that, as a mentor..."

Mordred sighed dejectedly under her helmet, as Agravain's chastisement really began to pick up steam.

It wasn't even the first time she'd gotten this lecture before, though listening to her brother was at least more tolerable than listening to Lancelot going on and on about what ifs and what nots.

After all, what was the big deal? Nobody even got hurt this time, right?

... but at the same time, she'd already admitted to herself that she was just a third-rate knight; if two first-rate knights were giving her what was basically the same talk, there was probably something she needed to learn, wasn't there?

She owed it to both the King she admired and the squire she mentored to be the best knight she could be, and so she forced herself to at least try and concentrate on what Agravain was telling her.

... a few seconds later, she interjected: "Okay, okay, I get it! The situation was unusual and unsafe, and I should have recognized it, right?"

"... that's... not an inaccurate summation..." Agravain allowed, pleased that his youngest sister seemed to have actually internalized his words, even if he doubted that she did realize just how odd the situation truly was (especially the mention of Pictish barbarians that far south).

"Alright, got it, lesson learned," Mordred quickly reassured her brother even as her shoulders slumped in relief that the lecture was finally over. "Next time it happens, I will... uh..."

"..." Agravain pinched the bridge of his nose as Mordred stared at him expectantly, waiting for the answer.

Sadly, though, this was definitely the best he'd ever gotten from her, and so he obliged: "You will send a message back to Camelot informing us of the situation, so that we can make the necessary preparations?"

"Yes, that's right!" Mordred nodded, before prompting further: "... and?"

"..." Agravain shot Mordred a look of exasperation, before sighing: "... just... just keep in mind that humans have a different standard of safety from you, alright? Next time, either of you may not have such a capable travelling companion-"

"What does that mean?" Mordred's demanded, her voice low.

"Jaune won't be your squire forever, Mordred, and your next one may not have such a useful magecraft," Agravain informed her, an eyebrow rising as he wondered where the sudden outburst had come from. "Should you and your hypothetical future squire encounter a similar situation..."

"..." Mordred paused for a moment, before looking away as she quickly answered: "Ah, of course that's what you meant! Right, got it!"

Agravain eyed his sister for a moment, but decided not to push his luck any further.

Instead, as he glanced back at his desk, and the message he'd hidden under piles of parchment, he decided it was time to get to the second reason why he'd summoned Mordred to his office: "Anyway, Mordred... speaking of training... your trainer just sent me a message."

Mordred immediately stiffened up as Agravain retrieved the relevant message, gave it a once-over, and tossed it into the fireplace as he informed her: "She says she'll be visiting Camelot in a few days."

Mordred couldn't help but groan and curse as she slumped into her seat.

Chapter Text

As a cool draught blew through the mostly-empty dining hall, and the candle's small flame flickered for a moment, Jaune couldn't help but seize the opportunity to take a break from his work, putting his quill down (Camelot really needed someone to invent the pen or pencil) in favor of reaching for one of the meat-stuffed breadsticks (at least, as close as he could get to bread) that he'd fried as he looked over the parchment he'd been scribbling on for the past few hours.

... well... at least it kind of looked like Ira Lupus?

... ah, who was he kidding?

Ruby would've probably fallen over laughing at his attempts at drawing up blueprints for Gareth's gun-lance, if not for the fact that she'd have just been so happy that he was finally taking an interest in weapons as well (or distracted by the fact he was dealing with a non-mecha-shift gun-lance that had been designed with the help of a wizard and ran on "magical ether" instead of Dust).

At least Pyr would've been able to keep a straight face as she encouraged him...

As thoughts of his friends (his old friends) came to the forefront of his mind, his mouth quirked up into a small smile, and he quietly imagined their reactions if they could've seen him now... or if they ever learned of the existence of another world, let alone a functioning pre-Dust society with magic.

Then a resigned sigh escaped his lips, as a familiar dull ache made itself known in his chest.

Just like Ansel, just like his family, the memories of Beacon, of Teams RWBY and JNPR, would always be bittersweet; as much as they represented happy times, they also reminded him of what he'd lost.

But it didn't hurt nearly as much as it first had, back when he'd looked up at the moon and belatedly realized it wasn't the broken moon of Remnant.

Jaune wasn't very comfortable with that realization; what kind of a team leader and friend was he, that he'd already begun to stop thinking about his team and his friends, not even half a year after... how was he even supposed to refer to that day, anyway? The 40th Vytal Festival Finals? The Amity Collosseum Attack? 

... well, it wasn't like it mattered; whatever he called it, it didn't change what had happened.

But at the same time, setting his death aside, what else was he supposed to do?

His friends were okay (he'd made sure of that), and he'd woken up in a different world with no way home.

All he'd done... all he could do, was seize the second chance he'd been given (if that was what this was).

He'd run away from home, from his family, to be a hero.

Now, he was here, and there were people who needed help.

It didn't matter that "here" was "England" instead of "Remannt", it didn't matter that there was an entire order of kickass warriors who could've easily done what he could, it didn't matter that the problems people faced here were more "failing crops, sicknesses, and wild animals" than "Grimm attacks", and it didn't matter that he was being trained up to be a Knight instead of a Huntsman.

... admittedly, it probably helped that being a Knight and being a Huntsman weren't all that different, just like it helped that he'd been found by Sir Mordred, Sir Lancelot, and Gareth.

(And it definitely helped that Pyrrha, Ruby, and Cardin had helped him realize that he didn't have to do everything alone, even if the latter hadn't really done it on purpose...)

... but still, even if he had been occupied with a new world, a new life, and new friends...

Shouldn't he have been missing his friends more?

"Hey, Squire, everything alright?"

Jaune couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice that broke his train of thought, and he turned to find a familiar suit of armor standing over him.

"Sir Mordred!" Jaune yelped, almost jumping from his seat in surprise. "Sorry, I didn't hear you come in... are you done talking with Sir Agravain already?"

"Yes, I'm done getting scolded by my brother," Mordred complained as she collapsed into the seat next to his, head slumping against the table dejectedly even as a hand easily reached out for one of the pieces of bread from Jaune's plate.

"That bad?" Jaune asked sympathetically, handing over a breadstick to the outstretched gauntlet.

"Apparently, I wasn't supposed to expose you to so much danger," Mordred informed him drily, before munching on the bread with a groan of satisfaction.

Jaune didn't even bother commenting on the fact that his mentor was somehow shoving a loaf of bread through his helmet's visor; he'd never even seen Sir Mordred without a piece of his armor, not even when the pair had been travelling together, and he'd gotten used to it. Instead, he couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he echoed: "So much danger? I didn't think we were doing anything that dangerous..."

"That's what I said!" Mordred agreed with a full mouth, before swallowing and letting out a satisfied sigh. Reaching for another one, she continued complaining: "But according to Agravain, encountering that many bandits and wolf packs meant that the situation was unsafe and unusual, and we should have at least sent a messenger back to inform the other Knights something was off."

"... huh..." Jaune blinked, and tried to figure out how any of their adventures qualified as "unusual". Going by the stories of what Knights routinely encountered that Sir Mordred and Gareth had told him, he'd genuinely considered the journey to be pretty uneventful, even when he took into account the fact that he wasn't in a Grimm-infested world.

"And worst of all, Mother's coming to by to visit Camelot in a few days..." Mordred continued to grumble and vent even as she slumped further against the table, furiously chewing a third piece of baked dough.

Jaune barely managed to avoid wincing at the sheer despondence radiating from Mordred's words and tone. Sure, he knew his mentor's family life was complicated, but the way he almost sounded like he was dreading hearing from his mother...

Before he could give it any further thought, however, Mordred perked back up, and with a light clap on her squire's back she changed the subject: "So, what was on your mind? Looked like you were really bothered by something, squire."

Jaune's face heated up, and he quickly tried to downplay the whole thing: "It was nothing serious, Sir Mordred, really!"

"Come on, Jaune," Mordred refused to be deterred, and with an attempt at a comforting squeeze of his shoulder she reassured him: "It was serious to you, and as your mentor I have a responsibility to take care of you! Also... well..."

"Sir Agravain will lecture you again if you don't look after me?" Jaune guessed with a soft laugh, before holding up his hands in resignation as he admitted: "I... well... I was just thinking about my friends from back hom- back in Beacon."

"... oh." Mordred hadn't expected that answer, and reached for a fifth breadstick as she awkwardly pressed: "And... what brought this on?"

"Gareth asked me to help her with Ira Lupus this afternoon, just after we'd returned," Jaune explained, gesturing to his drawings (and missing the way Mordred's tongue clicked). "And, well... remember how I told you I never got any training before Beacon? Yeah, the only reason I know anything about weaponsmithing is because of the first friend I made in Beacon. And after I started thinking of her... I just kind of started thinking about everyone else from Beacon..."

Mordred hummed thoughtfully as she considered his words, before cocking her head in confusion and asking: "So, why'd you say that it was nothing serious?"

"Well, I mean..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before sighing and explaining: "Actually... I was feeling kind of guilty over not thinking about them as much as I could... but at the same time, shouldn't I be focusing on the present, instead of dwelling on what I can't change?"

Mordred's helmet stared emotionlessly at Jaune even as her mind quickly raced behind it. Of all the potential squires in England, she just had to get the one who asked hard questions, didn't she?

But then again, there probably wasn't any other squire in all of England who'd have stuck by her, who'd have dared to call her a friend.

Resolving to ask Agravain about it at the next opportunity (the books she'd been raised on and the Code of Chivalry did preach about loyalty, about defending the honof of one's peers, and she figured that extended to the bonds of brotherhood that existed between companions, but at the same time he did have a point about focusing on what he could), she instead tried offering: "Well... maybe you could tell me about them? You know, if you think it'll help..."

"..." Jaune looked up for a moment, before beginning: "Well, I guess I already sort-of mentioned her, so let's start with my first friend in Beacon, the one who taught me about weapons. Her name was Ruby Rose, and the best way I could describe her would be... hmmm... I guess she's a lot like Gareth, except maybe less sociable?"

Mordred disliked this "Ruby Rose" already.

-ONE CONVERSATION LATER-

A groan of satisfaction escaped Mordred's lips as she stretched her arms and back without moving from where she stood, and reflected on what her squire had talked to her about.

All she could say, after having sat in a chair and listened to him for the past hour, was that Beacon was truly a weird place, and Huntsmen absolutely lacked the dignity that the Knights of the Round Table possessed.

And also, that Jaune clearly treasured the time he'd spent with them.

Even now, she still wasn't sure that offering him a listening ear had been the best solution to clearing his mind (her initial plans when she'd first entered the dining hall and seen him had been to invite him to spar, so that they could both work off their frustrations)...

But at the same time, for some reason...

"Sir Mordred? Thanks... for everything," Jaune had said, after he'd finished talking. "You really are a good mentor, you know that?"

When she remembered her squire's smile and his words, she found that she didn't mind it quite so much...

Unfortunately for her, that was when her usual lack of luck reared its head.

"Mordred," a familiar cold voice suddenly intoned imperiously from an empty corridor behind her, and as a chill ran down her suddenly-stiff-again spine a veiled figure in a black-and-blue dress stepped out of the shadows.

"Mother?" Mordred managed to keep all the shock out of her body language and voice as she turned to face the figure, having been conditioned to show absolutely no weakness in front of her mother. Instead, her voice remained neutral as she politely asked: "I thought Agravain said you would be coming here in a few days?"

"The Bounded Field that damnable incubus set up was easier to penetrate than I'd anticipated," Morgan explained dismissively, before getting to the real reason why she'd come: "More importantly, Mordred! I heard you took on some no-name squire! For how long do you intend to keep playing knight?!"

"..." Mordred knew better than to question her mother when she was on one of her rants, and instead silently cocked her head in confusion as she tried to figure out just what she was going on about.

After all, hadn't it been her that had been the one to introduce her to Camelot, that had recommended her for membership amongst the Knights of the Round Table?

Sure, she was fulfilling her role because she genuinely wanted to serve the King she'd always admired, but wasn't this also what Mother had wanted?

... or was this related to what she'd said the day she'd brought her to Camelot, about how the King was the place she should aim for, and the enemy she must defeat?

Sure, she'd known that Mother didn't really get along with King Arthur (despite all of her children serving Camelot as Knights of the Round  Table), but she'd never taken Mother's plots of treason seriously!

After all, what she was asking was basically impossible for her!

Even with her swordsmanship being among the best in the realm, and Mana Burst as her hidden ace (especially if she removed her helmet), she had doubts that she could beat Lancelot or Gawain if they held nothing back, let alone being able to actually kill the King of Knights and the Wielder of Excalibur!

Also, wouldn't Gawain have been a better fit for the role of usurping King Arthur? After all, he was the King's right-hand man, his body double, a fellow wielder of a Holy Sword gifted by the Lady of the Lake herself!

As she puzzled over her mother's words and intentions, however, Morgan blindsided her with her next words: "You are the heir of King Arthur!"

If she hadn't been wearing her helmet, Mordred's jaw would have hit the floor.

As it was, however, all she could do was stand there, slackjawed, completely uncomprehending as Morgan continued: "Your life is also proof of his existence! You are the child of the King!"

"... me?" Mordred finally murmured, still dumbstruck, as she turned away from her mother and tuned her out in favor of looking towards where she knew the King's chambers were.

That... it couldn't be, right?

There was no way someone like her could possibly be the King's child, right?

This... it just wasn't possible for her to be a child of Morgan le Fay and King Arthur Pendragon, right?

But Mother had no reason to come up with such an elaborate and easily-debunked lie... unless it wasn't a lie.

But it would explain why Mother had always avoided the topic whenever Mordred had asked who her father was.

But it would explain her face, and why Mother had ordered her to never show it in Camelot.

(But she wanted it to be true.)

The idea had once been so completely inconceiveable that she'd never even considered it in her wildest fantasies, but now that Mother had planted it in her head...

Mordred incredulously choked out: "I... am King Arthur's..."

She accepted it.

She embraced it.

She rejoiced in it.

She had a father!

King Arthur was her father!

The King Arthur, the King of Knights, the figure she'd always admired, that she'd sworn to follow...  

And that meant, she was...

She was...

Her eyes sparkled, and a grin began to overtake her face as the rest of her body finally began to catch up with her mind.

"Hey, Sir Mordred, I'm done cleaning up the kitchen-" Jaune's voice barely registered on her senses as the door to the dining hall opened behind her and Morgan, and her squire came out, before freezing. "Oh, sorry, am I interrupting something?"

If Mordred had had enough sense of mind left to turn around, she would have seen her mother flinch at her squire's arrival, before recoiling away from his mere presence.

But she didn't, and even Morgan's cold, commanding tone wasn't enough to fully bring Mordred back down to reality as she spat: "Mordred. What. Is that?"

Of course, Mordred's body had been conditioned not to avoid answering a direct queston from her mother, and so she off-handedly introduced him: "Oh, Mother, this is my squire, Jaune Arc. Jaune, this is my mother."

"Uh, pleased to meet you?" Jaune tried, offering out a hand even as he did his best to ignore his instints as they told him to run away from the veiled woman as fast and as far as he could, and then to keep on running.

Morgan's eyes narrowed into slits as she intensely studied his outstretched hand, before taking a step back into the shadows, away from Jaune, and disappearing with a firm: "We'll talk later, Mordred."

Jaune blinked as he watched her literally dissolve into the shadows, and after a moment turned back to Mordred and asked: "... so, was this a bad time?"

The next thing he knew, he was suddenly in the air, being held up by his shoulders as his mentor twirled him around, and ecstatically exclaimed: "Squire! Squire! Did you hear? I am King Arthur's son!" 

Chapter Text

The room was dark and quiet, before a low rumble caused Jaune to slowly stirr with a yawn.

As he sat up and stretched, and his mind joined the rest of his body in waking up, he couldn't help but recall the events of the previous night.

Him talking about how great his old friends and old team had been...

Meeting Sir Mordred's mother (and especially the way she'd looked at him, like something she'd found at the bottom of her shoe)...

And Sir Mordred suddenly swinging him around like a ragdoll even as he announced that the King was his father.

That last one was definitely the biggest thing to happen last night, and even now he barely spared anything else a second thought as he looked back at it.

Sure, he'd been initially taken by surprise at the sudden announcement (not to mention the way he'd been picked up and flung around), but once the shock had worn off all he'd been left with was a lot of questions.

Questions like:

"Sir Mordred never even knew who his father was?"

"Why hasn't the King ever mentioned having a son?"

"Aren't your mother and the King happily married to different people?"

In short, a lot of questions, with disturbing implications.

He'd done his best not to even think about them last night, though (let alone voice them out), and had instead chosen to simply congratulate his mentor and be happy for how happy the news obviously made him, rather than ruin the mood with such questions.

Of course, it had definitely helped that the latter hadn't been particularly difficult; to say Sir Mordred had been "ecstatic" about the revelation would have been like saying that Ruby "liked" weapons (or that Blake "liked" tuna, or that Pyrrha was "eye-catching", or that the Schnee Dust Company was "well-off").

Admittedly, though, now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't help but wonder if wishing Sir Mordred "good luck" as he'd charged off to look for the King and deliver the "good news" had really been the right thing to do.

... well, it wasn't like there was anything else he could have done.

Going with him wasn't an option; whatever conversation Sir Mordred and King Arthur had, was meant to be between them (and maybe Queen Guinevere, Mordred's mother, and her husband), and had absolutely nothing to do with an outsider like him.

And there was no way he could have stopped him either; to be blunt, he'd have been more willing to stand between Ruby and cookies, or even Nora and pancakes!

... but, at the same time... the more he tried to think about things, the less sense they made.

Even if he ignored the reputation for justice and fairness King Arthur Pendragon had amongst his subjects and his knights, he just couldn't see the young-looking man who'd accepted him into Camelot, who'd sat and chatted with him for hours about farming and politics, who Sir Mordred clearly thought the world of, also being the kind of man who'd cheat on his wife, before abandoning his own son to what little mercies Mordred's mother possessed.

Then, was Mordred's mother lying?

Sir Mordred clearly didn't think so, and Sir Mordred would know better than him.

Then, had Mordred's mother simply kept him a secret from the King?

That just added the question of "Why?", while not answering the questions of "Did King Arthur cheat on Queen Guinevere and sleep with Mordred's mother?"...

... wait, Gareth was King Arthur's niece, and Sirs Agravain, Gaheris, and Gawain his nephews...

... and Sir Mordred was their brother...

...

Jaune couldn't help but gag at the very disturbing implications, before quickly rushing for the window.

The brisk, fresh air revitalized him, and between that and the view of the sun slowly rising over the villages surrounding Camelot, the unease Jaune had been feeling slowly settled down.

Sure, the situation was... complicated, to put things lightly.

But, no matter what... Sir Mordred was his friend.

And, come to think of it, the King was a friendly-ish acquaintance too, wasn't he?

It wouldn't change everything they'd done for him.

Hopefully the talk had gone well, though...

As another low rumble washed over the castle, Jaune sighed, and pushed himself off of the windowsill, deciding to at least get out and do something, instead of uselessly stewing over a situation that he wasn't even involved in.

Grabbing his usual training gear, Jaune began suiting up even as he considered his options.

The obvious choice was to go looking for his mentor, so that he could ask about how it'd gone, but at the same time he wouldn't want to be a third wheel should Sir Mordred and the King still be together and reconnecting; he'd had quite enough of being a third wheel thanks to having seven sisters, thank you very much.

Alternatively, he could just go and get a quick morning workout done, maybe even see which Knight of the Round Table was causing the castle to shake with their intensive training, and pick up some tips...

Before he could finish weighing them and come to a decision, however, the sound of heavy footfalls rapidly approaching his room caught his attention, and a soft smile crossed his face, figuring that his decision had been made for him.

"Hold on a second, I'm coming," Jaune called out with a chuckle, as the footsteps screeched to a halt outside his door, and an armored gauntlet began impatiently banging against it.

To his surprise, though, instead of a familiar suit of armor with red accents and a horned helmet standing outside his door, it was the sight of a serious-looking Agravain and a panting Gareth that greeted him.

"Sir Agravain, Gareth," Jaune nodded to the pair confusedly. "Is something the matter?"

"Squire Jaune, I'll be blunt," Agravain began, fixing him with a stern look. "Did anything happen to upset Sir Mordred last night?"

Jaune blinked.

-OUTSIDE THE DOOR TO SIR MORDRED'S (SOON-TO-BE-FORMER) QUARTERS, FIVE MINUTES LATER-

Jaune's jaw hung loosely as he dumbfoundedly stared at the rattling door (and the shuddering wall that it was connected to), and wondered if somebody had released a horde of Boarbatusks into Sir Mordred's room.

Yeah, that had to be it.

A portal to Remnant must have opened, and dumped a bunch of Grimm into the room, who were currently utterly devastating it in their mad scramble to burst free and attack the inhabitants of the castle.

... and the Grimm dragon had been among their number as well, by the sounds of things.

But, as far-fetched as that fantasy was, it was still far more plausible to Jaune than the alternative - that it was Sir Mordred who was shaking the entire castle while in the throes of a destructive rage, all the while furiously and incoherently roaring and cursing.

Well, at least he could see what Sir Agravain and Gareth had meant when they'd said that something had upset Sir Mordred (in what was probably the understatement of the year).

Of course, why they expected him to know the reason by Sir Mordred's anger, and what they expected him to do about it, was utterly beyond him.

After all, at the very least, Sir Agravain knew Sir Mordred was his brother, and even if he'd managed to avoid spilling the beans on the King being Sir Mordred's dad (even if he thought that telling Sir Agravain his mother cheated on his father and slept with her brother would go over well, that secret wasn't his to tell), Sir Agravain should have known his brother better than him, right?

With an resigned sigh, Jaune gave his armor and shield one finaly check, before slowly approaching the shaking door and giving it an apprehensive knock.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune shouted, fighting to make sure his voice could be heard over the chaos ensuing behind the door. "Are you there? May I enter?"

A howl of fury was his only response.

"..." Jaune took a deep breath to steel himself, before pushing the door open with a quiet; "I'm coming in, Sir Mordred."

The first thing he saw, as he entered the room, was what he could only describe as a scene of utter carnage.

The few walls that still stood all sported countless fist-sized holes in them, the floor had craters and cracks, and most of the wooden furniture in the room had been reduced to kindling and splinters.

And at the center of it all, metal armor covered in dust and debris, stood his mentor, breastplate heaving as he breathed heavily.

"Sir Mordred?" Jaune cautiously asked as he took a tentative step into the room.

Jaune's instincts immediately began screaming at him to run away as Sir Mordred's horned helmet snapped towards his direction from where it'd been glaring at some pile of rubble, but he ignored them as Sir Mordred responded in a hoarse tone: "Squ... ire?"

"Uh, hey?" Jaune awkwardly waved as he took a second step forward, before concern leaked into his voice: "Did... did something happen when you went to talk to the Ki... your father?"

"Father..." Mordred breathed, as the word reminded her of just how things had gone.

The emotions that had overwhelmed her since the previous night were unfamiliar, and she couldn't even begin to identify them, let alone boast any knowledge on how to actually deal with them.

Except for one.

Being raised by Morgan had given her lots of experience with pain, as well as a simple way of dealing with it.

When hurt, destroy.

"Arthur," Mordred snarled, fury entering her voice, and Jaune's eyes widened in surprise as the stone brick in his mentor's hand was reduced into powder as the fist holding it suddenly tightened. The urge to retreat from the room only intensified as Mordred swore with a growl: "Everything he's ever built... everything he's ever loved... everything he represents... I'll destroy all of it!"

Clearly, things had not gone to Sir Mordred's liking.

Jaune didn't make any move to run away, though, but instead spoke up once again as he stepped forward: "Sir Mordred?"

Mordred's head snapped back towards her squire, reminded that he was present, that he was there, facing her.

Unlike another blonde young-looking man that she respected.

Another wave of emotions she couldn't identify surged within her, threatening to overcome what little self-control she had.

Unaware of what Sir Mordred was feeling, only seeing that his mentor was troubled, Jaune continued: "That's it, Sir Mordred... take a deep breath... now, why don't tell me what happened? When I left last night you were overjoyed! You've always been the one telling me how great the King was, and how you always admired him! Why are you suddenly trying to do... this?"

Jaune's words stirred even more memories, even more emotions within Mordred.

Of all the admiration she'd held for the King, from when she could first read to when she'd laid her eyes on the King's dignified figure, to the day she became a Knight of the Round Table.

Of all the praise she'd heaped on the King, to anyone who'd listen (only Jaune).

Of all the excitement and happiness and love she'd felt, when she'd learned that she'd been sired by the King.

And how all of it shattered in an instant, with a cold, simple answer.

The dam burst, and with how overwhelmed, confused, and hurt as Mordred was, she instinctively lashed out at the person who'd caused it.

"Get out," Mordred snarled at Jaune, rounding on him, and Jaune couldn't help but take a step back as she once again demanded: "Get out!"

"D-did I say something wrong?" Jaune stammered, falling back a second step as Mordred took a step towards him (and causing the floor to shudder).

"Just get out, and leave me alone!" Mordred bellowed, grabbing a chunk of rock from the floor and threatening to throw it at her squire.

"..." Jaune stopped, and instead looked at his mentor.

He still couldn't understand what was going on, why Sir Mordred was seemingly having an emotional breakdown...

But he rememebered that day months ago, when Sir Mordred had learned just how poor of a job she'd been doing teaching him, and told him to find a new mentor.

He hadn't regretted refusing him then, and no matter what happened next, he knew he'd regret it more if he just walked away from a friend in need.

"No," Jaune firmly refused, drawing his shield.

Mordred didn't offer him a last chance, but instead launched herself towards him with a shout and a speed that rivalled Ruby's Sembalnce.

Jaune's eyes widened, and he only barely managed to throw himself out of the way as a gauntlet wildly flew towards his head.

Sure, he'd completely expected a fight, but he'd also thought he had a measure of Sir Mordred's abilities.

He'd thought he'd seen Sir Mordred upset.

He'd been wrong.

Before he could get up from the floor, cold metal fingers gripped his top, before he found himself getting thrown into the wall.

Instead of pressing the advantage, however, Mordred took a moment to roar in fury, and Jaune quickly scrambled to his feet, raising his shield with one arm while the other grabbed a sturdy-looking piece of wood that he'd landed within an arm's reach of.

Jaune managed to meet the next punch with his shield, but the sheer force behind it forced him to take a step back lest his stance break, and would have numbed his arm (if not broken the bone) if not for his Aura.

The third blow was successfully deflected by his stick, but it shattered into splinters from the effort.

The fourth blow slammed into his shield from above, and Jaune gritted his teeth and braced it with his now-free sword hand,

Then the fifth, and the sixth, and the seventh, and more, all began raining down upon his shield, hammering him into the ground, and all Jaune could afford to focus on was trying to survive the next strike.

But still, even as Jaune was battered down, even as his Aura drained away, even as his limbs shook from the effort, he fought on.

Eventually, though, he reached his limits, and as his Aura flickered visibly, his legs buckled underneath him from one more of the countless blows he'd forced himself to endure.

As he collapsed, fighting to remain conscious, he saw Mordred standing over him, arms raised for a final blow.

Not even having enough breath to speak, Jaune closed his eyes, and braced himself for it.

Instead of shattering his Aura and his rib cage, however, the two armored fists softly thumped against his chest.

Jaune dared to allow his eyelids to open, just in time to see Sir Mordred fall to his knees over him with a thud, looking down.

A brief silence engulfed the pair, before Mordred took a deep, shuddering breath.

"I hate him," Mordred spat bitterly, breaking the silence. "Hate Father. I hate him, so much!"

Jaune could only lie there wordlessly and motionlessly, watching his mentor rant about how much he hated King Arthur right above him, until he ran out of steam.

"... hate..." Sir Mordred pronounced one last time, a few minutes later, but unlike the others, this one just sounded empty and hollow.

And then Jaune felt something wet hit his cheek.

"Why..." Mordred choked out. "Why... why does Father hate me so much?

"Is it because Mother is a witch?! I never asked had a choice on who my mother was!

"Is it because I'm not human?!

"Why... why wouldn't you acknowledge me as your son, Father?! WHY WOULDN'T YOU EVEN FACE ME?!"

Jaune felt a stinging sensation in his eyes, from the raw grief and heartbreak in his mentor's voice.

He ignored it, though, as well as the tears falling into his face, and instead forced his arm to move.

Mordred jumped at the sudden contact, and she looked to find her squire holding her shoulder, before he gave it a reassuring squeeze.

The small comforting gesture held more warmth and affection within it than she'd ever received from either of her parents.

The fight completely drained from her, Mordred couldn't help herself.

She broke.

Jaune had no idea what to do when his mentor suddenly slumped over, burying his face in his tunic, and began to sob uncontrollably, and so he simply lay there awkwardly, his hand gently patting Mordred's back, and tried to figure just what in Oum's name had just happened.

-LATER THAT NIGHT-

It was with a tired groan that Jaune pushed the door to his room open, before slowly shuffling towards his bed and collapsing on it with a hiss of pain and relief.

The good news was that Sir Mordred had finally managed to cry himself to sleep, and with Sir Agravain's and Gareth's help they'd brought him to Sir Agravain's room (since he no longer had a bed to speak of... or a room...), that he'd actually been allowed to leave without further interrogation (he could guess that Sir Agravain and Gareth had really wanted to ask a lot of questions, but looking like he'd picked a fist fight with an Ursa Major without being Yang Xiao-Long or Nora Valkyrie had earned him a reprieve), and that, amazingly enough, nobody had overheard Sir Mordred's screams about how much he'd hated the King and wanted to rebel against him (presumably Sir Agravain had managed to cordon off the whole wing).

Oh, and he was finally back in his bed, and able to rest his sore and aching body.

Unfortunately, that was pretty much it for the good news.

Oh, sure, Sir Mordred had said a lot of things in his rant and breakdown, but even if Jaune had understood more than half of it (he had no idea what he'd meant by "not human", and he sincerely hoped he was having a massive misunderstanding about acknowledging him as his son and not even facing him), well... what could he even do for his mentor?

If King Arthur had truly rejected Sir Mordred as his son, and even if he was such a scumbag of a father that he hadn't had an actual excuse for it, it wasn't like Jaune could change the King's mind.

But what was the alternative? Telling Sir Mordred that his father was wrong, and that he should just stop caring about what the King had said because he wasn't worth it?

Somehow, he doubted saying stuff like that in Camelot would go well for either of them, even if he thought Sir Mordred was likely to follow said advice.

Then, could they somehow keep Sir Mordred calm until he'd had time to come to terms with the rejection?

... considering both the damage done to the castle and to him, as well as how passionate Sir Mordred was as a person, Jaune very much doubted it, even if any future episodes were unlikely to be as violent as that day's had been.

... but then again, it wasn't that bad of an idea...

Sure, this world didn't exactly have the concept of "time off" or "leave" or "labor laws" (to be fair, though, it was completely understandable considering the state of things throughout England, and even back in Remnant such things like that had really only been implimented in big cities like Atlas and Vale (the city, not the Kingdom)), but he was pretty sure nobody would complain if he and Sir Mordred went on another journey, which would of course coincidentally take them as far away from Camelot as they could get, coincidentally until Sir Mordred no longer flew into a murderous rage at the mere mention of his father.

Better yet, since they'd only just returned to Camelot the previous day, it wouldn't take him too long to repack their kits.

All he'd need to do was get Sir Agravain's permission (easy enough), and then get Sir Agravain to help him convince his mentor (slightly less easy)-

"Could I perhaps trouble you for a moment of your time, Squire Jaune?"

Jaune couldn't help but jump at the sudden voice, despite how comfortable his battered body found the bed to be, and he turned towards its direction just to see King Arthur tucking something under his cloak as he walked in.

"Forgive the intrusion; I knocked, but you seemed too lost in thought to answer," Artoria quickly explained as she made sure Carnwennan was secure in its sheath, technically telling the truth; she had indeed lightly rapped the door with her knuckles, knowing full well that the enchanted dagger would cloak her presence.

But maintaining the secrecy of the topic she wished to discuss with... with Mordred's squire was as important as the topic itself, and so she chose to overlook such petty details.

Jaune didn't even bother second-guessing King Arthur's statement, not wanting to look this gift horse in the mouth: "No, sure, it's no problem, I've got time."

"You have my thanks," Artoria nodded gratefully to him as she pulled a chair up to his bedside, before looking him over quickly as she sat down in it. "I would ask if the day has treated you well, but..."

"Yeah, don't worry, it looks worse than it is," Jaune quickly waved away his concerns. "My Aura stopped the worst of it, and it's already healing up the rest."

"I see, that is good to hear..." Artoria murmured, already steeling herself for what they both knew she'd really come here to discuss: "And how is Sir Mordred?"

"..." Jaune's pointed look at that was more than enough of an answer, and he instead seized the chance to instead ask a few questions of his own: "Your Majesty... may I ask... is it true? Did you really refuse to accept Sir Mordred as your son?"

Up until that point, a part of him had still held on to the hope that it was all just one big misunderstanding, that Sir Mordred had simply misinterpreted the King's words, and that there could be a simple and peaceful resolution to everything where everyone could be happy.

"I did."

The King's simple answer, and its level, matter-of-fact tone, all but dashed that last hope.

"... I see," Jaune tried to sound like he wasn't feeling like he'd just been punched in the gut by Sir Mordred again. Taking a deep breath, he took a moment to steady himself, before asking: "And, may I ask why? Sir Mordred really is your son, right?"

"..." Artoria's face remained as stoic as ever, even as she remembered Sir Mordred suddenly barging into her study, and dimissing that distinctive horned helmet to reveal a the same face of blonde hair and green eyes that she saw in the mirror every morning, before it proudly told her the news.

Despite everything, she still confirmed it: "He is."

"Then... why?" Jaune couldn't forget the sheer grief and pain that had been in Sir Mordred's voice as he'd pummelled him into the ground, and now that he had a chance for answers he wasn't going to waste it. "If he really is your son... then why did you refuse to accept him?"

"..." Artoria's irritation, having been building ever since the feast, ever since she'd found herself slowly growing isolated in her own castle by her own knights, by even trusted members of her court like Queen Guinevere and Sir Lancelot, only grew at the presumptuousness of the figure before her. It wasn't nearly enough to cause her to lash out, of course (her composure had been built on having Merlin as a godfather and Kay as a stepbrother, and tempered by years of dealings with doubtful and difficult nobles and Kings during the decade between the drawing of Caliburn and the Founding of Camelot), but her patience still waned, and her tone grew frosty as she warned: "Are you questioning your King, Squire?"

"Yes," Jaune refused to back down, and he pushed himself into a sitting position and locked eyes with the King defiantly, barely able to the person he'd sympathized with at the feast, the person who'd welcomed him into Camelot, the person who'd all but picked his brains out over everything related to agriculture and economics and politics in Remnant.

But still, he could see that same person in those green eyes, and his voice softened as he pleaded: "Your Majesty, I don't care what happens to me, but your son truly believes that you hate him! So, as his friend... please... at least, why..."

The news hit her like cold water, and any pent-up frustrations vanished in an instant as Artoria blinked in shock.

Mordred, believed she hated her?

Her own child?

Sure, she knew Mordred had been deeply upset by her rejection (there was a reason she'd gone to seek out Mordred's only companion in Camelot this late at night, after all), but she'd never thought she'd hurt Mordred that badly.

"... I harbor no hatred for Mordred..." Artoria answered, once she'd finished processing that statement. "My rejection of Mordred is solely for the sake of the Kingdom, and had nothing to do with my personal feelings whatsoever."

"The Kingdom?" Jaune echoed in confusion.

"Yes, the Kingdom," Artoria nodded. "Were I to accept Mordred as my child, that would also mean recognizing him as my heir. And that is something the Kingdom cannot afford."

"... because of his... parentage?" Jaune made a guess.

"..." Artoria closed her eyes for a moment, and fought the urge to shudder at the notion that she had been apparently violated by Morgan of all people. Then, she answered: "I will admit, Mordred's status as a bastard child does not help matters. Besides the... unpleasantness, of learning that I had unknowingly lain with my own sister and sired a child without any knowledge all this time, such a revelation would also shake the faiths and loyalties of our pious and God-fearing people. But I would have been willing to overlook such issues, had but Mordred possessed the capacity of a King."

"The capacity of a King?"

"Yes, the capacity of a King," Artoria closed her eyes again, remembering all that she'd seen, done, and ordered, in the past two decades. "To order a village to give up all of its supplies so that the army may march for but one more week and win a decisive victory for the Kingdom, to order the deaths of hundreds to save thousands more... to set aside your emotions and humanity for the sake of the Kingdom, and to bear the burdens and complaints of those who cannot bear the weight of their instructions, of those who are still human."

"..." Jaune found himself at a lost for words, as he tried to both imagine himself in such a situation, and Sir Mordred in such a situation.

Meanwhile, the mention of those who could not bear it reminded Artoria of the most recent example, of Sir Tristan and the feast once again, before she looked at Jaune, and remembered his words to Mordred that night that she'd happened to overhear.

"The throne is as much a great burden and responsibility as it is an honor," Artoria took a chance, hoping the young man before her from another land could understand. "One that I do not believe Mordred can bear. Mordred is passionate, headstrong, resilient, one of the greatest swordsmen in the Kingdom... but those are not qualities required to be King. Mordred would not be able to make the same decisions that I did, though he would nonetheless try I have no doubt, and both he and the Kingdom would suffer for such efforts."

As Jaune processed the King's words, he found that he couldn't help but agree with him.

He still remembered the King's face, as Sir Tristan had had his breakdown all those months ago.

Sir Mordred would've probably just tried arguing back, before giving up, chucking something at Sir Tristan's head, and then kicking him in the nuts.

But, even so...

"Then... why couldn't you have just told all of this to him last night" Jaune reached desperately, not wanting things to end like that, not when it was becoming increasingly clear to him that Arthur and Mordred both did genuinely care for each other.

"..." Artoria looked away, recalling the sheer joy on Mordred's face the previous night, and the sudden surge of parental instincts she'd felt in that moment... before she'd done with it what she had all of her other emotions, for the sake of the Kingdom.

Softly, she countered: "Do you think I could even bear to look Mordred in the face, just after rejecting him as my son, let alone explain to him just why he was inadequate to be my heir?"

The room once again fell silent, and Jaune mentally kicked himself for once again putting his foot in his mouth.

Finally, Jaune quietly suggested: "Then, Your Majesty... how about now?"

"Now?" Artoria looked back up at Jaune in confusion.

"Yeah, now," Jaune nodded. "Look, Your Majesty... I think Sir Mordred deserves to at least know that you don't hate him, as well as why you rejected him."

Artoria thought about it for a moment, before conceding: "He does... but I doubt he would wish to see my face, after everything that's happened. Perhaps, you could assist me in conveying the details to him?"

Jaune didn't even hesitate: "Your Majesty, it's especially because of everything that's happened, that I think it'd be more meaningful if he hears it from you."

Sure, when he'd first questioned King Arthur he'd fully intended to relay everything he'd learned back to his mentor, but now that he knew what the King truly felt...

Well, Sir Mordred's friend as he may have been, but he was also ultimately an outsider in this family feud.

And if there was one thing he did know, it was family feuds.

"Trust me, I grew up with seven sisters."

Chapter Text

The sun had already risen for a few hours, and Jaune had to fight to stifle the urge to yawn as he slowly shambled through the halls of the castle, doing his best to ignore the whispers and murmurs around him that even as they seemed to grow in intensity all the while.

At least it wasn't too difficult that morning; in all honesty, he was too tired and sore to really care that he was being stared at again, with most of his higher functions dedicated to trying to remember the way to the dining hall, and wishing that this world had discovered coffee.

Well, all things considered, he figured that he was pretty lucky to even find the castle still intact when he'd woken up.

When the King had left his room, having finally agreed to talk with Sir Mordred, he'd found his mind completely occupied between trying to process everything his mentor had shouted about, trying to process everything King Arthur had told him, and worrying about just how much worse things could get, and it had been hours before he'd finally passed out.

Of course, now that he wasn't worrying about waking up to a destroyed castle or a double homicide (or so he really hoped... the castle would have been a lot more noisy if the King or a Knight of the Round Table was dead, right?), his stomach had decided to gently remind him that he hadn't eaten in over a day, and as much as Aura may have healed any injuries he'd sustained, he still needed to eat.

As he continued making his way towards the dining hall, he did his best to take his mind off of food by instead wondering about how things had gone between Sir Mordred and the King.

Sure, the worst-case scenario had been (hopefully) averted, but that didn't mean things had necessarily worked out. After all, it didn't change the fact that the King had legitimate reasons for rejecting Sir Mordred as his son, just as it didn't change the fact that he had rejected him and hurt him, and it didn't change the fact that Sir Mordred's reaction had been... extreme, to say the least.

Now that he was thinking about it, though... oh, Oum, what if things only somehow got worse between the two of them because he'd interfered, and pushed the two to talk?!

Sure, he'd definitely believed they needed to have a heart-to-heart conversation, and his experience with his sisters had taught him that it was always better to nip these sorts of things in the bud instead of letting them fester, but he was also confident that nobody in his family had ever quite faced a situation this serious or complicated (nor could his sisters demolish castles with their bare hands when they lost their tempers).

For all he knew, Sir Mordred and the King would have eventually reconciled on their own, and him pushing the King to explain things to Sir Mordred while things were still recent and raw (and the latter still very much emotionally affected by it) had basically destroyed that future...

All because he, a person who wasn't even from here, hadn't been able to keep his mouth shut-

"Good morning, Jaune!"

The sudden loud noise wasn't nearly loud enough to make him jump (he'd shared a room with Nora Valkyrie for almost a year, after all), but it did snap him out of his spiral of self-doubt, and he looked up to find Gareth jogging up to him with a smile and a wave.

"Morning, Gareth," Jaune managed a smile of his own as the dimunitive girl reached him. His smile faltered marginally, however, as the events of the previous day returned to him. Lowering his voice, he inquired: "Hey, uh... so, how's Sir Mordred?"

"Well, Sir Mordred had yet to wake up when we left him last night, and I have not seen him since then..." Gareth followed Jaune's lead, more than aware of the occupants of the castle all around them, and just how curious they all were at the moment (herself included). Casually leaning closer to Jaune (and making sure nobody else could overhear her), she explained: "The King suddenly dropped by Agravain's room last night, and requested to speak privately with Sir Mordred once he woke, so my brother and I gave them space and went to my room to retire for the night."

"Hmmm..." Jaune hummed non-commitally as he processed the information. Sure, he hadn't really doubted that the King would have gone to talk to his mentor, but he supposed it was nice to get confirmation that he'd done it anyway.

Now, all that was left was to figure out how it had gone this time around...

"You don't sound surprised," Gareth observed curiously.

"Oh, uh, well..." Jaune blinked, and as Gareth leaned in even closer, he explained: "The King actually talked to me, before he went to talk to Sir Mordred..."

"His Majesty did?" Gareth's eyebrow rose.

"He wanted to ask how Sir Mordred was doing, and, well..." Jaune's voice trailed off as he recalled the... conversation, he'd had with him the previous night.

"And you're Sir Mordred's squire," Gareth filled in the blanks. As Jaune nodded, Gareth couldn't help but ask: "So, you know what happened that caused Sir Mordred to act out as he did yesterday, then?"

"I... I do," Jaune reluctantly admitted, before quickly adding: "But it's really not my place to say! Sorry..."

Gareth couldn't help but groan, frustrated at the seemingly-increasingly-commonplace secrecy around her. As much as everyone told her that she was destined to be the greatest of the Knights of the Round Table, it also felt like the people around her treated her like a child and a squire more often than not.

Sure, she'd expected it from her three older brothers (even though it had been extremely aggravating when Agravain had still maintained silence despite the severity of the previous day's situation), and she knew that Sir Lancelot was just being a good mentor by not letting what troubled him affect her learning (even though she'd have been more than happy to help), but hearing it from a fellow squire as well stung more than she'd expected.

At the same time, though, the code of chivalry was clear, and so she conceded: "Fine, I get it. If the details were told to you in strict confidence, your honor would be stained were you to share it with others. But... Sir Mordred will be alright, at least?"

"... I don't know, but I hope so," Jaune finally answered, inwardly relieved that Gareth was willing to drop the subject (and he wouldn't have to reveal that her mother had cheated on her father and slept with the King, or that she hadn't been the youngest sibling for a while).

"I pray all will be well too, Jaune," Gareth sighed, before she changed the subject: "Anyway, how are you feeling? To be honest, I wasn't even expecting you to be able to leave your bed today..."

"That bad?" Jaune asked drily.

"You were in a better shape when Sir Lancelot and I first found you in Snowdonia, just after your battle with the Addanc," Gareth pointed out with a chuckle, before looking him over seriously. "Are you really sure you're alright, Jaune?"

"I've got my Aura, remember?" Jaune reminded his friend, reassuringly raising his arms to show his lack of bruising. "I heal really quickly."

Gareth inspected them for a moment, before nodding: "That's good to hear. Then, I suppose you'll be heading to see Sir Mordred now?"

"Actually..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. "I was going to grab some food first... since I didn't really get a chance to eat yesterday..."

"Oh, right..." Gareth laughed awkwardly, before looking away guiltily as she admitted: "I apologize for that oversight, Jaune. Agravain and I, we didn't expect things to take as long as they did, and by mid-morning we were too occupied keeping people out of that wing of the castle to aid you in your efforts."

"Yeah, I had wondered why nobody walked in on us," Jaune shrugged, before reassuring Gareth: "And it's probably for the best... I don't think Sir Mordred would have appreciated anyone seeing him in the state he was in."

"... if you say so, Jaune," Gareth aceepted his efforts appreciatively, and the pair fell into a companionable silence as they continued walking towards the dining hall.

Finally, though, curiosity got the better of Gareth, and with as much casualness as she could manage, she inquired: "By the way, and you don't need to tell me any incriminating or sensitive details about Sir Mordred, but could I trouble you to tell me about the spar with your mentor? All Agravain and I could hear were screams of anger and the sound of metal on metal, before a long period of silence followed. After that, you emerged from the room, while your mentor was passed out on the floor..."

"I didn't beat him in that fight, if that's what you're thinking," Jaune interjected drily.

"Considering the state you were in, that much seems obvious," Gareth pointed out with a chuckle, and as Jaune rolled his eyes she continued: "But I hope you can understand why everybody in Camelot is discussing what happened; even my brother and I can only guess what truly transpired in Sir Mordred's room!"

"It's really nothing..." Jaune had been about to make another retort, before blanching as he processed Gareth's words. "... everybody?"

"Surely you've realized that everyone has been looking at you and whispering, right?" Gareth asked incredulously.

"I mean, they've been doing that since Sir Mordred and I got back two days ago!" Jaune hissed under his breath even as he self-consciously lowered his head and quickened his pace, feeling the gazes levelled at him even more keenly now. "I didn't know they were talking about that now! It's not like I could just go up to someone and ask, "hey, what are you talking about", right?"

"Ah, right, I almost forgot," Gareth snapped her fingers as she recalled something. "The tales that had been flying around about the adventures you and Sir Mordred had in the past few weeks have begun mixing with the theories regarding what transpired yesterday. It's... let's just say some of the rumors are getting very wild..."

"I'll pass, thanks," Jaune quickly shook his head and crossed his arms, remembering some of the stories that Gareth had told him when he'd returned two days ago. Sighing, he explained: "Look, all that happened was that Sir Mordred basically knocked me around and pummelled me into the ground until he calmed down, that's it."

Well, that and a lot of crying, but he wouldn't think any less of Sir Mordred for that, and he definitely wasn't going to breathe a word about it to another soul.

Fortunately for Jaune, before Gareth could continue pressing the subject any further, the pair reached the dining hall.

Unfortunately for him, though, the dining hall was packed, and as the number of stares he received suddenly tripled, he quietly wondered about whether he really needed to eat that morning.

-FIFTEEN MINUTES LATER-

"Oh, Your Majesty!" Gareth couldn't keep the surprise out of her voice, as she and Jaune spotted the cloaked blonde standing outside the room they'd been heading towards.

"Squire Gareth," Artoria nodded to her niece as Gareth genuflected, before she found her eyes drawn up to the tall blonde squire by Gareth's side as he struggled with a ceramic pot in his hands. "Squire Jaune."

"Your Majesty," Jaune awkwardly returned the greeting with a respectful nod, busy as he was with sure the pot full of hot stew they'd liberated from the dining hall wasn't in any danger of spilling.

"Would I be correct in presuming the two of you are here for Sir Mordred?" Artoria asked gently once Gareth had risen.

"We are," Gareth confirmed, before gesturing to the food in Jaune's hands. "We wanted to see if he was okay, and if he was interested in any food."

Artoria smiled at her niece's kindness, though a part of her couldn't help but wonder how her elder sister had done so well with her first four children, and utterly failed her youngest. The rest of her knew the reason, however, and she easily kept such thoughts off of her face as she informed them: "Sir Mordred is still asleep at the moment. However, I am pleased to inform you his condition is better than it was the previous day, and I'm sure he would appreciate the food and the concern."

"Oh, that's good to hear," Gareth smiled, though Jaune couldn't help but try and study the King's face, unsure if he was being completely honest or just giving a simple pleasantry.

Artoria easily noticed his gaze, of course, and returned it for a brief moment before turning to Gareth: "Forgive me, my niece, but would you mind giving me and Squire Jaune some privacy? There are some matters of a sensitive nature that I must discuss with him."

"... of course, my liege," Gareth replied after only a moment of hesitation, before moving to comply.

Once she'd walked away, Artoria exhaled, lessening some of the tension between her and Jaune. Then she opened the door to Sir Agravain's room, and suggested: "Perhaps you would like to relieve yourself of that pot, Squire Jaune?"

"Thanks, Your Majesty," Jaune nodded appreciatively as he walked into the room, and coincidentally got a look at his mentor where he slept on Sir Agravain's bed (and still in his armor as always, a sight Jaune had long since gotten used to). Relaxing fractionally, Jaune placed the pot down on a nearby table, and conversationally said: "The cooks were really eager to fulfill Gareth's request."

"Squire Gareth has good relations with the kitchen servants, dating back to when she did some work as a kitchen boy," Artoria explained in a soft voice as Jaune left the room, closing the door behind him as he walked out (as quietly and gently as he could, of course).

"Huh, she never told me that," Jaune commented, unsure of what else he could.

"Indeed, as a kitchen boy she received no small amount of praise for both her work and her pale, beautiful form," Artoria reminisced pleasantly, the memory of Kay nicknaming her "Beaumains" being one that brought her no small amusement even now. The memory of family, however, then reminded her of her half-sister, and then of her bastard son, and so she sighed and returned to reality: "But we both know you are not here to listen to tales of Squire Gareth."

"..." Jaune took a deep breath, steeling his nerves. "Your Majesty-"

"I believe this conversation would be easier for the both of us if we could once again suspend formalities, Jaune," Artoria spoke up, cutting him off.

Jaune blinked, caught off guard by King Arthur's suggestion, but eventually he acquiesed: "Then... Arthur... how did it go?"

Artoria had already expected that question, and candidly answered: "To say it was not an easy talk would be putting it lightly."

Jaune couldn't help but wince, worried that his worst fears had been true.

"Even with your prior warning, I fear I severely underestimated how strongly and poorly Mordred had reacted to my words," Artoria continued to elaborate, a part of her still silently appalled by the things Mordred had screamed at her (Uncle Ector would have smacked her behind raw if she'd ever acted out like that), while another part of her knew she had absolutely no right to defend herself, let alone discipline her son.

Just as a dejected Jaune was about to hang his head and apologize, however, Artoria instead lowered her head to Jaune and concluded: "But... it was one that needed to be had, and all things considered... it went as well as one could hope for."

Jaune's eyes widened, and the offer to abduct his mentor and take a hike until Sir Mordred had calmed down died on his lips as he instead dared to hope: "So... d-does that mean...?"

"Yes, Mordred and I managed to reach an... perhaps an agreement might be stretching it, but we did come to an understanding," Artoria confirmed with a tired smile, before her shoulders slumped and she sighed exhaustedly. "Of course, things will never be the same between us, and I foresee the next few weeks, if not months, being terribly awkward for Mordred and I. And make no mistake, even with our understanding... I still do not believe I have any right to call Mordred my son.

"Please, allow me to explain," Artoria raised a hand placatingly just as Jaune opened his mouth to protest, having anticipated his reaction. Quietly, she wondered if Mordred realized just how blessed she was to have such a loyal squire and friend even as she began by reminding him: "You already know of the initial talk between Mordred and I, and you know of my reasons for not being able to acknowledge him as my son."

Jaune nodded wordlessly, the conversation from last night still fresh in his mind.

"All of those would be more than sufficient to disqualify me as his father, but what I feel is truly the bigget obstacle that prevents me from doing so is that, to put it simply, I had no knowledge of his existence or relation to me, let alone any hand in raising him, and by the time he was brought to Camelot he was his own man, absent of any involvement from me."

"But that's not your fault!" Jaune couldn't help but speak up at that. "You said that you unknowingly... ahem, slept with..."

"... quite," Artoria cleared her throat pointedly as Jaune's voice trailed off, uncomfortable at finishing that sentence. "But that does not change the facts. I did not raise Mordred. I was never there for Mordred in his youth. I do not even know a thing about Mordred's childhood. The bonds of blood may tie us together, but I pray you understand that I have never truly been a father to Mordred."

It was also why, even if King Uther Pendragon had sired her, she'd always consider Uncle Ector to be her father, in every way that mattered.

A moment of silence followed as Jaune digested what he'd just been told, before he finally asked: "Then... what happens next? Was Sir Mordred satisfied with that answer?"

Somehow, he just couldn't see it.

"Indeed, he wasn't," Artoria confirmed with a shake of her head. "Like I mentioned earlier, we did eventually reach a compromise. I will never truly be able to raise Mordred as a father should, but I'd still certainly like to learn more about how he grew up, while he believes he needs to earn my acknowledgement, even if it can never be public."

Jaune sighed: "I guess this is probably the best outcome, huh?"

"Perhaps," Artoria replied simply, having reflected that her instincts and experiences, while effective at guiding her in both warfare and rulership, were still lacking when it came to fatherhood. "We can never know how things might have played out otherwise, Jaune. For what it may be worth, though, I personally favor the newfound openness between Mordred and I; he knows my position, and I his as well. You have my gratitude, Jaune."

Jaune blinked a few times as he tried to process Arthur's words, before pointing a finger at himself as he asked: "... me?"

"Who else would I be referring to, Jaune?" Artoria replied bemusedly.

"I-I mean... I didn't really do anything," Jaune pointed out as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, feeling completely undeserving of any praise the King was heaping on him.

"No?" Artoria's eyebrow arched as she quickly studied the young squire's face, wondering if he was putting on a show of false modesty. Upon seeing that he was being genuine, however, she simply advised: "Humility may be a virtue, Jaune, but you do a disservice to both yourself and the people you've aided when you fail to recognize your achievements."

"My... achievements?" Jaune felt completely lost.

"Did you think just anybody could even begin to gain Mordred's trust, let alone be able to calm him down as you did yesterday?" Artoria asked rhetorically.

"..." Jaune fell silent as he thought about it. Sir Mordred may have been his friend, but even he had to admit his mentor wasn't exactly the most sociable or popular person around...

... well, there was always Sir Agravain. Sir Agravain had Sir Mordred's trust (he knew his secret, after all), and Jaune was fully confident that he could have succeeded where Jaune had.

Eventually.

If there had been no other way.

Before he could finally answer, however, Artoria continued on: "And even if you did find someone who could do for Mordred what you did, Jaune... do you think they would have also questioned me, let alone challenged me?"

As Jaune once again found himself at a loss for words (the only person he could think of who'd done so had been Sir Tristan, back during the feast), Artoria concluded: "Make no mistake, I am truly honored by the trust that my Knights have in me. But in this situation, I do not see any of them pushing the matter, insisting I seek out Mordred, especially not after hearing my reasoning. They would have instead had faith that my actions were for the best, and things would have ended there."

"... uh, well, I guess I see your point," Jaune conceded, unsure of what else he was supposed to say to that. But it also felt wrong to simply leave it there, and so Jaune racked his brains for a few moments, before he attempted to reassure his liege (and friend): "Hey, for what it's worth, Arthur... it's not that you don't have my trust or anything. It's just that... well... sure, I don't doubt you'll do what you think is right... but we're both only human, right?"

Artoria blinked, before nodding slowly in agreement.

Taking that as his cue, Jaune decided to quickly finish up before he could put his foot in his mouth again: "Anyway, you can trust that I'll question you if I don't understand something, and I'll challenge you if I disagree with something, alright?"

Not that he expected to have to do that often (the current situation not withstanding, of course), but as a fellow leader he could definitely understand second-guessing his decisions (though Jaune had only been a fraud leading Team JNPR for less than a year, where Arthur was an honest-to-Oum King with maybe two decades of experience).

Instead of replying, however, Artoria took a moment to search Jaune's face.

Then her green eyes met his baby blues, and she slowly exhaled before answering: "I... will hold you to those words then, Jaune."

Jaune simply nodded in response. 

After all, those were an Arc's words, and an Arc never went back on his word.

Chapter Text

Mordred stirred as the smell of food tickled at her senses, and it was with a groan and an effort that she slowly propped her tired body up.

Then she blinked, as she belatedly registered just how utterly drained and listless she felt.

That... was certainly unusual.

After all, her unique constitution should have ensured that she was above such trivial things like exhaustion (especially considering she was very sure she hadn't spent the past few hours training against Mother's latest experiments).

Was she sick?

Could she even get sick?

More importantly, who even cared?!

Mordred easily banished her physical discomfort (a very useful skill when growing up with Mother), her mind busy focusing on more important things.

Father...

Her father...

Despite everthing had happened, despite everything that she was... he didn't actually hate her!

A wide grin threatened to split her face as she recalled how the conversation with her father had ended, before it immediately disappeared as she recalled all that had led up to it, and she felt the urge to simply smash her head into the wall repeatedly until she forgot all of it...

... no, wait, that wouldn't erase Father's memories of what she'd said and done...

In the end, Mordred instead settled for simply burying her covered face in her hands and groaning loudly in frustration, before a scowl overtook her features.

Sure, she understood now why Father had rejected her as his son, but she didn't think she could ever forget that sensation of grief when she'd first attempted to tell him the good news, and he'd coldly rejected her, refusing to even look at her...

Mordred's fist began to clench up as the memory made her chest feel unbearably tight, but she quickly shook her head, trying to forcibly clear those thoughts.

He had apologized and explained himself.

Why couldn't she just let go of her anger?!

Wasn't forgiveness supposed to come naturally to her?

And yet...

This time, Mordred didn't stop her fist from balling up.

No wonder Father had difficulty accepting her as his child and heir.

How could King Arthur ever accept the failure of a son, a human, and a Knight of the Round Table that she was?!

And that's all she ever was, wasn't it?

She couldn't be the son King Arthur needed or deserved, she couldn't be the tool Mother wanted... for God's sake, she'd even failed to be the mentor Jaune had needed her to be!

Jaune...

As the memories of her encounter with her squire the previous day came to the forefront of her mind, she found herself deeply torn between wishing she could erase the events of the past two days, and simply wishing for a hole to appear in the ground and swallow her up.

God, how was she supposed to face her squire now?!

It'd already been bad enough when she'd almost ruined his chances of becoming a squire in Camelot; she couldn't even begin to fathom how much worse things would be after yesterday!

Why?!

Why did he have to be so damned stubborn?!

"Just get out, and leave me alone!"

"... no."

"Let go of me, squire."

"Then tell me what's wrong."

... why... why did he always have to go so far for someone like her...?

"Look... I know I'm just a squire, and you're a full knight... but... well... something's clearly bothering you, and I'd like to think we're friends, so..."

"Friends, huh..."

Why couldn't he just stop being an insane irrational idiot and just take care of himself for once?!

A familiar hand, grabbing her shoulder, before giving it a reassuring squeeze...

Mordred felt her face loosen up behind her helmet even as she placed a hand over the spot where Jaune had suddenly grabbed her yesterday.

... it had been warm...

...

Mordred furiously shook her head, refusing to acknowledge those thoughts or how warm her face was (yet another point in favor of the "mysterious sickness" theory, she figured, though she resolved not to let anybody find out, especially Mother).

Honestly, there wasn't any reason for her to think about it so much.

It was just a touch, after all; the other knights gave them to each other all the time, and even she wasn't a stranger to the occasional slap on the back.

Hell, she couldn't even be sure that Jaune had meant it as a comforting gesture!

Sure, it was exactly the kind of thing he would do, but at the same time it had happened after she'd threatened his well-being (for a second time, mind you), smashed him into the ground, and then started sobbing and ranting all over him; if anything, it was more likely that he'd grabbed her in a desperate attempt to snap her out of her rage, or to try and stop her from accidentally killing him.

... for some reason, that thought didn't make her feel any better.

Before she could stew on her thoughts any longer, however, there was a knock on the door, causing her to look up with a start.

"Come in!" Mordred called back, after quickly making sure her appearance was presentable, not wanting Agravain to lecture her or to show Father a slovenly appearance. "I'm up!"

(And who else could it have been? The only other person who might have dropped by to check in on her was Jaune, and she highly doubted it was him for obvious reasons.)

"Evening, Sir Mordred," Jaune greeted politely as he carefully entered the room. "It's, uh, good to see that you're awake now..."

Mordred blinked, before her mind finally processed that the person who'd just entered was not Agravain or Arthur.

The small part of her still capable of rational thought considered herself lucky that she'd donned her helmet sometime during her talk with Father the previous night (to hide her tear-stained face), and she hadn't bothered taking it off after they'd reconciled and she'd gone to sleep.

The rest of her simply blinked again.

"Uh, before you ask, Arth- I mean, the King wanted me to tell you he's sorry he couldn't greet you when you woke up and made sure that you were okay, but he really did have a few things to take care of," Jaune explained as he took a seat, not wanting his friend to get the wrong idea about why his dad wasn't the one greeting him. As Mordred's silence continued, he quickly added: "He really did wait outside your room this whole time, by the way, until I showed up and convinced him to let me take over... anyway, are... are you feeling any better now?"

Mordred blinked for a third time, before a part of her unconsciously relaxed, relieved to hear that Father truly did care about her.

Just a part of her, though.

Finally, she found her voice, and slowly repeated: "Am... I, feeling better now?"

"Yeah... are you?" Jaune asked again patiently. "The King told me his second talk with you went pretty good, so..."

"It did," Mordred confirmed, before vigorously shaking her head. "No, that's not the issue her! Squire... Jaune... what are you doing here?!"

"Um... I'm here to see if you're feeling any better now?" Jaune cocked his head in confusion, wondering where that question had come from.

"... I should be asking you that!" Mordred pointed out incredulously evem as she looed him over carefully. "After what I did to you yesterday..."

"Oh, that..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, as he finally got what Sir Mordred was referring to. "I mean, it wasn't a big deal or anything..."

"I mercilessly beat you into the ground!" Mordred roared, furious at both herself for losing control that badly and her squire's apparent lack of self-preservation. "I almost killed you! How can you not call that a big deal?!"

"..." Jaune could only look at his mentor as his breastplate visibly heaved with emotion, before quietly pointing out: "But you didn't."

"I could have..." Mordred spat bitterly as she looked away, ashamed by what she'd almost done... what she would have done, if the sight of her squire lying defeated beneath her hadn't cooled her anger enough for other emotions to take over.

"I trusted you," Jaune honestly reassured him with a small smile. As Mordred's helm snapped back up towards him, Jaune reminded his mentor: "I know you, remember, Sir Mordred? You're my friend; I knew what would happen when I chose to stay, but I'd have regretted walking away even more."

"You..." Mordred could only shake her head in disbelief, before her tone shifted. "... you really are an insane, irrational idiot, aren't you?"

"... maybe," Jaune simply shrugged after a moment, more relieved to see that his friend had at least calmed down than actually agreeing with his less-than-complimentary assessment (he wasn't that bad, was he?). Quickly seizing the opportunity, he then explained: "Anyway, I really wasn't joking when I said it wasn't a big deal, Sir Mordred. Remember, worst Huntsman trainee in Beacon? I got beaten up way worse during every training session and class back there by the other students."

"... really?" Mordred leaned forward.

"Yeah... sure, they weren't as strong as you, but I was a lot weaker back then," Jaune explained, privately admitting that that honestly wasn't saying much. "And some of them were actively trying to be... mean, to me."

For example, Cardin wasn't the kind of person who liked to win matches by a ring out, to say nothing of what he and Team CRDL had done to him (and tried to do to his team) outside of Glynda's ring.

He didn't see the need to give his mentor the details, though.

"... I thought you told me Huntsmen were a lot like the Knights of Camelot?" Mordred recalled, and Jaune could almost hear the frown on his mentor's face. "Why would they do such a thing to you?"

"Well, you know how kids can be..." Jaune shrugged and sighed, seeing no reason to go into details. Oh, he knew why the other boy had done it, having talked with Cardin a bit after that incident in Forever Fall, and he'd never forget what Cardin had done, but the two of them had managed to come to an understanding after that, and he was happy to let by-gones be by-gones as long as Cardin never tried any more funny business (and he hadn't, as far as Jaune had known up until he'd died).

Mordred did not, evidently, seeing as how she fumed: "Then it is the responsibility of his mentor to educate him! How could such a disgraceful conduct have been tolerated?"

"Well... it wasn't like the monsters or enemies we fought would've shown us any mercy," Jaune pointed out, remembering how the White Fang had caused the Breach, as well as their attack on Amity and Vale with hacked Atlesian military hardware and Bullheads full of Grimm. At least Sir Mordred seemed to have been sufficiently distracted by the change of topic, though, and so he continued: "I guess our teacher wanted us to at least be able to handle such things."

"That does not excuse allowing your charges to descend to such lows!" Mordred insisted indignantly, wondering why she was even surprised by him any longer. Of course Jaune wouldn't see anything wrong with what she did to him; he didn't even see anything wrong with his brothers-in-arms doing even worse to him! "Knights, Huntsmen... as Champions of the Realm, we're meant to be examples to the people, to be better than our enemies!"

"... well, he was getting better, last I saw him," Jaune finally spoke up, defending Cardin's name (and he'd have given a hundred lien for pictures of the faces of Pyrrha, Ren, Nora, and Ruby if they could see him now). "And most of the trainnes in Beacon weren't like that... I told you about my friends, remember?"

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue, feeling her irritation unconsciously surge at the memory of her squire happily telling her all about his friends (the one that sounded like Gareth especially rubbed her the wrong way). "Still..."

Seeing his mentor's mood begin to fall, Jaune clapped Mordred's shoulder (or pauldron) as he sincerely reassured him: "Hey, it's okay. I've got a better teacher now."

Under her armor, Mordred stiffened at the sudden and familiar contact, her mind immediately going back to that moment, that day.

This time, however, there were no tears to cloud her vision, no anger or sorrow clouding her judgement.

She could feel the comfort behind the gesture, like the warmth of a hearth.

She could see the earnest smile on his face, and the kindness in his eyes.

She could hear the honesty in his voice.

And she could feel something squeezing her chest.

He really did mean it as a comforting gesture, didn't he?

Even after everything she'd done to him?

... god, she truly didn't deserve a friend like him.

"... I'm sorry," Mordred finally forced out, unable to meet his eyes any longer. "If I really were a better mentor... I shouldn't have lost control like that..."

"Sir Mordred..." Jaune could only sigh, disappointed that his attempts at cheering his mentor up had failed yet again.

"I just..." Mordred couldn't help but continue to honestly spill her heart out, however. "It's just... when I heard that the King was my father... and then, when he..."

"I know, I know..." Jaune said soothingly, continue to pat his mentor's pauldron. "Your dad told me everything..."

"He did?" Mordred blinked, blindsided by the news.

"He went to see me last night, to ask how you were doing," Jaune explained. "So... yeah, look... I know how much you love him, and I can't even begin to how you must have felt when he rejected you... what I'm trying to say is, I understand why you lost control like you did, alright?"

This time, Mordred didn't even bother to search his face for any signs of deception.

Instead, after taking a moment to collect herself, she promised: "It won't happen again."

"I'm sure it won't," Jaune didn't doubt it for a moment. "I mean, after all, you and the King have already come to an understanding, right?"

"We did," Mordred nodded, before a frown formed on her face. "Jaune... can I ask you a question?"

"Sure?"

"You said that you understand how I'm feeling, right?" Mordred confirmed, before uneasily admitting: "Then... is it weird that I'm having difficulty forgiving Father? I know why he did it, but..."

Jaune took a moment to look his mentor in the eye (or at least, try to; his helmet made it rather difficult), before finally saying: "It's not weird."

"Really?"

"I mean, forgiving him is the right thing to do," Jaune quickly clarified, "but that doesn't make it easy; you're only human, Sir Mordred. You looked up to him and cared about him even before you knew he was your father; even if you know why he hurt you, that doesn't change the fact that you were hurt, and it takes time for you to heal."

Mordred released a breath she didn't even know she was holding, before she replied: "Thanks, Jaune."

"Hey, what are friends for?" Jaune smiled gently, before he remembered his earlier conversation with Arthur and added: "If it helps... just remember that the King's only human too, alright? He may have done what he believed was right at the time, but he's not perfect.

"In the end, what matters is that you care about him, Sir Mordred, and that King Arthur cares about you," Jaune ended off by reminding him. "Just... just keep that in mind, alright?"

Mordred could feel her lips curling upwards as she nodded; if there was one thing Father had emphasized to her yesterday, it was that he truly, genuinely, cared for his son.

And while she may not have deserved Father's love, by God would she earn it.

Just as she would Jaune's forgiveness and friendship.

Jaune quietly breathed a sigh of relief that his pep-talk seemed to have finally worked, and forcibly changed the subject before things could relapse again: "Anyway, I don't know about you, but I haven't really eaten for a few days, so..."

At the mention of food, Mordred's stomach rumbled, reminding her that she also hadn't eaten in almost two days, and that she'd been originally woken up by the smell of food.

As her face burned behind her helmet, Jaune chuckled and got up, before grabbing the pot of hot stew they'd brought from the kitchens: "Here, Gareth and I got this for you."

Mordred had been about to thank him again, before the mention of her elder sister made her pause.

Jaune could only sigh, well-aware of Sir Mordred's inexplicable and unrelenting hostility towards Gareth, and as he handed the large pot and a spoon over to him, he wondered if he should seize the opportuntiy to try and mend their relationship once again.

-CORRIDOR LEADING TO THE ROYAL BEDCHAMBERS, AROUND THE SAME TIME- 

Artoria took a moment to ensure that the hallway was completely devoid of life, before she finally allowed herself a moment to relax (though she did make sure Carnwennan's magics were still active around her; the perfect King always had to always be perfect, after all, and it wouldn't do to be spotted in such a state by a passer-by).

Sure, she'd been awake for longer stretches while on campaign, and her scabbard kept her physical health perfect, but it had been quite a while since she'd been so mentally and emotionally drained.

Then again, it wasn't as if finding out she had a bastard child was a common occurence to her, so she felt that her current state could be forgiven (not that she'd ever allow another to see it, of course).

At least that situation was over now; she'd made up with Mordred, come to an understanding with her, and with her squire's help Artoria felt confident that Mordred wasn't going to destroy Camelot in a fit of rage.

All that was left now was to deal with the aftermath.

Why Mordred was kept a secret from her, how on Earth Morgan had raised Mordred, how on Earth Mordred could appear as an adult despite definitely being less than a decade old, whether anybody else knew of Mordred's identity, the fact that Mordred's squire knew of her true identity, the fact that he'd actually been able to see her as human and willing to stand up to her, the consequences of Mordred's rampage and Agravain's attempts to contain it...

Artoria shook her head in dismay, barely suppressing a groan.

For a moment, she briefly wondered whether she could simply take a break first, and sort it all out once she was well-rested; she didn't seem to be pressed for time, after all, and making plans while having been awake for two days straight seemed like a horrible idea.

But at the same time, as King, she had her duties...

Artoria sighed, before her instincts and experience helped her come up with the ideal course of action.

A hot bath and a short nap would suffice at revitalizing her, and with Guinivere's help she should have been able to handle it all by tonight.

Of course, that also raised the issue of how Guinivere would react upon learning that Artoria had lain with another (even if it had been unknowingly), but it wasn't like she'd been planning on hiding it anyway; even if their marriage was a sham, Guinivere was her wife, and she wouldn't keep secrets from her.

Artoria sighed again, before deciding to simply get it over with as quickly as possible, if only so that she could finally get some well-deserved rest.

That happy thought lasted right up until the moment she opened the door to find Sir Lancelot fornicating with Lady Guinivere on her bed.

Chapter Text

It was a quiet and peaceful morning, just like countless others Camelot had met since the fairies had helped rebuild it from the ruins of Londinium, after the legendary clash between the Red Dragon and the White Dragon.

The Angles, Saxons, and Jutes hadn't been able to truly threaten their lands for decades, and their latest invasion had been beaten back into the sea by the King and his Knights months ago.

The Picts had been quiet this year, and with Sir Percival in Listenoise with King Pellinore there were few who worried of a full-scale assault breaching the Old Imperial Walls.

The lands of Logres remained blessed, with the Britonnic people living a life free from the worry of failed harvests or enemy attacks.

And yet, even in these times, rumors spread in hurried whispers and hushed tones throughout the kingdom like wildfire.

No small number of them were positive, of course; the lands bordering Snowdonia had all heard of the Slaying of the Addanc (and of course everyone knew someone who'd sworn they'd personally seen the body of that great water demon) and all across the realm was it being told that the mysterious and passionate Sir Mordred the Silent had picked up an equally-mysterious squire, a giant of a man who could heal with a touch and take down a rampaging bear with his bare hands (far from implausible when one considered the feats the Knights of the Round Table had achieved in the past two decades), just to name a few examples.

But at the same time, no small number of them were negative.

The Knight of Lamentation's open rebuke of the King and his subsequent departure from Camelot's halls was by now public knowledge, and it was said that the King's influence was beginning to wane as a few local lords and kings had been swayed by Sir Tristan's words, with perhaps one or two having even gone so far as to rebel against the inhumanly perfect King (or so the subsequent retellings always seemed to grow).

The sudden quakes that had shaken the castle (and required Sir Agravain and Squire Gareth to block off access to an entire wing of the fortress) before ending just as quickly and mysteriously as they'd begun were still on the minds of the people of Camelot even two days later.

The heirlessness of the King of Knights, even a decade into his marriage with Queen Guinivere, was a topic that remained constantly discussed even despite its age (though few truly believed that impotence or infidelity plagued the royal couple).

And nowhere did more rumors fly around, did more loosened lips exchange whispers, than in the barracks and dining halls of Camelot itself, the heart of the Kingdom; after all, it was they who'd witnessed firsthand the accusations Sir Tristan had thrown at the King, and it was they who'd watched the Knights of the Round Table as they'd ridden out to the various lands that had pledged to follow King Arthur, and it was they who'd noticed that the King and the Queen seemed increasingly distant of late.

Considering recent events (and some not-so-recent), it was thus only natural for the castle's communal dining hall to be buzzing with conversation that morning, as its numerous and varied occupants shared and discussed the latest news.

Except that it wasn't.

Oh, there was still conversation, of course; even a protracted siege wouldn't have been enough to silence the men of Camelot.

However, where the hall should have been filled with hundreds of individual lively voices, there was instead a tense low buzzing, as confused and spooked occupants whispered among one another, each theory both wilder and more plausible than the last, even as they kept their attention fixed on a particular pair of men all the while, wondering just what words were being shared between the two.

"And since Sir Lancelot's been giving her a lot of free time now that he thinks she's ready to be knighted and doesn't need any more training, Gareth's offered to join us for a few of my training sessions, give me additional experience in dealing with different weapons and fighting styles, that sort of thing," Jaune concluded eagerly, completely inured to the constant gazes he'd been receiving by now. "What do you think, Sir Mordred?"

There was a moment of silence, as his mentor considered his words, and Jaune's hopes (already optimistic over the fact that Sir Mordred hadn't immediately shot down his suggestion as soon as he'd mentioned Gareth's name) further grew.

Finally, Mordred took a spoonfull of stew and, completely ignorant to the constant gazes she'd been receiving, flatly rejected him: "Not interested, squire."

"... fair enough," Jaune simply conceded with a resigned sigh, unable to find it within him to actually be disappointed. After all, he knew his mentor, and he'd honestly expected this outcome the whole time even despite his earlier hopes.

Despite having initially felt like she'd already indulged him just by hearing him out until he'd finished, the sight of her squire's expression made her chest feel uncomfortably tight, and it was with a frown that she asked: "Did... do you really want to train with Gareth that much?"

The notion that her sister would've been a better mentor for Jaune than her was one that had weighed heavily on her since Lancelot had initially suggested it when her squire had first come to Camelot, but after Jaune had rejected the idea all those months ago when she'd offered him a choice she'd stopped paying it any heed.

So why had this topic suddenly come up?

And why was she feeling even more upset over the thought now than before?

Then another thought struck her, and she swallowed uncomfortably.

Could what had happened two days ago still be weighing on his mind?

... no, but he'd told her it wasn't a big deal, right?

... of course, there was no way that what she'd done to him wasn't a big deal!

... at the same time, it was Jaune...

... but he'd also understood her when she'd talked about her difficulties in forgiving Father...

Even though Mordred implicitly trusted Jaune, she still found herself pressing: "I-is this about what happened two days ago?"

Jaune blinked, his reply to his mentor's previous question dying on his lips at the unexpected question as he instead assured him: "I already told you, Sir Mordred, it wasn't a big- I mean, I've had worse, alright?"

Mordred's only response was a skeptical hum, prompting Jaune to quickly continue: "I just thought that it might be a good way to, you know, kill a few birds with one stone; I get more experience with other fighting styles, Gareth gets something to do to help keep her sharp, and... well..."

"..." Mordred could only sigh, her prior concerns washed away as she realized her friend's true aim. While she hadn't exactly expected it, she just couldn't find it in herself to be surprised, and it was with exasperation she groaned: "Jaune..."

"I just thought it'd be nice if you had more people you could talk to!" Jaune quickly defended himself. Sure, he kind of understood why Sir Mordred didn't really like Gareth (something about wanting to prove himself over his perfect older sister, if Jaune recalled correctly), but considering recent events Jaune couldn't help but feel that it'd probably do his mentor some good to have more people he could trust and confide in.

As King Arthur had pointed out to him, when Sir Mordred had needed someone, anyone, the only person who'd been able to get through to him was... well... him.

The screw-up trainee Huntsman who wasn't even from their dimension.

While he had faith in Sir Mordred and King Arthur he'd also had the misfortune of meeting his mentor's mother; if something similar were to happen again he wasn't sure if he could calm him down another time.

"I don't want more people to talk to," Mordred insisted with a huff. "I've got Agravain, and I've got Father, and I've got you."

Jaune blinked, but before he could truly process that last part Mordred continued accusingly: "Besides, you already meet Gareth most days after we finish our training sessions. Don't the two of you also do some training then?"

"We do," Jaune admitted, "but Gareth's not really experienced at giving pointers about swordsmanship to someone in the middle of a spar, and there definitely isn't any advice I can give her; with just the two of us there isn't much we can do to improve each others' skills beyond some light combat practice."

Mordred's frown deepened behind her helmet. As she herself had brought up, she'd known from the start that Jaune and Gareth spent a fair bit of time together alone, but hearing her squire confirm it made her feel oddly uneasy, for some reason.

Even though her squire was also confirming that Gareth wasn't as good of a trainer as she was...

... was she just displeased that her squire's time was being wasted?

Finally, after a brief struggle, Mordred reluctantly offered: "... then, would it help if I went with you, the next time you and Gareth had another sparring session?"

"That'd be great!" Jaune's face immediately brightened. "Thanks, Sir Mordred!"

"Tch, just remember I'm only doing this for you," Mordred reminded him with a click of her tongue, before warningly adding: "And don't even think about trying to get me to talk to Gareth more than necessary, alright?"

"Of course, of course," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, before placing one on his chest. "Arc's word."

Mordred simply stared at him, unconvinced, knowing full well the quality of his character.

But, at the end of the day, she couldn't bring herself to hate his meddlesome nature, and it was with fond exasperation that she merely snorted in response.

"Come on!" Jaune protested with a whine, easily detecting his mentor's skepticism. "An Arc never goes back on his word!"

Mordred rolled her eyes, though she did mentally concede the point. He'd given her his word, so he probably wouldn't do anything too overt this time...

Before she could reply, however, the sound of footsteps echoing throughout the suddenly-silenced room caught their attention, and they both turned to see a cloaked figure approaching them.

"Fa-" Mordred excitedly began, before immediately correcting herself: "My King."

"Your Majesty," Jaune followed suit, before blinking as he got a closer look at King Arthur.

... wasn't that the same cloak and set of robes that King Arthur had been wearing when he'd talked to him yesterday?

"Sir Mordred, Squire Jaune," Artoria quickly returned the pleasantries with a nod, before fixing her eyes on Jaune. "Pardon the interruption, but I require Squire Jaune's services for a moment."

Jaune didn't miss the seriousness in the King's tone, and he exchanged a confused glance with his mentor (or at least, his confused eyes looked briefly at the visor of his mentor's helmet) before he shrugged and got up.

Mordred, for her part, merely remained seated, feeling completely lost as she watched her squire follow her father out of the hall.

Then the pair crossed the room's threshold, with Jaune closing the doors behind him, and the room exploded with noise all around Mordred.

-JAUNE'S QUARTERS, FIVE MINUTES LATER-

"... so..." Jaune awkwardly began, once the King had taken a seat in the chair by his bedside, and he'd closed the door behind him after making sure the corridor was clear. "... is everything alright, Your Majesty?"

Artoria simply looked up at him, before sighing and exhaling, allowing her usual facade to be relaxed by a fraction.

Jaune was immediately struck by just how exhausted the King looked as Artoria tiredly admitted: "Truthfully... no,. No, I do not believe everything is alright, Jaune."

Jaune's instincts began screaming at him to get out of the room as soon as physically possible.

"Also, in the interest of time and candidness, I would like to request another suspension of formalities for this conversation, Jaune," Artoria added off-handedly, leaning forward in her chair with her elbows resting on her thighs and her fingers steepled together.

"... of course," Jaune answered with a gulp, his instincts now telling him that diving out of his room's windows would be preferable to remaining in the same room as the King, but he forced himself to remain where he was as he inquired: "Are... are things really that bad again, Arthur?"

"..." Artoria looked up at him, and wordlessly looked back down (an action which did little to calm Jaune's nerves and instincts), before she bluntly spoke: "Guinivere has been having an affair." 

Jaune blinked, as he processed what he'd just heard.

The silence stretched on, and Jaune blinked again, wondering if he'd perhaps misheard Arthur

Finally, he found his voice, and incredulously asked: "A-are you sure, Arthur?"

"Quite," Artoria spat sharply, and the venom in her tone didn't let up in the slightest as she elaborated: "Just last night I had the displeasure of walking into our chambers to find Lancelot laying with her on our bed."

"Oh," Jaune winced, even as a part of him couldn't help but wonder just when in his afterlife he'd become an interdimensional family and marriage counsellor.

Seriously, what was he supposed to do about this?!

He'd at least been able to wing it when helping Arthur with Sir Mordred thanks to his experience with his sisters, but his parents were happily married, Pyr hadn't really talked about her family, Ren and Nora were orphans, and Ruby's and Yang's mom was dead; he was just as qualified to be a marriage counsellor as he was a Huntsman!

Also, Lancelot?! Really?!

"... have you talked to the queen about this already?" Jaune inquired, as much to fill the silence as to try and get a clearer view of things.

Artoria's scowl deepened, but she confessed: "... no, I haven't confronted either of them yet. They don't know that I know."

Specifically, while they'd definitely noticed the door being opened (despite failing to uphold his oaths and being rather occupied, Lancelot was still a Knight of the Round Table), Carnwennan's magic and her reflexes had allowed her to prevent herself from being discovered by the pair.

Jaune hummed noncommittally, not knowing how else he was supposed to respond to that (or anything else he'd just heard, for that matter).

Artoria simply rested her forehead against her knuckles as she let loose another deep sigh.

Finally, sensing that Arthur had nothing more to say, Jaune awkwardly asked: "And... uh, how are you feeling, Arthur?"

"... how am I feeling?" Artoria echoed in bemusement, not having expected that question.

"... yeah, I guess that was a dumb question," Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, mentally kicking himself for asking something so obvious.

"No, I just hadn't really thought about it," Artoria defended him from his self-recrimination, and raised her head and cupped her chin thoughtfully before slowly giving voice to her thoughts: "I... suppose there is no small amount of hurt... pain... anger..."

"That's all to be expected," Jaune remarked quietly, not wanting to interrupt Arthur's introspection (not when they seemed to finally be getting somewhere).

"Indeed, but there is also something else," Artoria noted with a furrowed brow as she continued searching herself. and after a moment of hesitation continued: "I... it is complicated, but there is a small part of me that is... almost happy, for Guinivere."

"Happy?" Jaune prompted with a raised eyebrow, wondering if there was something about Arthur that he didn't know about (and definitely didn't want to know about).

"Our marriage was purely political, and there is no romance between us," Artoria elaborated, "but I still love Guinivere as my closest friend, just as I love Lancelot as the pride of the Round Table."

"..." Jaune hummed thoughtfully, before he tried to summarize Arthur's thoughts: "So... you're happy, that your... closest friend, has managed to find love?"

"That would be an accurate enough summation, if perhaps oversimplified," Artoria affirmed, before her tone hardened: "Do not be mistaken, though; I am not in the least bit pleased that the two of them have been engaging in intimacy behind my back."

"Of course," Jaune gulped, eyeing the window once more.

"For goodness sake, if they'd only discussed things with me, I would have given their relationship my blessing!" Artoria continued to fume. "I understand Guinivere's dissatisfcation with our marriage, the sacrifices she's made and the burdens she bears for the sake of the Kingdom, and I trust that Lancelot with his Gaulish upbringing would be able to make her happy; did they not trust that I would be if not supportive at least understanding of her finding comfort in his arms?"

Jaune did his best to refrain from pointing out that being supportive of your wife cheating on you with your favored subordinate was probably not the expected response to finding out that your wife was cheating on you with your favored subordinate, and instead settled for simply enduring the increasing awkwardness he felt as Arthur continued to vent and grumble, occasionally injecting sympathetic noises into the conversation whenever he felt was appropriate (namely, whenever Arthur paused for breath).

Eventually, Artoria's rant wound down, and Jaune seized the chance to progress the conversation: "So... what will you do now, Arthur?"

"Now?" Artoria mused, stroking her chin idly. "I suppose all I can do is turn a blind eye to their activities, to give them my tacit support by simply allowing them to continue their affair."

"Are you... sure that's wise?" Jaune raised an eyebrow at that.

"What would you have me do, publicly give them my blessing?" Artoria offered rhetorically, before her voice softened as she patiently explained: "I know that you are not familiar with monarchies, Jaune; an affair with the royal consort is no mere scandal but equivalent to high treason. My reign is built on a foundation of justice, fairness, and equality, and in this situation that binds my hands; even the Queen and the First of the Round Table must be held accountable to the laws of the land, lest others begin also selectively applying it."

"Well, obviously not that, of course," Jaune clarified, "I meant... can't you just talk to Guinivere and Lancelot, work something out?"

"... I would not know how to even begin that conversation," Artoria admitted, almost helplessly. "Especially not now, with the sting of betrayal still being raw. How am I to tell my wife that I know of her infidelity, without coming across as confrontational or accusing?

"Moreover, even if I should succeed in simply conveying my understanding, what then? Am I to knowingly encourage Guinivere to continue ignoring her oaths of matrimony, for Lancelot to continue breaking his oaths of loyalty? To encourage the members of my court to continue breaking our laws and customs? Make no mistake, despite current events I shall not ever call into question either of their loyalties, not after all both have sacrificed for the sake of the Kingdom.

"And it is especially because of that loyalty that, as things are currently, I cannot be the one to initiate this conversation, Jaune. Were I to ignore our laws from the start, that would make me a hypocrite. Their actions would turn me into a hypocrite. And that knowledge, that I would have been found lacking in performing my duties as King because of them, that would break them.

"At least, should they bring the matter up to me, to acknowledge their actions first, I could then pardon them in my role as the ultimate arbiter of justice in the land, condemning their actions while acknowledging that there was just cause behind it, and from there reach an understanding with them,"

"I... see..." Jaune answered lamely, after Arthur concluded his statement. In all honesty, he really didn't, but his eyes were already spinning in different directions like he'd sat through a lecture by a Professor Oobleck hopped up on coffee, and he decided to simply trust that Arthur knew better than him in this regard.

Much to Jaune's dismay, however, Artoria wasn't finished, and she instead fixed him with a critical look before acknowledging: "However... waiting for them to confess their actions to me first is also probably unrealistic. Would you mind if I ask for more of your help in the future, Jaune? I'd like to rehearse initiating a potential confrontation with them..."

"You want... my help?" Jaune couldn't keep the disbelief from his voice. "With all due respect, Arthur, are you sure that's a good idea? I don't know Guinivere or Lancelot well enough to know how they'd react, and I'm definitely not familiar with how things work in Camelot!"

"That is all true," Artoria agreed with a nod, "but you're also the only person I can trust with this right now."

"Me?!" Jaune's eyes were boggling now.

"Make no mistake, my trust in my Knights is not lacking in the slightest," Artoria elaborated. "But I am also aware of their unyielding codes of chivalry; if they were to find out about this affair, their honor would demand that they confront Lancelot or Guinivere despite my wishes, privately or publicly, and from there things would spiral out of control.

"You, on the other hand... as you have so fervently pointed out earlier, you are not as familiar with things in this land as the others. This is not a slight against you, Jaune, but your code of honor is just different enough from theirs that I can have faith that you will not break my confidence... unless I am mistaken in my assumption?"

"No, no, I won't tell anyone else or go looking for Lancelot," Jaune quickly reassured him, before taking a deep breath and explaining: "I mean... well, you told me what's going on, why you don't want this getting out. I pledged my loyalty to you, Arthur; I'd be breaking my word if I didn't keep it a secret now, and an Arc never goes back on his word."

Also, it wasn't like he had any room to point fingers about keeping secrets, considering how he'd gotten into Beacon and all (not to mention his friend's teammate also having been a former terrorist).

"You have my gratitude once again, Jaune," Artoria gave him a gentle smile even as her shoulders sagged slightly in relief.

"But that doesn't change the fact that I'm not sure how much I'd actually be able to help you, Arthur," Jaune didn't hesitate to point out.

"Just your honest opinion regarding any statements I wish to make would be enough, Jaune," Artoria assured him. "And I doubt time to be a concern, considering I only found out about their affair because I walked into my private chambers at a misfortunate time, and they will doubtlessly be more careful following that close call."

"Well..." Jaune stalled, still struggling internally with his doubts, his fears, his self-deprecating nature.

Then he looked up, and his eyes met Arthur's.

Once again, he remembered the lonely green eyes of someone else.

Even if Arthur hadn't helped him out by accepting him as a squire of Camelot, even if he hadn't pledged his loyalty to the man, even if he wasn't basically the worst person for the job...

Someone needed his help.

Had he run away from home with the family sword, endured two semesters of torturous training at Beacon, died, and suffered through even tougher training in another dimension... just to walk away when he was the only one who could help?

What would his parents say?

What would Ruby say?

What would Nora say?

What would Ren say?

What would Pyrrha say?

He still had misgivings, of course, but this time he didn't let it stop him from saying: "When you put it that way, how can I say 'no', Arthur?"

There wasn't any hesitation when he gripped and shook Arthur's proffered hand, either.

Chapter Text

As the oversized lance stabbed towards his chest, Jaune barely had any time to think.

The only conscious thought that managed to pass through his mind, just as it reached him, was that its owner had gotten even faster.

Fortunately, he also had his subconscious reactions, reactions which had been drilled into him until they were muscle memory, and even as he wondered whether it had been as fast as Pyr or Ruby his body was already moving.

Before, he would have raised his shield, braced himself, channelled his Aura into his arms and shield as he simply did his best to weather the blow like an unbreakable rock.

That bad habit had been beaten out of him (literally) by his new mentor, who'd made it abundantly clear that such a tactic only worked if your opponent wasn't strong enough to just break through your defenses (which, loath as he was to admit, did lend some credence to the idea that Pyr had really been coddling him...).

And even if he could endure such a blow (such as in this case)... why waste the energy and allow his shield to be potentially damaged?

(And that wasn't even factoring the fact that magic was a thing in Camelot; taking an unnecessary hit was just taking an unnecessary risk that the weapon you were being attacked by wasn't some magical artifact that could just cut through anything, including his shield and the fleshy bits behind it.)

Thus, when the blow came, he was already gone, pivoting his body to the side even as he raised his sword in preparation to counter-attack.

Of course, his opponent was also familiar with his reactions, and quickly halted her movement with one smooth action, transferring all her momentum into her lance even as its side was suddenly swung towards him like a club.

This time, he intercepted it, channelling his Aura into his sword even as he in turn swung upwards, battering the lance away from him even while he stepped forward, getting within the guard of the diminutive knight.

(He'd made sure to use the flat of the blade this time; even if his Aura would've stopped the blade from losing its edge he still didn't want to risk damaging the lance, not after having spent so long helping work on it.)

If his opponent had been any slower, the fight might have ended there, with Jaune's shield being rammed into her face.

But she wasn't, and so Gareth dodged the blow with far more ease than Jaune had dodged hers even as she let go of Ira Lupus and reached for her own sheathed blade.

Just as the two began to exchange blows however, with Gareth using her superior agility to test his guard while he tried to defend , an annoyed voice cut in: "Alright, stop! That's enough, you two!"

The two of them immediately lowered their weapons and relaxed even as they turned to the source of the interruption, an armored figure burying its helmet in a gauntleted hand even as it fumed: "What. In the Lord's name. Was that supposed to be?!"

"Uh..." Jaune's eyebrow rose as he shared a confused look with Gareth.

Mordred huffed in exasperation as she looked them over, before feeling her face loosen slightly when she saw her squire's face. Taking down a deep breath, she forced down her initial reaction, and instead sternly addressed them: "You two. You're holding back against each other too much. The two of you don't need to try and kill each other, but it's better for you to accidentally injure each other here than be unprepared in a real battle."

"I guess that's true..." Jaune conceded the point as he rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

Before Gareth could respond, however, Mordred turned to her in particular, and continued: "And you, you've been focusing on your lance too much. When's the last time you practiced with your sword?"

"It has been a while since I've had the opportunity to work on my swordplay with Sir Lancelot, Sir Mordred" Gareth admitted with a strained smile. "And Jaune's preferred style of swordsmanship is different from mine."

Even as Mordred began lecturing Gareth on how sloppy her swordplay had gotten, Jaune couldn't help but chew on her words once she'd mentioned Sir Lancelot. He hadn't really thought much about it back when Gareth had mentioned that Lancelot had been giving her more free time and had been more distracted recently, but considering what Arthur had told him a week ago, he couldn't help but feel suspicious.

A sigh escaped from Jaune's lips as he continued pondering on things. Honestly, even after all this time, he still wasn't sure what to think regarding the whole thing.

Lancelot was a person he owed a lot to, having been the one to initially suggest bringing him to Camelot from Snowdonia in the first place, Gareth thought the world of her mentor, and even Sir Mordred had respect for him as an ideal knight.

But even if his suspicions weren't true, it still didn't change the fact that Lancelot had willingly had an affair with Arthur's wife.

Of course, on the other hand, he definitely didn't know all the details; as his mother always said, there was always at least two sides to every story, and he only knew Arthur's. Moreover, despite being the most affected, it was Arthur who was more than willing to try and give the pair the benefit of the doubt even after everything, to be understanding and forgiving of the two he considered among his closest friends.

Honestly, it was that, more than anything else, that rubbed Jaune the wrong way.

If Lancelot had only fallen in love with Guinevere, without doing anything else, Jaune might've been more sympathetic and understanding to the tragic forbidden romance.

But doing that, to someone like that?

Maybe he was just biased: growing up with seven older sisters had meant he'd been forced to listen to no small amount of failed romances and relationship drama, and he'd been especially soured on cheaters.

Jaune sighed again, as he wondered just what was up with his complicated, drama-filled afterlife. Before he could sink into his thoughts again, however, a warm metal hand grasped his shoulder, and he almost jumped as Mordred's boomed in his ear: "Are you listening to me, squire?!"

"Sorry, Sir Mordred," Jaune immediately apologized as he turned around, finding his mentor right next to him even as Gareth swung her sword by herself a fair distance away. "You were saying?"

"I was saying, that you weren't doing Gareth or yourself a favor by ignoring all the openings she showed," Mordred repeated with just a tinge of impatience. "I know you could've easily struck while Gareth was fumbling to draw her sword, you're more than strong and fast enough."

Jaune highly doubted that, but the confidence his mentor had in him was almost touching.

Then, to his surprise, instead of continuing his reprimanding, Sir Mordred instead looked away, a gauntleted finger scratching his chin as he continued: "Anyway... what's on your mind, Jaune? Something's clearly bothering you, and... well..."

Jaune was honestly touched this time by his friend's words, but as much as he appreciated his concern, an Arc never went back on his word, and so-

"Does it have to do with what Fa- what the King's been asking for your recent assistance in?" Mordred asked before he could say anything, unknowingly hitting the nail right on the head with her guess.

Jaune suppressed the urge to gulp nervously, but it was a close thing.

Honestly, he really didn't like keeping Arthur's situation a secret from his son; he knew just how devastated Mordred would be if he found out. But at the same time, he couldn't disagree with Arthur that Mordred finding out before the matter was resolved was not something that would end well; he knew his friend would immediately attempt to challenge Lancelot to a duel, if not just outright murder him.

And so Jaune chose to lie, laughing awkwardly and looking up at a particularly-interesting cloud even as he deflected: "Don't worry, Sir Mordred. It's just a small matter, alright?"

"... if you say so, Jaune," Mordred conceded, her trust in her best (and only) friend winning out over her doubts; he was always the one who asked her to tell him if something was wrong, and so surely he'd tell her if something was wrong too.

Jaune's relief was short-lived, however, as Mordred simply continued the conversation: "So, what are you helping the King with, anyway? He's been seeking you out for seven days in a row already!"

Behind his mentor, Gareth had slowed her practice drills as she focused more on their conversation, and Jaune could almost swear her ears were perked up in their direction like a canine's.

"Oh, nothing much," Jaune quickly deflected. "Arthur's been a bit curious about how the Kingdom I came from did things, you know?"

That wasn't even a complete lie; the two of them used such discussions as breaks, in between rehearsals for that confrontation.

"... did you just call the King by his name, without any honorifics?" Mordred asked in disbelief, wondering if she'd misheard him.

"Oh, uh..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment as he realized his mistake, and quickly explained: "Sorry, Sir Mordred. It's just that, when we talk in private, we tend to drop formalities to make it easier to discuss things, and, well... it just kind of slipped out..."

"I never knew the two of you were so close..." Mordred couldn't help but frown behind her helmet, though she didn't know why. After all, she knew Jaune didn't mean any disrespect, and if Father had given him permission to do so, it wasn't her place to say otherwise.

Jaune simply gave a non-committal hum in response, not wanting to let anything else slip by accident.

"I think you underestimate just how rare of a privilege being able to talk to the King informally is, Jaune," Gareth interjected as she walked up to them, practice drills all but forgotten. "To say nothing of the King himself personally requesting for a squire's assistance in front of everybody; based on what I've heard, the dining hall was in a complete frenzy when His Majesty singled you out that first time."

This time it was with Mordred that Jaune shared a confused look, and he curiously inquired: "Was there such a commotion after I left? I didn't notice anything."

"Neither did I," Mordred simply shrugged, having paid even less attention than normal to her surroundings in the wake of her father summoning her squire. However, to the surprise of them all (possibly including Mordred herself), she then agreed with Gareth: "But... I would not be surprised if that is what happened. There must certainly be something about your Kingdom, for the King to publicly call upon you like so..."

"That's right!" Gareth nodded eagerly, quickly deciding not to look a gift horse in the mouth.

Fortunately for Jaune, before the unlikely duo could press the interrogation together (and Jaune could let even more information slip), Agravain approached them, walking out of the castle even as he called out: "Squire Jaune! The King requests your presence once more!"

Jaune breathed a sigh of relief as he seized the chance to escape: "Oh, is it time already? Well, sorry guys, but the King's calling, so... see you tomorrow! Thanks for the help, Gareth, Sir Mordred!"

The pair simply stared at Jaune's retreating back as he walked away with Agravain, before Gareth awkwardly tried to fill in the silence: "So... what do you think the King wants from him?"

Mordred turned to her half-sister, unsure of how to respond now that Jaune wasn't around to serve as a buffer between her and Gareth. On the one hand, even though she had no interest in really interacting with her older sibling, she knew Jaune didn't want her to be so hostile to his friend, not when she was just trying to be friendly.

Also, she had to admit (only to herself and maybe Jaune, of course; she'd vehemently deny it to anybody else), she too was very curious as to what her friend and her father were discussing.

But on the other hand, she trusted her father, even if it had been diminished of late, and she trusted her friend. If it was important, she was sure they'd tell her.

Also, she really didn't want to talk to Gareth.

"I think that you still have a few more practice drills that you aren't doing," Mordred pointed out dismissively as she turned away from Gareth, who groaned in response but still raised her sword, taking Mordred's words at face value.

As Gareth began running through a simple series of slashes and parries, Mordred found herself begrudgingly acknowledging her sister's effort and obedience in the matter. Admittedly, though, having her swinging her sword against empty air wasn't particularly effective, but Mordred wasn't about to cross swords with Gareth; her elder sister wasn't nearly strong enough, and her skill with the blade had dulled as she'd focused more on Ira Lupus. Even if she held back and restrained herself (which would defeat the entire purpose of the exercise as she'd told Jaune), it was still more than likely that she'd accidentally injure Gareth, which would earn her lectures from Lancelot, to say nothing of what their brothers would do.

(She doubted Jaune would lecture her, but he'd still feel obligated to check in on and assist Gareth while she was recuperating, or so she was willing to wager.)

She wasn't interested in having to suffer through all of that, not for Gareth, not when Lancelot really should have taken care of it by now.

At least the task Mordred had assigned her, forcing her to wield her blade over the lance she and Jaune had worked with, would help her get used to the weight and grip of her sword again.

As for whether it'd be enough for her to not embarrass herself as a full-fledged Knight of the Round Table...

... well, considering she only had a few days left before she was to be formally knighted...

Mordred found herself wavering, before she reluctantly turned back to her elder sister and began overseeing her practice.

-ONE HOUR LATER-

"Guinevere, my wife, my closest friend and confidant in Camelot, I have always acknowledged the burdens you have been forced to bear for the Kingdom; the knowledge of what you have been forced to sacrifice has always inspired me, given me the strength to continue to sacrifice for the Kingdom in turn, for what I have given up has always paled next to you.

"And that is why, had you but told me of your growing feelings regarding Lancelot, I would have been supportive, understanding, willing to discuss an arrangement for the three of us! As things currently are, however..." Artoria took a deep breath to collect herself, before sadly finishing: "As things currently are, as much as I empathize with you, as much as I rejoice for your newfound love... this situation cannot continue. Even if you and Lancelot manage to successfully conceal it from others, it is clear that your own consciences weigh heavily. Please, for the sake of the Kingdom, our friendship, and your own happiness, let us sit down and talk things out like rational adults. What say you?"

The blonde across from her pondered her words thoughtfully for a moment, before replying: "Yeah, I guess that works? Doesn't sound too accusing or confrontational, especially when compared to yesterday, and I don't think she'd have a choice but to engage with you after that."

Artoria breathed a sigh of relief at Jaune's words, but even as her shoulders loosened he quickly added: "But I don't know how things are going to go from there, Arthur; I don't know the Queen, remember? I can't help you with the rest of the discussion."

"You've already done more than any could have expected, Jaune," Artoria reassured him even as she quickly scribbled down her words on a parchment with her quill. "The outcome will depend on Guinevere, Lancelot, and I; regardless of the results, however, you have my thanks."

"I was just doing what anyone else would have done," Jaune immediately retorted, though he relented before Arthur could lecture him once more: "But... you're welcome, I guess. And I hope it goes well. When do you think you'll confront the Queen?"

"I'll do it next week, after Gareth's been formally knighted," Artoria answered as she sat down, not exactly looking forward to the prospect. But this was the kind of thing needed to be nipped in the bud as soon as possible; in fact, there was only one thing stopping her from doing it sooner. "I'd do it sooner, but all of us could do with some festivities to lighten our spirits, not to mention how important this ceremony is to my niece, and how much Lancelot's presence means to her. I'd rather not have this discussion also weighing on his mind when he publicly bestows his squire with her rightly-deserved knighthood."

Jaune nodded in understanding and agreement, also knowing how much Gareth had worked to earn this honor, before a frown crossed his face as he remembered Gareth's earlier words, and his suspicions.

"By the way, I heard you were training with Mordred and Gareth before I called for you earlier," Artoria continued conversationally. "Once again, you have my apologies for interrupting your training session."

"No, no, it's fine," Jaune told Arthur placatingly.

"Anyway, how are my niece and Mor... my son doing?" Artoria inquired casually.

"Still not getting along, same as always," Jaune snorted, not even being surprised with the change in topic. After all, as he'd told Mordred, the King did often ask him about Vale, though he'd neglected to mention that it was merely one of many topics Arthur frequently discussed with him. Personally, he just thought that, like Pyrrha, Arthur was just enjoying the chance to have a casual conversation. "Well, I guess Sir Mordred was a bit more civil to Gareth than I'd expected, though. Gave him proper advice when he'd noticed something was wrong."

"Truly?" Artoria blinked as she processed his words, before smiling: "While I've never known what grudge Mordred bears against Gareth, it is heartening to hear that he's grown enough to put it aside when needed."

"For what it's worth, I don't think Sir Mordred really hates Gareth," Jaune carefully admitted, recalling what his mentor had once told. After all, he'd always acknowledged Gareth as his "perfect older sister", and honestly he even reminded him of a jealous younger sibling sometimes when he talked about Gareth (he spoke from personal experience there).

But that wasn't his place to say, not even to Arthur, and so he quickly changed the subject to something more pressing: "By the way, I think Sir Mordred and Gareth suspect something's up."

That got Artoria's attention, and she immediately sat up and asked: "Really?"

"They're not anywhere near the truth," Jaune quickly reassured Arthur. "They were just wondering why you've been calling upon me so frequently, that's all. Even Sir Agravain asked me a few questions about it while bringing me here."

"... I suppose their curiosity is a more than understandable reaction to our sessions," Artoria allowed, mentally noting that things must have been more severe than she'd anticipated, if even Agravain's stoicism had been forfeit. "And what did you tell them, Jaune?"

"Eh, I just told them you were curious about the Kingdom of Vale," Jaune shrugged. "It was the first thing I could think of, and, I mean, it's partially true, right?"

"It certainly is," Artoria agreed, allowing herself to relax a fraction again. "That should hopefully keep them occupied long enough for the situation to be resolved."

That got Jaune's attention. "You're planning on telling them? About this?"

"Mordred, at the very least, and perhaps Agravain," Artoria nodded, before explaining: "There have been far too many secrets kept between my child and I; I would rather not mark the beginning of our new relationship with yet one more... though, of course, such a discussion can only occur after I have come to an arrangement with Lancelot and Guinevere, lest he choose to seek out justice on his own."

"That's fair, though convincing Sir Mordred not to go after them anyway is definitely not going to be easy," Jaune remarked.

"It would indeed be a herculean endeavour," Artoria agreed, with perhaps a miniscule amount of amusement, before adding: "And that is why I was hoping I would have your help in doing so..."

Jaune could only groan, though naturally he still said: "Fine, of course I'll be there. And what about Agravain?"

"Do you truly believe they could keep this a secret from Agravain indefinitely?" Artoria asked rhetorically. "They may be safe for the foreseeable future, but any arrangement we come to will likely have them continuing to see each other. I'd rather Agravain be already informed and assisting us in covering it up, than finding out on his own and taking matters into his own hands, acting without knowledge of the full situation."

"That's... certainly true..." Jaune could only concede the point, unsure of what else to say.

Fortunately for him, before the silence became awkward, Artoria smiled softly and changed the subject: "Now that our matters for today have been mostly settled, perhaps it would be beneficial if we were to end the day on a lighter note?"

"You want to know even more about Vale?"

"I believe yesterday you were talking about how humans lived in coexistence with another race?" Artoria inquired curiously, leaning forward. "I believe that would be a good place to continue..."

Later that night, as Artoria returned to her private bedchambers (she made sure to knock before entering the room, of course, as well as making sure Carnwennan's magics were dispelled this time), her good mood vanished like smoke as she laid eyes on the room's other occupant.

Underneath the covers, Guinevere slept uneasily, releasing sobs and incoherent apologies occasionally even in her sleep, and as Artoria quietly approached her friend, her heart continued to break as she took in more details, such as her unkempt hair and the water-stained pillow her head rested on.

If anything, she'd been understating things, when she'd said that her friend's conscience weighed heavily, but even as her hand immediately began to move, to tuck a few loose strands of hair that rested on her face, she hesitated.

They'd already barely talked for the past few weeks; if Guinevere was accidentally woken up by her actions (more than possible considering how uneasy her slumber was), a small gesture intended to ease her rest, what would she say?

Brushing it off as a simple action would just make her feel more guilty over her perceived betrayal, if it even worked; Guinevere had known her long enough to know that she wasn't blind or oblivious.

But would she simply feign ignorance, just as they both had been? Or would she press the matter, suspicious of why Artoria wasn't pressing the matter despite her obvious sorrow?

Would that lead to the inevitable confrontation she'd been preparing for?

It wasn't the right time to talk to her yet.

She wasn't ready yet.

Her wavering hand slowly lowered back to her side as she forced herself to turn away from her wife, her friend, her confidant.

"Soon," Artoria promised with a whisper, as she began to walk away.

Soon, she'd talk to her.

Soon, she'd try to put and end to her torment.

-AT THE SAME TIME-

"It really is true..." Agravain breathed incredulously, slumping back against his chair even as his hands limply fell against the desk he'd been seated at.

When his mother had first approached him without warning the other day, he'd been immediately on guard, knowing full well what she'd intended for him and Mordred to do in Camelot initially.

And then she'd begun to talk, and he hadn't been able to believe his ears.

The tale she'd woven was wild, fantastical even, and he'd scarcely been able to even comprehend it, let alone begin to believe it.

After all, it was far, far, far more likely that it was just some lie, a part of some plot or scheme to usurp the throne and overthrow the Perfect King like always, and he'd only agreed to look into it because one didn't say "no" to Morgan le Fay (except for the King and Merlin, of course).

But he hadn't been able to forget her words, or the sheer conviction in her voice, and when he'd begun his investigations it had been with every means at his disposal (though he'd rationalized it back then as simply doing his duty to King Arthur and treating any and all threats seriously, no matter how unlikely).

And when he'd begun to browse through the archived reports, he hadn't been able to help but spot the glaring inconsistencies, things he'd overlooked previously suddenly seeming obvious in hindsight.

He would have kicked himself for being so blind, but the possibility would have been unthinkable without Morgan's warnings, and nobody else had noticed it anyway, for if they had surely they would have acted.

More importantly, there was no time for recriminations; he had to act swiftly, and remove the traitor at the heart of the Kingdom before more harm could be done.

"Soon," Agravain swore, crumpling the parchments in his hand as he balled his fists with determination, already making plans and contingencies for what needed to be done.

For his sisters.

For the Kingdom.

For his King.

Chapter Text

As the bracing morning breeze blew through the great hall, and hundreds of flags fluttered above them, Bedivere couldn't help but smile at the festive atmosphere all around him, finding it a welcome reprieve after the past few months.

It had been months since the last feast, and while Tristan may have been long gone from these halls (and he would never forgive him, despite what the King had said), the effects of his words still lingered on, like venom festering in a wound.

Three different kings and lords throughout the realm had raised their armies against Camelot, ostensibly refusing to allow their people to suffer any longer for a King who would inhumanly throw their lives away for his campaign, and while their rebellions had been swiftly put down by the Knights of the Round Table, the blow to the King's prestige and authority had already been dealt.

Moreover, those three hadn't been the only ones who'd listened to Tristan's poisonous words, just the ones who'd acted the most rashly and unsubtly, and it was the ones who quietly spread such seditious and treasonous thoughts amongst the people of Camelot that angered Bedivere the most; no matter how misguided, at least those three had had the decency to be open and direct in challenging the King, rather than skulking around dishonorably.

Did none of them remember the years of hardship before the King had drawn the Sword in the Stone? 

Did none of them realize that the King was not truly emotionless, but simply repressing his emotion so as to be fair and unbiased in his decision-making?

Did none of them believe in the character of the King who'd rebuilt the Kingdom and served his people faithfully and diligently ever since, but instead trust the words of a single knight?

Despite the anger welling up within him, however, Bedivere inhaled deeply, before forcefully unclenching his fist.

No matter what he may feel, this day was a day for joy and celebration, and he would not be the one to ruin it with his foul mood, lest he have to answer to them.

After all, while squires were knighted rather often in Camelot, it was certainly a lot less common for one to ascend to the ranks of the Round Table.

But Squire Gareth did truly deserve no less, for the feat of defeating numerous knights, lords, and kings in a jousting tournament (with a single lance no less!) and so protecting the honor of the Lady Lyonesse, for her prodigious skill with her magical lance (a skill that had surely only grown under the tutelage of Sir Lancelot), and most of all for her character, her friendly and cheerful disposition and her dedication to the spirit of chivalry like her eldest brother.

Bedivere could not recall who had been the first to say it (it was likely Sir Percival), but one thing all the Knights of the Round Table, himself included, could agree upon that Gareth would one day be greatest of them all.

Admittedly, however, such lavish pomp and ceremony probably had less to do with what Squire Gareth had achieved, and more to do with who Squire Gareth knew.

And speak of the devil...

"How are you finding the ceremony so far, Sir Bedivere?" a voice boomed loudly behind him, and Bedivere just barely managed to brace himself before a large hand smacked against his back, almost sending him tumbling over. 

"Sir Gawain," Bedivere politely returned the greeting with a smile as he turned around, knowing the young man meant no harm. Spotting another blonde man following Gawain, he added: "Sir Gaheris. I hope you're having luck keeping your brother restrained so far?"

"I doubt even Agravain or Mother would see any success attempting such a task, Sir Bedivere," Gaheris replied wryly.

"And why should we be restrained in our celebrations this day?" Gawain demanded rhetorically. "Today marks the day that all of us siblings, all of us who share King Arthur's blood, have been recognized as fully-fledged Knights, Knights of King Arthur's Round Table!"

Bedivere refrained from pointing out that Gareth had joined Camelot while disguised as a nameless kitchen boy specifically because she'd wanted to be recognized for her deeds and not for her bloodline; the young woman had truly earned her spot, and moreover Gawain simply treasured his family greatly.

Instead, he asked: "And speaking of your siblings... where is Sir Agravain? I haven't seen him all morning..."

"We stopped by his room before we arrived," Gaheris answered.

"Of course you did," Bedivere snorted, knowing Gawain would never have failed to check in on his other brother.

"But he insisted that he was presently occupied, and told us to simply go on first," Gaheris continued on.

"Of course he is," Bedivere sighed, knowing Agravain was, to put it mildly, addicted to finding more work for himself to do. "Any idea what he's busy with?"

Gaheris simply shrugged, a gesture echoed by Gawain as he explained: "He refused to elaborate, saying something about not being ready yet, but he told us to simply be ready for anything. Personally, I think he's just trying to deal with it before the ceremony, lest it ruin our sister's special day..."

"That does seem likely," Bedivere nodded in agreement.

He wasn't too concerned for the younger knight; Agravain was a superbly-skilled swordsman, and some of the many names the common knights called him included "Iron Agravain", and "Agravain Who Knows No Wounds".

"I almost pity any foolish enough to attempt anything on today of all days," Gaheris remarked, nudging Bedivere's side with his elbow while he jerked his chin towards his elder brother. "Gawain's been in a foul mood of late, and he'd certainly relish the chance to take it out on something deserving."

"Oh?" Bedivere raised an eyebrow.

"Gaheris is exaggerating as always," Gawain interjected with a roll of his eyes, though his next words didn't help his case: "Besides, it's only natural for an elder brother to worry about his baby sister, right, Bedivere?"

"... while it is certainly normal, I'm certain that Gareth can take care of herself, Gawain," Bedivere pointed out reassuringly, unsure of where this was going.

"He's referring to Mordred's new squire," Gaheris helpfully explained, before turning back to Gawain. "And I keep telling you, Jaune doesn't seem to be that bad. Gareth really seems to like him..."

"Gareth would befriend a Pict or a Saxon," Gawain retorted with a growl. "I don't like him; we don't know anything about him, where he's from, or what he's done! He doesn't even talk to any of us!"

Bedivere merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, already tired of the whole subject. That wasn't a slight against Mordred's squire (he honestly didn't know what to think about him, having only seen him a few times), but rather had more to do with the fact that everybody seemed to have a strong opinion about him, and was more than happy to share it with Bedivere, regardless of whether he was interested in listening or not.

Meanwhile, unaware of Bedivere's thoughts, Gaheris continued: "Mordred certainly seems to have changed for the better around him, Lancelot was willing to vouch for him too, and even the King seems to have been taken by him..."

"Hmmm..." Gawain relented just the slightest bit, though rather than admit that Gaheris might have had a point he instead changed the subject: "What do you think the King wants with him, anyway?"

"Who even knows?" Gaheris mused. "There's got to be a thousand rumors flying around the castle about him by now, from his place of origin to his supposed ability to heal with a touch; maybe the King's interest in him has to do with one of them?"

"Somehow, I doubt the King needs a healer, considering he still bears Avalon," Bedivere couldn't help but chime in.

"Well, I'd certainly trust your word on matters of the King's health over anyone else's," Gawain nodded, acknowledging Bedivere's service as his uncle's steward and care-taker. "By the way, how has the King been of late, Bedivere? I haven't had time to talk to him since returning from Listenoise."

"He has been... distant, as of late," Bedivere admitted reluctantly. "I do not know much more, but I fear that what Tristan said at the feast still bothers him."

There was an awkward pause after that, as Gawain and Gaheris shared looks, before Gawain finally spoke: "... well, the King told us to honor the memory of his good deeds, regardless of what he said at the end."

"Indeed," Bedivere agreed, while Gaheris nodded where he stood. "Though, were it so easy..."

Sensing (and rightly fearing) Bedivere's anger, Gaheris quickly changed the subject: "Anyway, so, Bedivere... do you think you could take the squire in a duel?"

"Wait, do you mean Gareth or Jaune?" Gawain inquired.

"It doesn't matter, I'm reasonably certain I'd lose to either one of them," Bedivere sighed, successfully distracted from the topic of Tristan. 

"Oh, don't be too modest, Bedivere," Gawain planted a massive hand on his back as he tried to cheer him up. "You're also a Knight of the Round Table!"

"I'm a Knight of the Round Table in name only at this point," Bedivere wryly replied. "Squire Gareth's skills and feats already far outshine mine, and Squire Jaune has the dubious honor of surviving Mordred's training."

And those were only the things that they could confirm without a shadow of doubt; something had happened last week, which had almost collapsed an entire wing of the fairy-built castle, and while none knew the details (or at least, none who were willing to talk), it was obvious that that "something" had likely involved Sir Mordred and Squire Jaune, considering the nature of the howls and the fact that the former hadn't been spotted for days after that, while the latter had only been seen the day after the incident, looking like he'd decided to fist-fight a Saxon while riding a rabid bear.

"Ah, don't worry, Bedivere, you've still got time to become a proper knight," Gaheris teased good-naturedly.

"If you'd like, you are always free to join me and Gaheris for a quick training session, Bedivere," Gawain offered sincerely.

"I doubt I'd survive, but I appreciate the thought," Bedivere rebuffed their efforts bluntly, knowing their characters well enough to know they'd take no offense at his words (nor did they mean any harm with theirs, such was their nature).

But he was also more than aware that of the limits of his abilities; he lacked even have the natural talent that most other knights around him possessed, let alone the blessings of the spirits or the sun. In the end, however, as long as he could serve the King in his own way, he would be satisfied.

Before Gawain or Gaheris could give any more training suggestions (which would be more akin to creative and painful ways to commit suicide if attempted by one like him), Bedivere quickly changed the subject: "By the way, I forgot to ask, but did you manage to find Sir Percival and Sir Bors in Listenoise? I haven't heard news of him for a long time.)

"Ah, I believe they were planning to search for the Fisher King and the Holy Grail again," Gawain seized the bait. "We didn't run into them, mind you, or we would have made sure they were present for Gareth's knighting, but last we heard they picked up an additional companion to aid them in their quest, a young page of exceptional justice and selflessness."

"Well, I hope he manages to ask the Fisher King the right question this time," Bedivere solemnly wished him luck, knowing that Percival's failure to heal the crippled man had weighed on his conscience for a while.

Before the three men could continue their discussion, however, a minor change in the room's mood caught their attention, and they turned to find two more figures entering the hall, a tall blonde and a horned suit of armor.

"... I can't say I was expecting Sir Mordred to attend the ceremony," Bedivere admitted, watching the crowd part for the duo as they casually walked towards the front, seemingly unknowing or uncaring of the crowd's reaction to them.

"Perhaps the rumors of Squire Jaune having an influence of Sir Mordred were true," Gaheris guessed, watching the two as they remained next at each other's side, talking amongst each other whilst being isolated amongst the sea of people.

"Perhaps..." Gawain conceded, before sniffing: "But I still don't trust him."

Fortunately, just as Gaheris and Bedivere shared commiserating looks and long-suffering sighs, a herald stepped into the room, and blew on a horn.

Immediately, the room fell silent, before falling to their knees as one as the King walked in, followed closely behind by Sir Lancelot, First of the Round Table and Knight of the Lake.

As the people rose, they took their places of honor at the front of the hall, before the herald walked into the room once more and blew on his horn once again.

This time, a diminutive blonde girl walked into the hall, clad in a simple white vestment and covered in a red robe, her gait steady and confident, though those who'd known her long enough might have been able to notice the little things that betrayed her unease, from the way her fists were balled more tightly than necessary to the way her gaze flickered away every now and then.

Regardless, though, nothing noteworthy happened, and Gareth reached her own spot in front of the King and her mentor, and promptly knelt.

Then King Arthur stepped forward, and his voice echoed throughout the chamber as he began: "Sir Lancelot."

"Yes, my liege," the knight in question stepped forward in response, and Bedivere couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as he got a good look at Lancelot's features.

While far from dishevelled, his hair was noticeably unkempt as compared to his usual impeccable grooming, and the bags under his eyes were far from usual, but what really caught his attention was the undercurrent of nervousness that laced his tone, as well as how his eyes seemed to be missing their usual spark even as they failed to remain meeting the King's gaze.

Certainly, that wasn't expected for someone who was presenting his squire to be knighted, and by the way he saw Gaheris shifting he doubted he was the only one who'd noticed it.

Was Lancelot unwell?

Was he having some personal issues? 

Bedivere hadn't really asked how he'd been doing recently, trusting that the best knight of the Round Table would have had his affairs in order, but perhaps he should have made more of an effort to check in on Lancelot's good health.

Regardless, any actions could only be taken in the future; the solemn ceremony was in the midst of proceeding, and none dared to disturb it.

"Having taken Squire Gareth under your care, Sir Lancelot, do you swear before God that you have done your duty as her mentor in preparing her for a life upholding the Code of Chivalry?"

"I do."

"And having borne witness to the preparations Squire Gareth has taken under your charge, Sir Lancelot, do you vouch that she is ready to ascend from squiredom, and join our ranks as one of the Knights of the Round Table?"

"I do."

"Squire Gareth," King Arthur turned his attention towards the kneeling girl.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Gareth kept her head bowed low.

"Do you once again renew your vows, on your name and honor, to hold fealty to the Rightful King of England, and to serve the realm of Camelot faithfully and loyally?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to develop your life for the greater good, and to place character above riches, and concern for others above personal wealth?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to cherish humility, to speak the truth at all times, and to forever keep your word?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to defend those who cannot defend themselves, and to uphold justice by being fair to all?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to never commit outrage or murder, to always to flee treason, and to give mercy to those who ask for mercy?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to never take up a battle in a wrongful quarrel, not for love, nor for any worldly goods?"

"I do."

"And do you swear to always be faithful in love and loyal in friendship, to be generous to the poor and to those who need help, to forgive when asked, and to live your life with courtesy and honor from this day on, forever more?"

"I do."

"Then, Squire Gareth, if you will raise your hands towards the altar," King Arthur gently asked, concluding the oath-taking segment of the investiture.

As Gareth complied, Lancelot approached her and knelt down, girding a sword around her thin waist.

At the same time, a sword was presented to King Arthur on a cushion, and as Lancelot stepped back, his task fulfilled, King Arthur lifted Clarent, the Sword of Peace, before placing the flat of the blade on Squire Gareth's shoulder, declaring: "Then, from this day forth, I, King Arthur Pendragon, dub thee Sir Gareth, Knight of the Round Table."

The room exploded with cheers as Sir Gareth got up, the smile on her face rivalling the midday sun shining through the stained glass window with its brightness, and even Mordred could be heard joining in, her metal gauntlets clanging off of each other, though of course none could rival the sheer volume of Gawain's applause.

Just as Artoria was about to invite Gawain up to join Lancelot in putting spurs on Gareth, however (a small favor to her nephew, knowing how much it would mean to him), so that they could prepare to parade the newly-knighted Sir Gareth throughout the rest of the city, the doors to the hall were thrown open once more, revealing an armored Agravain, flanked by a half-dozen fully-armored enforcement knights.

"Sir Agravain?" Artoria couldn't help but ask incredulously, as the applause immediately died, and all heads turned around towards the sudden commotion.

"Forgive the interruption, Your Majesty," Agravain quickly lowered his head before raising it back up unprompted. "I fear that the situation is direly urgent."

And before any could react, he turned towards a figure in the crowd, and proclaimed: "Jaune Arc! You stand accused of high treason against the King! Seize him!"

Chapter Text

If not for the metal footsteps of the enforcement knights as they followed Agravain's command, the room would have been so silent that you could hear a needle drop, before Jaune finally found his voice, pointing to himself in disbelief as he asked: "... me?"

Then the knights finished wading through the crowd to reach him, and he quickly protested: "Wait, hold on, there's got to be some sort of mistake-"

Before the first could grab him by the arm, however, Mordred stopped him, almost crushing the knight's wrist in her grip as she growled: "Keep your hands off of him."

"Stand down, Sir Mordred," Agravain barked, as the other five knights hesitated, knowing that even together their chances of prevailing against Sir Mordred were non-existent. "Lest you also be found suspect."

But the enforcement knights weren't the only occupants of the room, and Sir Gawain quickly stepped in, forcefully removing the poor knight from Mordred's grip as he warned: "I think you should obey Sir Agravain's instructions, Sir Mordred."

"And I think you should stay out of this, Gawain," Mordred snarled, as Gaheris came up behind him.

"Uh, Sir Mordred..." Jaune tried to calm his mentor down, looking around worriedly at all of the unarmed knights around them as some of them began to move, whilst a din growing around them as people began to recover from the shock.

Fortunately for him, however, one of those people was Artoria, whose voice silenced the entire room as she stepped forward, demanding: "What. Is the meaning of all this. Sir Agravain?"

"My King, Jaune Arc is too dangerous to continue freely roaming our halls," Agravain explained earnestly. "I have proof that he has been consorting with otherworldly forces and withholding vital information regarding his background, which when combined with his actions leads me to believe he conspires against you and the Kingdom, Your Majesty."

That got the crowd talking again, and Jaune felt like shrinking away at the multitudes of piercing stares he was receiving, but he forced himself to endure them as he tried to defend himself: "But... I didn't... why would I even-"

"Silence, Jaune Arc," Agravain interrupted him firmly.

Before he could continue, however, Artoria cut him off, barely keeping the anger from her voice as she chastised him: "And why, Sir Agravain, was this proof not brought before me in private? Why have you ignored the cornerstone of our laws from the time of the Empire, the presumption of innocence, and instead levelled charges publicly, and during a solemn knighting no less?"

"Apologies, Your Majesty, but I fear it is likely you have already been compromised," Agravain lowered his head. "Your private meetings with him are no secret, after all, and if he was as dangerous as I suspected I doubted in my ability to apprehend him alone."

Jaune couldn't hide the look of utter disbelief as he took in Agravain's words, and he imagined the confused look he gave Sir Mordred was echoed by his mentor.

Were... were they talking about him?

Consorting with otherworldly forces, conspiring against the King, and being too dangerous for Agravain to risk confronting by himself... Jaune found it hard to reconcile whoever that description applied to with... well... him!

"Do you doubt your King, Sir Agravain?" Artoria thundered, before someone else spoke up as well.

"Excuse me, my liege..." Sir Lancelot began with a cough, attracting the attention of all in the room.

As the room fell silent, however, he took a moment to look at the face of his hopeful squire, and then the clearly-terrified Jaune.

He had been the one to suggest bringing him to Camelot, after all, and seen the positive impact he'd had on Sir Mordred.

Months ago, this entire situation would have been utterly unthinkable.

But that had been before he'd known Guinevere, a lifetime ago.

Unlike the British, he held to the creed that he would take the hand of the woman he loves if she is in peril, even if it meant abandoning his oaths, his liege, and his own country.

Remembering the mysterious letter he'd received earlier that day, one that had threatened to expose Guinevere's infidelity with him should he not support Sir Agravain in whatever might happen this day, he stopped hesitating, choosing to put the well-being of the woman he loved ahead of his own chivalry: "I... support... Sir Agravain's actions."

"Sir Lancelot?!" Gareth couldn't help but ask, completely shocked by his words.

"These are... serious charges, that Sir Agravain has brought before all of us," Lancelot slowly said, keeping his eyes far, far away from his squire's, Jaune's or the King's, while Agravain nodded appreciatively at him. "Considering the... severity and urgency of the situation... and bearing in mind that he may have already bewitched yourself, my liege... and considering that as members of the Round Table we are all equal, all of us should hear Sir Agravain's evidence and come to a decision as soon as possible."

That was all he could do for the young man; as disgraceful as a public interrogation may be, at least the King's presence would serve to temper Agravain's harsh methods. This was far kinder than if he'd simply allowed Agravain to take Jaune away for private questioning (who while never malicious or sadistic could be cold and callous, sometimes to the point of cruelty, in the pursuit of discharging his duties), which would have been the inevitable result even without his intervention... or so he told himself.

Perhaps, if he repeated it enough times, he'd believe it, too.

Artoria was able to keep the disgust from her face as she heard Lancelot's words only through years of conditioning and experience, and even then it was a close thing.

But even as she saw the look of betrayal on Jaune's face, however, the logical part of her pointed out that no matter what he'd been doing with Guinevere, she could see no reason for him or Agravain to be biased regarding this situation; if anything, Lancelot should have had every reason to defend Jaune.

And if Lancelot, Agravain, and Gawain were in agreement on something... then shouldn't it be more likely that she was in the wrong than them?

Reluctantly, Artoria looked down, refusing to meet her friend's as she relented: "If that is so, then begin, quickly, Sir Agravain, though you will bear in mind that Jau- that the accused has every right to defend himself."

"You have my thanks, Your Majesty," Agravain bowed, before turning his attention to Jaune, who was still being guarded from the various knights by Mordred. "I had originally intended to allow you to maintain your dignity by coming quietly, Jaune Arc, but a public questioning is of no concern to me. But I will offer you one last chance; will you come along quietly, or will you subject yourself to the scrutiny of your peers?"

Mordred made the decision for him, refusing to budge as she confidently stated: "He's not going anywhere, and I'm sure he's got nothing to hide. Right, Jaune?"

"Uh..." Jaune genuinely didn't know how to answer that, considering at that very moment he was hiding the fact that his mentor, the very person who'd just spoken up for him, was the bastard child of the King, among many other things.

"Very well then, so be it," Agravain coldly accepted his decision, gesturing for the knights he'd brought with him to take a step back. "Then, I shall begin."

Jaune gulped.

To his surprise, however, Agravain simply asked: "Jaune Arc... how did you come to our lands?"

"Didn't I already tell you?" Jaune couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"Please, repeat your answer. How did you come to our lands?"

"I was fighting a dragon and a witch, and then I lost, and then I woke up here," Jaune gave the same answer as he had before.

"That does not answer the question," Agravain pointed out. "There were no reports of dragons and witches in the region of Snowdonia in the months leading up to your arrival, so I will ask you again - how is it that you came to wake up in our lands, Jaune Arc?"

"I..." Jaune paused uneasily, before finally deciding to settle on the truth: "I don't know. That was the last thing I could remember, before I woke up in that forest, I swear."

Instead of pressing the subject, however, Agravain simply nodded: "Very well then. Next question - where are you from, Jaune Arc?"

"The Kingdom of Vale?"

"And where is the Kingdom of Vale?"

"It's... far away?" Jaune tried, immediately not liking where this was going.

"How far?" Agravain pressed relentlessly. "How do you know it's far? Why have you discouraged any attempts by the rest of us from looking into your home, let alone helping you return to your home?"

"I-I mean, I just checked the library and your maps..." Jaune could feel the stares burning through his Aura. "And, I... just... there was nothing..."

"The absence of evidence is not necessarily evidence of absence," Agravain rebutted. "Moreover, you mentioned to Sir Lancelot and Sir Gareth that it would take at least a lifetime to reach. How do you know this specifically? How could we get to the Kingdom of Vale? And how did you come to our lands from your home, if it would take a lifetime to make the journey?"

"That..." Jaune's mind had been racing ever since Agravain had opened up this particular line of questioning, and now he was trying to remember when he'd mentioned such things. That had to have been, what, months ago?! And had he even been so specific? He knew he'd said it'd been far, but...

"Or is it that you have been concealing the whole truth all this time?"

"No, I really am from a Kingdom called Vale-"

"Of that, I do not doubt," Agravain cut him off. "What I was referring to was the fact that the Kingdom of Vale, and by extension you, are of another world entirely."

The room fell silent once more, and this time even Mordred looked back at her squire, though whether out of concern, surprise, or confidence in his ability to defend himself perhaps not even she could say for certain.

Whatever the case, she definitely wasn't expecting a pale-faced Jaune to quietly whisper: "... h-how did you...?"

"I wasn't certain about the Kingdom of Vale, not even after I checked all the records you had accessed and found nothing definitive," Agravain admitted tonelessly, as the room exploded with chatter at Jaune's admission. "But of your nature, at the very least, I was certain; Morgan made it clear that your soul magecraft, your Aura, was utterly unnatural."

Sir Mordred was saying something now as well, but Jaune couldn't hear it, focused as he was on trying to defend himself: "Okay, yes, I... I am from another world, but I wasn't trying to hide it or anything! I just... I didn't even realize it for the first few days I was here!"

"And why did you not mention anything once you had come to a realization?"

"How was I even supposed to explain that I was from another world?" Jaune shook his head helplessly.

Agravain looked him over with a critical eye, before summarizing: "Regardless, am I correct to state that you are indeed of another world, brought here through means unknown, and have been if not lying about your origins then deliberately obfuscating the truth and misleading us?"

"It wasn't deliberate..." Jaune weakly protested, well aware of just how hollow it sounded. But he couldn't let that Agravain's statement go unchallenged; even if everything he'd said was technically correct, the way Agravain was framing things was designed to portray him in as negative of a light as was possible.

"Even with all of that established, Sir Agravain," Artoria interjected, her gaze flickering between the two of them, "none of those things are against the laws of our lands, let alone warranting a charge of high treason; no small number of our knights have suspect backgrounds, after all, and if having connections to another world were a crime than I myself would have to be jailed, to say nothing of the Court Wizard or your own mother. I still fail to see what Jaune has done to deserve any of this, Sir Agravain."

"I have yet to be finished, Your Majesty," Agravain patiently reassured the King, before turning his attention back to Jaune and continuing: "I believe you said you spent almost three days in that forest in Snowdonia before stumbling across Sir Mordred, Jaune Arc. How did you survive?"

"..." Jaune carefully considered his answer this time, though try as he might he couldn't figure out what Agravain was getting at with this question. Finally, he asked for clarification: "What, do you mean, what did I eat, or...?"

"No," Agravain shook his head. "I repeat, you spent three days, lost and alone, in the Addanc's territory. Once again, how did you survive?"

"I... guess I just got lucky? I never even saw any sign of the Addanc, let alone the monster itself, until I saw Sir Mordred battling it."

"You set traps at the shores of its lake, and even speared fish and drank from its waters; I do not believe mere luck can explain your survival," Agravain pointed out, before theorizing: "Rather, it is far more likely that the water demon noticed you, and decided that your death was not in its best interest."

Jaune blinked, needing a few moments to process the accusation, and his tone was utterly incredulous as he asked: "... why would you think the Addanc wanted me alive?"

"Are you suggesting Jaune was working with the Addanc?!" Mordred demanded, her ability to contain herself all but gone, and the knights around her flinched nervously as she furiously reminded Agravain: "You do remember that it was Jaune who helped me slay it, right, Agravain?!"

"Perhaps that, too, was by its wishes," Agravain mused cryptically, before conceding: "Regardless, that is not necessarily what I was insinuating. Rather, this ties into what else Morgan told me.

"Jaune Arc, not only is the world you hail from so utterly distant from ours that Morgan, with all her power and connections in the Reverse Side of the World, could find no information regarding it whatsoever, but during her brief encounter with you Morgan observed something else, an otherworldly influence on your soul made noticeable due to your usage of it as armor."

"Wait, what?!" Jaune had no idea what to make of this new information. How was he supposed to react to being told that there was something on his soul?!

"If I may be so bold," Agravain ignored him. "I would like to posit Jaune Arc did indeed fall during his battle, in his world, but something used his death to instead bring him to our lands, something that marked him so that its fellow demons and monsters would leave him be, something that intended for Jaune Arc to be brought to Camelot, armed with a sympathetic story and a noble dream that would endear him to any among us, the perfect infiltrator.

"After all, let us look at the actions you have undertaken upon arriving here; you have successfully befriended multiple Knights of the Round Table within months, you have begun making a name for yourself especially through the seemingly-miraculous use of your unnatural magecraft, and now you would even have us believe that the King requests your presence privately on a daily basis merely because he is curious about another Kingdom, or that he requires the services of a mere squire?"

"Well, n-no, I mean, but..." Jaune stuttered, words utterly failing him as he tried to figure out how to convey that everything he'd done had actually had a logical, reasonable, non-sinister explanation; he'd agreed to join the Knights of Camelot because he'd had no idea what to do once he'd realized he wasn't on Remnant, he'd only been able to befriend multiple Knights of the Round Table because, well, strangers were just friends you hadn't met yet (right?), he'd used his Aura to heal people because it could heal people and he couldn't just turn a blind eye to the suffering to others if he knew he could help, and as for the King... well...

"Unless you would care to enlighten us on just what was so vitally important that required the King to personally seek you out," Agravain challenged, "or what had happened last week that had caused Sir Mordred to utterly lose control and almost destroy a section of the castle before you somehow managed to calm him down?"

Jaune could only look around helplessly, unable to say anything at all. After all, what could he say?

That the former had been because Arthur had wanted his help dealing with the fact that the Queen was having an affair with Lancelot, and the latter because Sir Mordred had found out about his parentage from his mother?

Even if anybody would believe such fantastical tales, he'd promised not to ever reveal it, and an Arc never went back on his word.

With a final short glance at Arthur and his mentor, Jaune looked down, and admitted through gritted teeth: "... I can't."

"Very well then," Agravain simply nodded, before turning back to the King and concluding: "And there you have it, Your Majesty. Consorting with otherworldly forces, knowingly or unknowingly, and obfuscating the truth, which in light of the otherworldly taint on his soul makes his actions in Camelot extremely suspect. Regardless of whether it was all intentional or if he was but an unwitting pawn, in my humble opinion Jaune's continued presence here presents a clear and unacceptable danger to both your person and to the Kingdom, even if we know not the ultimate goal behind it."

Artoria simply looked down at Agravain and Jaune impassively, ignoring the uproar of the crowd around them as internally her mind raced.

Logically speaking, it was certainly concerning that Jaune hadn't clarified his origins, and if what Agravain had theorized was true then his actions required investigating.

Emotionally speaking, however, she could not help but feel anger towards Agravain for turning Jaune's honor against him, using her request for the young squire's aid as a point of suspicion, and under her cloak her knuckles had long ago turned white from how hard she'd been gripping her throne. The only reason she hadn't chastised him for prying so deeply into her privacy was that she knew Agravain didn't know the full circumstances and was only trying to protect her, that such magecrafts to enchant one did indeed exist, and that her rebuke of him without being herself able to explain what she had required his services for would only serve to make Jaune look even more suspect, that the King would come to his defense over his own nephew and long-serving secretary while refusing to elaborate any further.

But what could she do? Publicly admit that she had sired a bastard child with her half-sister, initially rejected said child as her own, and had to thus turn to said child's squire for advice? Or perhaps admit that her wife was having an affair with one of her knights, and thus condemn Guinevere and Lancelot and risk fracturing the realm?

"..." Artoria took a deep breath, both to steady herself and to stall for time while she tried to think of her next course of action, and after yet another review of Agravain's statements she seized on something: "... Sir Agravain, thus far you have only been able to posit as to the nature of this otherworldly influence. Would I be correct in saying that you have been unable to definitively identify it?"

"That would be correct, my liege," Agravain nodded. "But considering all the available evidence, it is more than likely something foul and demonic."

"But considering his otherworldly nature and the... uniqueness of his soul magecraft, is it not possible that such an influence might simply be inherent to any from his world, where such abilities are more commonplace?" Artoria offered.

"That... is certainly a possibility, Your Majesty..." Agravain reluctantly conceded, though even as Jaune's eyes widened, a spark of hope returning to them for the first time since this had all begun, Agravain protested: "But the risks...!"

"Your concerns are certainly valid, Sir Agravain," Artoria conceded, before continuing on: "But all of it hinges on said influence being something malicious in nature, something which thus far cannot be proven beyond a doubt. Sir Bedivere!"

"Yes, Your Majesty?" Bedivere stepped forward, not having expected to be called out so suddenly.

"Find and bring back the Court Wizard, Merlin," Artoria commanded. "He shall examine Squire Jaune's Aura and come to a verdict."

"What about my mother, Your Majesty?" Gawain suggested, stepping forward even as Bedivere rushed from the room. "If she was the one to initially find out about it, perhaps she too would be able to identify its true nature with further investigation?"

Artoria turned to her eldest nephew, marvelling at how her scheming elder half-sister had produced such a naive child, that he could make such a suggestion so earnestly. Hadn't he been there when her trickery had caused Caliburn to be broken by King Pellinore? Regardless, whether or not he was blind as to the true scope of Morgan's ambitions, considering everything she'd done (the most recent of which that she'd discovered now being somehow procuring her seed without her knowledge and using it to create a bastard child who aged at more than twice what was normal for human, which she'd then subjected to a training regime best described as "nigh-impossible" before sending the result to Camelot in secret) Artoria wasn't inclined to leave this to her, and so she gently rejected Gawain: "Perhaps, but Merlin's return to Camelot is long-overdue anyway, and I'm sure your mother has much to do, both in her position as Queen of the Fairies and of Orkney."

"Are you sure? I can always ask..."

"That will not be necessary, Sir Gawain," Artoria replied, before turning back to Agravain and Jaune, and delivering her verdict: "In any case, while I will chastise Squire Jaune for not being entirely truthful regarding his origins, the charge of high treason will be put on hold, pending Merlin's investigations. Until then, while he is not to go anywhere unattended by Sir Mordred or another knight, he shall still be considered innocent, unless his guilt can be conclusively proven."

As the commotion in the room rose following her judgement, she continued: "If there is nothing more, then all shall vacate the room, save for Sir Mordred and Squire Jaune."

Chapter Text

Even as the hall's occupants began to slowly vacate the room in small groups, the clamoring all around him never seemed to cease, nor did the gazes on him ever seem to relent.

The worst ones were the ones from the people he'd personally known; Agravain's accusing glare, Gareth's uncertain gaze, Arthur's emotionless eyes... even the way Lancelot glanced at him guiltily, never quite able to meet his eyes before he too shuffled out of the great hall...

Jaune wasn't sure if he'd ever wished for the ground to open up and swallow him whole nearly as much as he did in that moment (maybe just after he'd snapped at Pyr for her offer to help and then found out that Cardin had overheard him admitting that he'd falsified his transcripts), but unfortunately all he could do was remain where he stood, enduring the looks and the whispers directed at him with what little stoicism he could muster while fighting down the overwhelming terror and absolute confusion growing within him as he tried to process the whole situation.

Seriously, what in Oum's name had just happened?!

The day had been going so well, too; he'd managed to convince Sir Mordred to accompany him for Gareth's knighting ceremony (it'd been surprisingly easy, to be honest; his mentor had agreed to go with him (with much grumbling and griping, of course) as soon as he'd mentioned that he was going), nobody had shown up drunk (or at least, too drunk), everyone had remembered their vows, and Lancelot had even managed to keep his calm while right in front of the guy whose wife he'd been having an affair with.

... and then Agravain had barged in...

...

Jaune forcibly ignored the continued commotion surrounding him as he instead focused on trying to review Agravain's words.

Unfortunately, even with the supposed benefit of hindsight (and especially of not being caught off guard and subjected to a public interrogation all of a sudden), Jaune found himself no closer to figuring out what exactly had just happened, let alone how he could have handled that situation better.

Fortunately, before Jaune could give himself a migraine trying to figure out how in the name of the Lord that Camelot worshipped Agravain had apparently decided that he was some sort of extradimensional super spy sent to fraternize with Arthur (okay, the extradimensional part was accurate, and to be fair he probably could have been more open about that...), the last members of the crowd finally made their way out of the hall, followed closely behind by a growling Mordred as she escorted them to the doors.

Once they'd crossed the threshold of the room, Mordred quickly proceeded to close the thick doors and bar it for extra measure, only taking pause to give the few brave souls who'd elected to wait around the entrance scathing glares (the intensity of her gaze being palpable even despite her eyes being hidden behind her helmet along with the rest of her face, such was the strength of her emotions) until they'd left, before she finally allowed herself to furiously plead: "Father! There has to be some misunderstanding!"

"Mordred..." Artoria tiredly called out.

"Agravain must be mistaken, I'm sure of it!" Mordred continued rambling on, stepping between Arthur and her squire as she approached the former.

"Mordred..." Artoria tried again, louder this time.

"There is just no way that Jaune would ever betray you or the Kingdom!" Mordred insisted relentlessly. "I am fully willing to testify before the Lord against Agravain if I must-"

"Calm yourself, Mordred; I will not ask again," Artoria firmly instructed Mordred, and though her voice barely rose above conversational levels it still seemed to echo throughout the hall.

Between that and Jaune grabbing his mentor's shoulder to get her attention, Mordred finally and belatedly realized that her father had spoken, and immediately complied, though she never moved from where she stood defensively over Jaune.

"Thank you for collecting yourself, Mordred," Artoria nodded with weary gratitude to her child, before continuing: "Now, if you will permit me to inquire - were you ever, at any point up until a few hours ago, aware that your squire was from another world?"

"I-"

"I never told Sir Mordred, or anybody else, about it," Jaune quickly interjected through gritted teeth before Mordred could even begin to answer. Ultimately, regardless of his reasons, regardless of how Agravain had chosen to frame things, and regardless of what Arthur chose to believe, nothing changed the fact that he had made the decision to keep quiet on Remnant being another world entirely; no matter what happened, he would not allow his mentor and friend to take any further risks for his actions.

"I see," Artoria simply nodded, directing her critical gaze towards him in turn. "And I trust you know why that is a problem?"

"I know, I know, it's just... I didn't even know how to say it, alright?," Jaune repeated desperately, his hands gesticulating wildly in frustration. "How would I even begin to explain something like that; sorry for the late update, but I just realized I'm actually from another world, you don't have to help me look for a way home anymore?"

"It would have at least been better than nothing," Artoria pointed out matter-of-factly.

Jaune's shoulders slumped as he hung his head defeatedly and clenched his fists, preparing himself for the worst, and even Sir Mordred visibly tensed up under all his armor.

"If you had at least told any of us of your true origins beforehand," Artoria continued to rebuke him, "we would have been able to vouch for you when Sir Agravain accused you of deliberately concealing it. As things now stand, however, your apparent attempts to conceal the truth made you seem far more suspect than you would have otherwise been, and greatly complicated any attempts at defending your name."

Jaune blinked as he looked up, wondering if he'd misheard Arthur's words.

"Regardless, what's done is done," Artoria concluded wearily, leaning back into her throne. "I pray you learn well from this incident, and I beseech that you comply with the terms set out for you earlier, lest my hand be further forced, until such time that Merlin can come to deliver his verdict. Furthermore, should you have anything else that you have thus far failed to disclose, now would be an appropriate time to inform me."

"I'm not hiding anything else," Jaune immediately defended himself, before shaking his head. "No, wait, I mean... is that all?"

"Were you expecting more?" Artoria raised an eyebrow as she leaned forward, looking down at him.

"Uh, well..." Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, before finally admitting: "Yeah, I kind of was."

"What are you doing, Jaune?" Mordred hissed at him as she turned towards him, appalled by his apparent lack of gratitude towards the King's grace.

"I mean, Your Majesty-" Jaune ignored his mentor.

"Dispense with the formalities, Jaune," Artoria waved her hand dismissively. "The day has been long and trying enough for us both, I'm sure."

"Then, Arthur..." Jaune nodded, though he couldn't help but glance at his mentor's figure as he did so. Never before had he been asked to speak casually with Arthur while other people were present, but either Sir Mordred got a pass for being the King's son, or Arthur was really just too tired to care. "What about all that stuff about me being some sort of alien spy, or an otherworldly pawn, or something?"

"Considering that I was the one who pronounced your presumed innocence, and even provided counter-arguments in your defense against Sir Agravain's accusations, did you think I believed you suspect of those charges?" Artoria pointed out bemusedly.

"Well..." Jaune had honestly thought Arthur had only given him such a verdict because Agravain's failure to conclusively prove his guilt had meant that, under Camelot's own laws and standards, he would have to be presumed innocent, but when Arthur laid it out like that he honestly felt kind of dumb (admittedly that wasn't an unfamiliar feeling to him).

Of course, that didn't explain why Arthur seemed convinced of his innocence, but before he could voice his questions Arthur simply continued on: "Do not get me wrong, I would certainly like Merlin to take a look at you, just to be safe, but if I believed there was any risk that you had somehow compromised my free will, then I most certainly would not have allowed for you to be escorted by Mordred, who you have spent even more time with alone, and who would have been even more compromised than I.

"But you have had ample opportunity to cause harm to the Kingdom, especially with the happenings of the past two weeks, and yet you have made no attempt to lead me astray. In light of that, I believe you can understand why I am inclined towards lenience for you and skepticism towards Sir Agravain's claims."

"I see..." Jaune could only nod, too stunned for any other words. After Lancelot had sided with Agravain against him, and after Arthur had allowed it, he'd genuinely believed that the only person in Camelot that was on his side was Sir Mordred. Evidently, however, he'd been wrong.

Then he suddenly felt himself being crushed by strong metallic arms as Sir Mordred embraced him without warning, apparently overcome with relief as he cheered: "Hear that, Jaune! Even Father knows you're innocent!"

"Presumedly innocent, Mordred," Artoria emphasized, though a part of her couldn't help but smile (internally, of course) at the absolute joy her only child was radiating as she swung her friend around (of course, Mordred's feelings hadn't been a factor in her final decision; it had been made on the basis of logic as always). Then she shoved those feelings down, banishing them away as she did with her other emotions, and gently reminded the pair: "And I pray you do not bear a grudge against Sir Agravain for this matter; his cautious nature stems from his upbringing under my half-sister, and it has admittedly served the Kingdom well many times."

Mordred's good cheer evaporated immediately at the mention of both her brother and her mother, and she merely replied to her father with a click of her tongue.

Jaune didn't do much better either, having genuinely respected Agravain before the events of that day, and it was with no small amount of reluctance that he finally conceded: "... I'll try."

"I thank you for your understanding," Artoria accepted his answer, knowing that hoping for more, especially with the event so recent, was utterly unrealistic. "If there is nothing else, the two of you are free to leave, though I shall remind you once more to follow my instructions, and endeavor not to give Sir Agravain further cause for suspicion."

"Got it," Jaune gulped.

"Of course, Father," Mordred reassured Artoria, before grabbing Jaune's arm as she offered: "Then, shall I bring you to your room now, Jaune?"

"Sure, thanks," Jaune smiled at his mentor before the pair set off.

As they departed from the room Artoria could just barely make out her child beginning to pester Jaune for more information about his original world, but decided to pay it little heed, instead allowing herself to relax once the doors had been closed behind them, and contemplating the events of that day and its consequences in the immediate future.

Agravain would surely soon realize the problems with allowing Mordred to guard Jaune if he hadn't already spotted it (which was why she'd immediately ordered everyone to clear the hall after pronouncing her judgement - she hadn't wanted to give him time to voice additional concerns), but she doubted her child would allow any other save herself to escort Jaune... which also likely meant that she would have to endure Agravain constantly seeking her out, petitioning for her intervention in assigning a new escort for Jaune.

Gareth would also surely be in a poor mood, considering the outcome of her knighting and that Jaune was a close friend of her niece, and if Gareth was unhappy that typically made others unhappy (not that Gareth would intentionally make others unhappy, of course, but she greatly underestimated the influence she had over others with her seemingly-endless optimism and cheerful demeanor).

And she still hadn't resolved the matter of Guinevere's and Lancelot's affair...

She'd been planning on confronting them either that night or sometime the next day, but considering Lancelot's actions that day she felt that such a discussion would have to be postponed for the foreseeable future, both on grounds that there were more pressing matters to attend to, and that she doubted in her ability to be objective or non-confrontational towards Lancelot after he had essentially caused the public interrogation of Jaune, the one person in Camelot she'd trusted to aid her in discussing their affair.

"You had best return post-haste, Merlin," Artoria grumbled under her breath as she slumped into the backrest of her throne, already dreading how the next few days would go.

Chapter Text

It had been two weeks since Agravain had publicly dropped his bombshell of a revelation regarding Jaune's origins and suspected purpose for entering Camelot, and in that time the commotion around the castle hadn't died down even the slightest bit.

Or at least, that was true, as far as Jaune could tell.

Admittedly, though, that wasn't saying much; he'd hardly left his quarters since Agravain had accused him of plotting to cause harm to Camelot (and utterly ruined Gareth's knighting ceremony, but that was neither here nor there), having no interest in wanting to trouble his mentor and friend and further than necessary, and even less in dealing with the stares and whispers that were sure to follow him around if he was spotted.

Of course, while he was doing his best at staying out of trouble, there was nothing stopping trouble from finding him.

Nobody had tried to take matters into their own hands, fortunately (the King's verdict had been absolute), but Agravain had dropped by three times since he'd holed himself in his room, and it had only been because of Sir Mordred's loyalty to Arthur and his commands, as well as his stubbornness (and no small amount of violent threats), that Agravain had backed down each time, with him having given up on convincing his secret brother on the last time and having instead promised to bring it up to the King personally.

Considering that the third and last time (so far) had been about ten days ago, Jaune couldn't help but feel both extremely grateful to Arthur, as well as extremely guilty.

Hopefully Arthur had still managed to find the time to talk to Guinevere and Lancelot as he'd planned, even with all the additional problems that had been piled onto his plate...

A sigh escaped Jaune's lips as the thought of Lancelot reminded him of how the man had essentially sided with Agravain against him, back during the ceremony. Even now, he still couldn't understand why the senior knight had done so, and even with what he knew of Lancelot's private affairs he personally didn't think that Lancelot would have sided with Agravain unless he'd genuinely thought the situation was really that serious.

(Sir Mordred, of course, disagreed, and had been more than happy to come up with more and more insulting reasons as to why he'd done so, which made Jaune extremely thankful for the fact that he wasn't aware of the fact that Lancelot was sleeping with his father's wife; he was already furious enough on Jaune's behalf over the perceived betrayal, and Jaune didn't want to imagine what he'd do to Lancelot if he found out about that...)

What he did know, of course, was that it had made his friendship with Gareth extremely awkward, and in the past two weeks she'd dropped by in a grand total of only two times, the first time to ask for clarification on what in her Lord's name had just happened and how much of what Agravain had accused him of was true (Sir Mordred had not been pleased about that) and the second to say that she would trust him and the King's judgement for the time being, as well as to wish him luck when Merlin came to give his verdict.

He didn't blame her; it wasn't exactly a secret that they were friends, and he'd been first brought to Camelot by her mentor, and her brother had tried to arrest him, with the eventual backing of her other brothers and said mentor, based on the testimony of her mother.

Of course, things could be much, much, much worse; even discounting the fact that he'd been officially presumed innocent and still technically had his freedom, he'd really underestimated how much of a favor Arthur had done him by assigning Sir Mordred to be his guard. Besides keeping him safe, his friend had been just as attentive of an escort as he had a mentor, bringing him meals, ensuring he kept up with his training as a prospective knight (though for obvious reasons the intensity had been scaled down), as well as bombarding him with questions about his world (he especially seemed to love hearing about the stories Jaune had grown up hearing, and Jaune in turn had been more than happy to regale him with the tales of his great-great-grandfather during the Great War and his great-grandfather's exploits as a Huntsman; it was also a lot easier to explain concepts like Dust and motorized vehicles and powered flight now that he could just handwave it all as just "things from another world"), and in general just keeping him distracted from thinking too much about the whole situation.

And speaking of Sir Mordred...

The familiar sound of heavy footfalls caught his attention, and he turned his head away from the peaceful morning sky he'd been watching.

Sure, there was always the chance that the owner of the footsteps heading his way wasn't his friend, but between his newfound reputation and the way the noises coming from the corridor indicated that only a single person was approaching, as well as taking into account the time of day, Jaune felt reasonably confident in his assessment that it was Sir Mordred who was coming to perform the same duty that morning that he had for the past two weeks.

(Initially, Sir Mordred had offered to remain with him at all times, even staying overnight as well, but while he didn't have any issue bunking with his mentor (they'd shared a tent while travelling through the countryside for a month, after all) he'd firmly rejected the idea on grounds that he refused to cause his friend any more trouble than he already had.)

Then the door was flung open, revealing a fully-armored figure standing at its threshold.

Jaune simply waved at his friend as he greeted him: "Morning, Sir Mordred."

"Good morning, Jaune," Mordred hurriedly returned the greeting before immediately cutting to the chase, wasting no time on pleasantries: "Come on, let's get moving!"

"Did something happen, Mordred?" Jaune cautiously asked as he jumped up from his seat. Considering his mentor didn't sound concerned at all, he probably wasn't in big trouble, but at the same time he couldn't think of much else that would warrant such a response from Sir Mordred, at least not without getting his hopes up.

"One of the guards just spotted Bedivere returning!" Mordred informed him, barely taking any pauses between individual words in her haste.

Jaune's eyes widened at Mordred's statement, before he found his arm being gripped tightly as his friend excitedly continued: "We've got to go see Father and clear your name, quickly!"

He couldn't help it, couldn't help but smile as a palpable sense of relief washed over him (though that may have just been the wind brushing past him as his friend began pulling him along).

As comfortable as Arthur and Sir Mordred had tried to make the whole situation, it couldn't change the fact that Jaune was, to put it bluntly, sick and tired of it all. He may not have minded the company, but he was sick and tired of being stuck in his room, sick and tired of being unable to do anything, and most of all he was sick and tired of feeling like the burden he undoubtedly was on the two men.

He'd run away from home to be a hero, to help people, but until the situation was resolved his friends would face issues just because of their association with him.

Fortunately, all that would change today.

Then he and Mordred turned a corner, and his good cheer evaporated as they ran into a group of knights walking down the hall.

Unlike previously, Jaune was now acutely aware of their suspicious gazes and hushed whispers, and even as they parted to the sides, allowing Mordred to continue dragging him along, Jaune had absolutely no illusions about what they were talking about as he passed by them.

His suspicions had been right.

The commotion hadn't died down one bit.

Jaune grit his teeth and did his best to ignore it all as he carried on, instead focusing on following in his mentor's footsteps.

After several minutes of making their way through the castle (which had never felt so large to Jaune as in that morning), however, they suddenly heard Gawain's booming voice as it thundered from around a corner: "... is not up for negotiation, Gareth."

"And for the last time, Gawain, I am of age, and a full Knight of the Round Table in my own right as well!" Gareth's voice snapped back from the same direction, as the pair turned the corner to find a trio of blonde siblings absorbed in a heated discussion even as they approached from the other end. "You can hardly forbid me from speaking to my friend."

"Gareth, I think you should heed our eldest brother's words on this matter," Gaheris advised, doing his best to mediate as he stood between the two. "You know he only means well-"

"Yes, but that does not mean he's right," Gareth retorted.

"Do you believe Mother and Agravain would have acted had they not been sure?" Gawain questioned rhetorically. "Even Lancelot sided wit-"

"I am well aware," Gareth cut him off sharply, though Jaune could also hear the tiredness in his friend's voice. "But the King has also pronounced that he be considered innocent."

"Presumed innocent, pending Merlin's investigation, and-" Gawain emphasized, even as Gaheris let loose a long-suffering sigh of exasperation, before the trio finally noticed the presence of Mordred and Jaune and halted. "... Sir Mordred. Jaune."

"Gawain," Mordred growled, while Jaune did his best to hide his discomfort as he nodded towards the three of them, a gesture only returned by Gareth.

An uncomfortable silence followed, as Mordred attempted to glare a hole into Gawain, before Gawain finally spoke: "Please permit us to excuse ourselves, Sir Mordred; I have a journey to prepare for. Gaheris, Gareth, let us depart."

Mordred remained silent even as she simply took a step to the side, her eyes continuing to bore a hole into Gawain as he walked past, followed by Gaheris, who stiffly nodded at the pair, and Gareth, who gave Jaune an apologetic look before she too left.

"Tch," Mordred clicked her tongue in irritation once the trio was gone. "Stupid Gawain..."

Jaune didn't say anything; he wasn't so thick that he couldn't tell the siblings had been arguing about Gareth's friendship with him.

Mordred noticed his silence, and squeezed his hand clumsily to get his attention as she quickly suggested: "Come on, squire. Let's just go see Father."

Jaune forced a smile as he quietly nodded his assent, and the rest of their journey was fortunately uneventful as they continued on, until they eventually made their way to the throne room where the King held court, and after a few moments were allowed to enter.

Jaune hadn't seen Arthur since Gareth's knighting ceremony, but as he and Mordred approached the throne and knelt before its occupant (and the rest of the room was cleared to give them privacy) he couldn't help but feel like Arthur looked more worn out now than he had when Jaune had last seen him.

... it wasn't just his imagination, was it?

Before he could give it any more though, however, Arthur spoke first; "You may rise, Mordred, Jaune. It has been a while since we have last met; I pray the both of you have been well?"

"We have been, Father," Mordred replied as she stood back up.

"Yes, Your Majesty," Jaune followed suit.

"That is good to hear," Artoria nodded with a tired smile as she looked them over. "And now, what brings the two of you here this morning?"

"We heard that Bedivere returned, Father," Mordred quickly answered with a smile. "So we figured that it would be best to bring Jaune here quickly, and allow Merlin to clear him."

"..." Artoria couldn't help but raise an eyebrow as Mordred began looking around the room, as if Merlin would suddenly reveal himself. "... have you not also heard, Mordred?"

"Heard what, Father?" Mordred cocked her head to the side.

"Sir Bedivere's search was unsuccessful," Artoria carefully explained. "No trace of Merlin could be found, nor could any response be elicited, not even on the channels we developed specifically to be used in cases of emergencies; as far as we have been able to determine, it is as if he has disappeared entirely from this realm."

Mordred only managed to hide the shock on her face because it was concealed by her helmet; behind her, Jaune had no such thing to hide his face.

"I am certain that Merlin is well, of course, if for no other reason save that this is Merlin we speak of," Artoria quickly reassured them. "Furthermore, I have already assigned Sir Gawain to continue the search for Merlin, a task that he will do his best to successfully accomplish, of that I have no doubt."

"..." Mordred resisted the urge to click her tongue in irritation again, as the mention of Gawain reminded her of her confrontation with him earlier that morning. The idea of being reliant on him was not one she found particularly palatable, though for her squire's sake she would do her best to bear it.

Jaune, on the other hand, was far less optimistic than Arthur, and it was with no small amount of trepidation that he spoke up: "... Your Majesty, may I ask a question?"

"You may, indeed," Artoria allowed.

"What if Gawain fails?" Jaune questioned bluntly. "What if he can't find Merlin?"

Artoria took a moment to meet Jaune's eyes, before she answered: "I understand your fears, Squire Jaune, but do not worry. Should the worst come to pass, and Merlin continue to prove absent, I will proceed with lifting your restrictions at the end of the season. After all, it would hardly be just for your sentence to be continued indefinitely, not when your guilt was never conclusively proven in the first place."

Mordred nodded in agreement, though Jaune couldn't help but be skeptical: "Are you sure that'll be enough to convince people?"

"It is hence why I specified the end of the season; by then, most of the suspicion or outrage directed at you will have likely been forgotten after months without incident, if not replaced by sympathy towards your plight," Artoria did her best to assuage his fears, though she did concede: "Of course, there will naturally be some who will be dissatisfied with such an outcome, which is why it would be best to allow the Royal Court Wizard to pronounce an official verdict, but even should the worst come to pass you can trust that I will not allow baseless accusations to overrule the fairness and justice that has marked my reign."

Jaune frowned as his mind immediately conjured an image of Agravain at the mention of people refusing to accept such an outcome, but at the same time there wasn't exactly much he could do.

After all, it wasn't like he could just go looking for Merlin on his own, and he doubted there was any other way he could clear his name convincingly; if there was, he was pretty sure Arthur would've told him about it by now.

Though the thought of just sitting around and waiting even more grated on him, he knew it wasn't the fault of the man sitting in front of him, and so there wasn't anything he could do beyond accepting it: "I'll... take your word for it then, Your Majesty."

"I am pleased to see that I still have your confidence," Artoria nodded at him, before turning to Mordred: "Mordred, do you have any objections with continuing your role as your squire's escort?"

"Definitely not, Father!" Mordred answered without any hesitation whatsoever.

"You have my gratitude for your selfless service, Mordred," Artoria favored her only child with a smile, before turning back to Jaune and continuing: "As do you for your understanding, Jaune; I am sure that these must be trying times for you."

Jaune simply nodded, though he couldn't help but think back to the earlier encounter with Gawain, Gaheris, and Gareth, to say nothing of what Arthur and Mordred had done for him.

With all the trouble he was causing, and considering he'd barely done anything about it in the past two weeks, how was he supposed to react to being told things were "trying" for him?

Artoria didn't miss his response, but she also knew that she lacked the time needed to properly address the matter, and after quickly weighing the risks she decided it best to simply end their talk for the time being: "Now, I do apologize, but I am afraid that we will have to draw this discussion to a close; I do believe I am expecting other visitors soon, unless there is something else that you wish to speak to me about?"

"No, I'm good," Jaune quickly replied, shaking his head. "Thanks, Your Majesty."

"Thank you for your time, Father," Mordred nodded, glancing at Jaune from behind her helmet.

"Then, I wish the both of you a pleasant day," Artoria dismissed them with a gesture, hoping her instincts were wrong.

After a final bow the two of them quietly made their way out of the throne room, closing the large doors behind them as they exited.

As Jaune began to mentally prepare himself for the journey back to his room, however, Mordred spoke up: "... are you really okay, Jaune?"

"Of course, why wouldn't I be?" Jaune answered, just a bit too quickly.

"..." Mordred bit her lower lip behind her helmet, wondering whether she should try to place a hand on her friend's shoulder to comfort him as he always had with her,

Before she could come to a decision, however, footsteps caught their attention, and they looked up to see Agravain approaching, before he came to a stop as he noticed their presence as well.

A tense silence ensued, as Mordred fixed Agravain with the fiercest glare she could manage, while Agravain's lips curled with distaste at the sight of the suspected traitor in the presence of his King (and Jaune, in turn, did his best to ignore Agravain's look).

Eventually, however, Agravain broke the silence first, stiffly greeting his youngest sister with a simple: "Good morning, Sir Mordred."

Mordred refrained from returning it, instead responding with a huff as she took a step back towards Jaune, her glare never relenting in the slightest.

Agravain managed to hide his wince (he'd grown up raised by King Lot of Orkney and Queen Morgan le Fay, after all, and spent a fair bit of his life in King Arthur's court), but the blatant rejection still stung him, and after a moment of hesitation he cautiously tried again: "Sir Mordred, listen..."

"I'm not interested in anything you have to say," Mordred growled warningly, before curtly dismissing him: "Goodbye, Agravain."

"Damn it, Mordred!" Agravain swore in exasperation, before grabbing her arm as she began to walk past him as he asked impatiently: "Do you truly bear such a grudge against me simply for doing my duty to the King?"

Mordred immediately wheeled around at the sudden contact, such that the two were face-to-face (or face-to-visor, in this case), and snapped: "How the hell was almost ruining Jaune's name and honor in Camelot part of your duty to the King, Agravain?!"

"His actions were suspect, his origins dubious and intentionally concealed; what I did, I did for the King's sake, and my conscience remains clear" Agravain defended himself firmly, before rhetorically asking: "What would you rather I did instead, Mordred? Should I have ignored the fact that a stranger's story and had enough holes for an ox cart to pass through, all while he meets with the King for private talks? Next you would have me believe that Merlin's failure to return is but an unrelated coincidence!"

Behind Mordred, Jaune couldn't help but blink as he tried to process what he'd just heard.

Agravain thought he was also behind Merlin's disappearance?

How did that even make sense?

Sir Mordred evidently shared his thoughts, because he scoffed: "Why would Jaune want to stop himself from being proven innocent?"

"Or perhaps he knows he would be proven guilty," Agravain suggested, shaking his head at his sister's naivety.

"He is innocent," Mordred insisted firmly with a snarl. "The King has already decreed that."

"Presumed innocent," Agravain corrected her. "And that was contingent on Merlin's verdict; considering Merlin's disappearance, a new decision will have to be made."

"We already spoke to the King about it," Mordred informed him. "He already made a decision - should Merlin not return before the season's end, that all charges against Jaune would simply be dropped."

"He what?" Agravain blinked, before quickly recovering his composure. "Then I must speak to him at once, appeal that decision-"

"You would rather doubt the King's judgement than even consider that Jaune might be innocent?" Mordred asked incredulously, unable to understand where her brother was coming from at all.

"Do not ever doubt my loyalty, Mordred," Agravain snapped, being unable to interpret her words charitably any longer. "I know my oaths, and the foes the King faces; I will not be found wanting in protecting him. Perhaps it is you who needs a reminder of your duty to your King, Mordred."

"What are you talking about?" Mordred demanded. 

"Do you think this is service to the King, Mordred?" Agravain asked rhetorically. "Shielding a suspected traitor daily for two weeks? What have you done for the realm in the mean time? Do you believe that the conduct of a proper knight? Have you already forgotten what you set out to do when you came to Camelot, Mordred?"

Jaune's jaw dropped at the low blow; he'd been trying to stay out of what was clearly a sibling's quarrel (he knew better than to get involved, thank you very much), but he also knew just how much it bothered his mentor, that there were some aspects of knighthood that Sir Mordred struggled with.

Meanwhile, the sound of metal screeching was audible as Mordred's gauntleted fist clenched with enough force to crush armor, but fortunately for Agravain, before she could react, Jaune spoke up first, unable to help himself any longer: "Hey, that's-"

"You stay out of this, liar," Agravain spat, interrupting him. "This doesn't concern you."

The two men briefly locked glares for a heartbeat.

Then, the next thing Agravain knew was that he was being yanked forward, the front of his tunic in Mordred's left hand.

"Sir Mordred?!" Jaune yelped in shock, as his mentor began to raise his right fist.

Mordred didn't hear her friend's words (nor did she hear her half-brother's protests), as her temper, which had been simmering throughout the conversation, finally boiled over explosively.

How dare he!

Not only had he implied that she'd failed her liege and father, and for fulfilling the instructions her father had been forced to give because of him no less, and not only had he caused all the problems they were now facing because he'd suspected her squire, but he'd then proceeded to insult him!

Didn't he know everything Jaune had done for her and for their King?!

Before she could do anything, however, she found herself being held by her arm, as a familiar voice hurriedly whispered: "Sir Mordred, don't! It's not worth it!"

The sound of Jaune's voice was like a splash of cold water to the face, and helped cut through the haze of anger enough for her to rethink her course of action.

Jaune was right - Agravain wasn't worth it.

With a huff she allowed her hand to be lowered, before reluctantly releasing Agravain's collar.

As Agravain regarded her warily, she simply turned to her squire, and said: "Come on, Jaune. Let's just go back."

"I will speak to the King," Agravain swore, as he too turned away from Mordred. "Both about his decision, and your unknightly conduct."

As Agravain left, Jaune couldn't help but think about what had just happened, as well as everything Agravain had said.

Sure, Agravain had definitely been out of line targeting Mordred's insecurities like that...

... but what if he was right?

He already knew he was causing Sir Mordred problems thanks to everything his mentor had to do for him; was he also costing him his dream just by being here?

And what about his relationship with his half-brother, the only one who knew that Sir Mordred shared the same mother?

And all because he'd-

Before he could think too much about it, however, he found something gently grabbing his arm, and he looked up to find his friend looking up at him.

"Is everything alright?" Mordred couldn't help the concern that entered her tone, as she saw her friend's expression.

"... of course," Jaune nodded.

"Just ignore what Agravain said, alright?" Mordred instructed him firmly. "He doesn't know what he's talking about."

"... I will, Sir Mordred," Jaune answered after a pause.

Mordred looked back at him, wondering if she should continue saying anything else; for some reason, she couldn't help but feel that something was... off, about his response.

In the end, though, she decided against it, her trust in her friend winning out over her doubts again.

After all, surely he'd tell her if something was wrong; instead, he'd said that everything was alright, and he'd never go back on his word.

Chapter Text

Jaune checked his pack once more, before looking over his room one final time.

Good, it looked like he'd remembered to take everything he'd need.

Or maybe... maybe he should just check again, just to make sure...

Jaune quickly shook his head, banishing those thoughts before they could fully take form.

This wasn't the first time he'd done something like this ; he knew he was stalling, and he knew the longer he stalled the more likely it was he'd lose his nerve.

Sighing, he stood up, slinging his pack over his shoulder, and made his way to the door.

Before he opened it, though, he made sure to kneel down, taking a look under the door, and then put an ear to it.

The lack of any figures or footsteps outside the door was both expected and comforting, and he inhaled deeply as he quietly opened the door, and left the room.

As he stalked through the deserted corridor, utilizing both his knowledge from Beacon's survival classes and his experiences growing up with seven sisters, he mentally ran over his plan one more time, as well as his memories of Camelot's layout.

The exit he was aiming for was about ten minutes away at his regular pace, and if the patrol routes hadn't changed from the last time he and Sir Mordred had returned from training late he should have at least a good twenty minutes before the guards got anywhere near this section of the castle again, and he did have a back-up plan for if he got spotted, of course-

"I do believe I mentioned that you require an escort should you wish to go anywhere, Jaune," a voice suddenly spoke up from behind him.

Jaune immediately spun around, already reaching for his sword, before freezing as he belatedly recognized just who it was had broken the silence.

Seemingly unfazed by his disobedience or his actions, Arthur simply looked him over from where she stood outside his room's open door, before continuing: "Oddly enough, I fail to see any other knight accompanying you at this moment."

"Your Majesty," Jaune gulped as he took a step back, racking his brain to try and figure out a way out of this situation; he had plans for if another knight had spotted him leaving, of course, but he certainly didn't have any plans for dealing with Arthur .

Then, to his surprise, Arthur's expression softened slightly, and he simply replied: "Considering that you are currently not only disobeying a direct order from your King but also attempting to effect an unsanctioned departure from the castle, I do believe formalities are the least of your concerns, Jaune."

"... how did you know?" Jaune asked, involuntarily tensing up.

"The sack of your possessions slung over your shoulder and the way you have been skulking through Camelot's halls are more than sufficient at announcing your intent," Artoria pointed out wryly, before gently adding: "But in truth, even before they were confirmed by your actions, I already had my suspicions, Jaune."

"You did?" Jaune blinked.

"When we met earlier, your expressions spoke volumes of your true emotions, though I must admit I had no concerns of such an action from you until I had learned that Agravain had confronted you and Mordred after our meeting earlier," Artoria explained, not unkindly, as she raised her hands placatingly: "Before you fully commit to doing something rash, however, would you permit me but a few minutes of your time, that we may speak frankly, Jaune?"

"... I don't really have a choice, do I?" Jaune shrugged after a moment, unable to relax in the slightest.

" Of course you have a choice," Artoria refuted the notion immediately. "Though I would of course not wish it, you are free to continue leaving the castle if you so chose, Jaune."

"... you're not going to stop me?" Jaune questioned warily.

"Had I wished to stop you, I could have simply called for the guards, just as I could have easily apprehended you instead of announcing my presence, " Artoria reminded him, before confirming: "But I am no tyrant, just as Camelot is no gaol, and you are no prisoner; while I would certainly hope to be able to change your mind, I have no desire to maintain your continued service through threat or force, as such coercion would render it utterly meaningless. Should you still wish to leave at the end of our conversation, you have my word that I will not hinder your departure, just as Sir Tristan was free to leave after his outburst."

Jaune studied Arthur for a few heartbeats and weighed his options, before he exhaled slowly, forcibly releasing the tension in his shoulders, and then looked back up at his friend: "Alright, sure. What'd you want to talk about, Arthur?"

"You have my thanks, Jaune," Artoria nodded, before meeting his eyes as she got straight to the point: "May I know what exactly transpired when Agravain confronted you and Mordred earlier in the day, that has apparently shaken your faith in my commitment to treat you fairly and justly?”

“What?” Jaune blinked, not having expected such a question.

“Am I mistaken?” Artoria asked apprehensively, raising an eyebrow. “Considering the timing, and what Agravain spoke with me about, I had been worried that Agravain had somehow persuaded you that he had the means to finally convince me to pronounce your guilt.”

“No, no, that’s not it, Arthur,” Jaune quickly denied, shaking his head vigorously. “I haven’t lost faith in you or anything, honest!”

“That is good to hear,” Artoria smiled, inwardly feeling a small measure of relief, one that was quickly extinguished as she continued on: “Though that does leave your motive for effecting your escape yet unknown, Jaune.

“Please, tell me; has this entire situation truly been so unbearable, that you would rather depart Camelot, in the middle of the night no less, than endure yet another month of it?"

Jaune closed his eyes as he looked away quietly, desperately racking his brain to try and explain what was really weighing on his mind.

Artoria, for her part, simply watched him in silence, waiting patiently for him to speak.

Finally, Jaune began: “Arthur... did I ever tell you about my past?”

“Only that you were a farmer’s son in the Kingdom of Vale, before you became a part of your world’s order of knights, a Huntsman, and fell in battle against a dragon and a witch,” Artoria recalled.

“Yeah, that’s right,” Jaune nodded. “I was a farm boy, who wanted so much to become a hero, to help people, that I ran away from home to become a Huntsman...”

Artoria quietly reached for Jaune’s shoulder, not needing her Instinct to see where this was going.

Jaune didn’t flinch away from Arthur’s touch, though his fists still involuntarily balled in frustration as he continued: “But... look at all the trouble I've caused in the past few weeks, Arthur. Gareth's been arguing with Gawain and Gaheris because of me . I know you've been having to deal with Agravain, and probably anyone else who's convinced I'm guilty, and Sir Mordred... instead of being the Knight he’s always wanted to be, instead of going out there and protecting the kingdom like he’s supposed to... Sir Mordred’s stuck here .

“All of that, and for what ?" Jaune asked rhetorically, still not meeting Arthur’s eyes, before finally hanging his head as he hopelessly finished: “Maybe Agravain was right; just by staying here I’m causing problems for everyone.”

A moment of silence followed, the only movement between the pair coming from the heaving of Jaune’s chest as he tiredly took deep breaths, emotionally drained from finally having gotten that off his chest.

Then Arthur’s voice broke the silence with a simple question: “Do you truly believe that ?”

Jaune looked back up at the King, meeting his familiar green eyes once more, as Arthur gently continued before he could answer: “Do you truly believe that your presence in Camelot has brought more harm than good, Jaune? That my subjects in Snowdonia would be better off had you never been around to help Mordred slay the Addanc? 

“That Gareth regrets her friendship with you? That my son should never have known your company, the experience of being your mentor, or the comfort you offered him when he learned of his lineage?

“Do you believe I wish I had never met you, and had never had your assistance in reconciling with Mordred and making preparations to confront Lancelot and Guinivere?” Artoria concluded her rhetorical questions, her gaze never wavering even as she chided him: “Do not forget what I told you earlier; do not do a disservice to either Mordred or Gareth or either of us now by forgetting all you have accomplished here, Jaune. 

“And do not insult the loyalties and friendships of my niece, my son, or I by pretending that none of us are willing to endure these trials for your sake, especially not when you would do the same for us, eagerly and without complaint, should the roles have been reversed.”

Jaune couldn’t help but look away again, the King’s piercing green eyes and lecture reminding him far too much of another late-night conversation with another green-eyed friend.

But at the same time, this wasn’t the same as back in Beacon; it wasn’t a misplaced sense of pride that was stopping him from accepting their help, but simple care and concern for his friends.

Artoria, for her part, simply sighed, seeing that the young man remained yet unconvinced, and quietly empathized: “Make no mistake, Jaune; I do understand your emotions, your anger at the helplessness and perceived inability to affect the situation, your frustration at being forced into inaction through no fault of your own, with the additional trials you see your friends going through for your sake being the final straw on your conscience, even if we do so willingly.”

“... you do?” Jaune blinked as he looked up once more, not having expected that from Arthur at all. 

... wait, was that what he was feeling?

“Even ignoring the fact that I was once your age, I have seen many of the knights when they were but young men as well, with the rashness and impatience that belongs to youth,” Artoria smiled at him, though there was a slight hint of sadness in her eyes, already seeing how this would play out. “Rather than willingly laying down and submitting to the whims of fate, you and all of my Knights would raise arms and defy it, heedless of the odds against you. Regardless of where you may have come from, you truly do have the soul of a Knight of the Round, Jaune Arc.”

“... uh, thanks, Arthur?” Jaune rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly, feeling both flattered and confused by his words. Was Arthur praising him for breaking the rules? Was he being told he should stay or what?

Artoria looked him over one final time, before responding: “I will not insult your convictions by asking you to stay once more, Jaune. However, I have but one request that I would like you to hear out, before I leave you to your final decision, as I gave my word that I would.”

“Of course, Arthur,” Jaune nodded immediately.

“Then, should you choose to leave, I wish that you give me your word that you return to the halls of Camelot after a year has passed, or after Merlin has returned and I have sent for you, whichever should come first,” Artoria asked him, before elaborating: “Please understand that, should you choose to depart this night, it will not appease Agravain or your detractors in the least; if anything, it is likely they will take your flight as a sign of further guilt. And I will not allow your reputation to remain tarnished, just as I am sure that Mordred will never allow one to besmirch your name.”

“... I will, Arthur,” Jaune agreed, after a moment’s thought. “And an Arc never goes back on his word.”

“Then, I will accept your word,” Artoria nodded, making to leave. “I pray you make your choice wisely, Jaune.”

As Arthur turned the corner and disappeared from view, the tension finally left Jaune’s body, and he slumped against the wall, letting loose a breath he hadn’t even known he’d been holding as he pondered his last conversation with the King.

He couldn’t lie; his certainty had been shaken by meeting Arthur, and by hearing him out.

But, at the end of the day... even if his friends were more than willing to make sacrifices for him...

Arthur had been right; he just could not remain helplessly in his room doing nothing, could never let them continue to suffer for him.

He couldn’t come between Gareth and her brothers.

He couldn’t come between Agravain and Arthur and Mordred.

And he couldn’t allow himself to continue stopping Mordred from being the Knight he was always meant to be.

As his thoughts turned to Mordred, however, he found himself involuntarily looking towards the direction he knew Mordred’s room was in, and as he imagined Mordred’s reaction to his departure he couldn’t help but wish he could talk to him before he left.

But he knew his mentor, his friend. 

Mordred would never let him go, not alone. 

But... the kingdom needed Mordred more. 

And most of all, Mordred thought the world of his father; for Oum’s sake, he’d become a Knight of the Round Table because he’d wanted to serve Arthur! 

He couldn't do it, couldn't tear the newly-discovered father and son apart. 

Hopefully, he'd understand, even if he never forgave him. 

And so, for the second time in his life, armed with only a sword, his family’s shield-sheath, and whatever he could carry on his back, Jaune ran away in the middle of the night, determined to be a hero .

Chapter Text

Even as the midday sun bore down on him, and the commotion behind him began to grow, Marc was already moving, running desperately through the village (and away from the swelling crowd), his head turning rapidly as he scanned his surroundings, praying desperately all the while.

Fortunately for the boy, the Lord was evidently listening to his prayers, and barely three minutes after he'd begun his search Marc spotted his target just as he was leaving one of the wheat fields.

Immediately he launched himself at the blonde giant, words flowing from his mouth in a raging torrent as he did his best to explain the situation to the mysterious man who'd only arrived at their little village last week.

Once again, it seemed that fortune favored the boy, and the man seemed to catch enough of what he'd said to understand the situation (or the gist of it, at least), since he allowed the little boy to drag him through the village by the hand as fast as his feet could take him, until they were at the site of where his Papa had fallen from his ladder while working on the roof of their neighbour's house.

The commotion and murmuring around the unlikely pair only grew as he continued leading the man through the crowd, until they'd passed through it and reached his groaning Papa, who was clutching his right arm as he struggled to right himself up with the help of some of the other villagers.

Now, admittedly. if Marc had been asked about how he'd thought their mysterious stranger would have helped his Papa's broken arm (and indeed when the boy was asked, after the whole situation had been resolved), he would have admitted that he didn't really know, but a knight would have certainly been able to help his father, right?

And he knew the mysterious stranger was a knight.

Sure, when he and the other children had asked him the man had told them he wasn't, but he'd seen the breastplate the man had worn under his cloak, and Alys had told him that she'd accidentally gotten a look at the inside of the stranger's bulky pack when she'd been passing by his campsite on the way to the river one morning, and within it lay a full set of knight's plate (or so she'd swore, up and down, when both of their mothers had been out of earshot).

Between that, the well-crafted steel sword he bore, the masterwork scabbard that carried his sword (and in turn carried a family crest, no less!), and the tales Rhys had shared with them when he'd returned from his uncle's smithy in the village downriver, it was all too obvious that the man was a wandering knight, and more than that was likely the cause of the rumors that had surged in the region in the past season.

Since none of them (or the adults, even!) had recognized his face, name, or family crest, Rhys was of the belief that the man was a new knight (though whether he was a newly-minted knight fresh from squirehood, or a knight new to their lands (like Sir Lancelot, who himself hailed from the lands beyond the seas), was something that changed every other day), while Alys had suggested that he could be hiding his true face and identity with fae magic, and was in the region undertaking a secret quest for King Arthur himself.

Marc wasn't sure what to believe himself, though he personally thought that those theories were more likely than what he'd heard one of the old wives telling another, that the man was actually a fallen knight, deliberately hiding his identity while on the run from justice, or had suffered a disgrace in service to his lord and failed in his chivalric duties (this, too, also tended to change every other day, he'd noticed).

Regardless of what the truth was, regardless of what the man's past was, all he knew for certain was that the man was a knight, and thusly would be able to help his father.

And when the man looked over his father's arm for a few moments, before murmuring something to his father and adjusting his broken arm, Marc could only feel like his decision had been the right one to take.

Of course, he could not have expected what happened next.

That wasn't on him, though; all things considered, it was highly unlikely that anybody in the village could have expected for a soft, warm, bright white light to suddenly erupt from the knight, a brilliant radiance that forced every head to turn away from the two men in the middle, lest they be blinded by its majesty.

And when the light faded away, and the villagers were finally able to turn their gazes back, it was to find the knight standing over the injured man, helping him up even as he carefully prodded at and tested his no-longer-unnaturally-crooked arm.

The stunned silence that followed was short-lived, quickly replaced as it was by frenzied whispers and fervent prayers.

-EIGHT HOURS LATER-

As he idly stoked the embers of his campfire, a small part of Jaune couldn't help but once again marvel at the fact that Aura could somehow protect him from the worst effects of low temperatures.

The rest of him, though, was still thinking about the village he'd just left, and how much work he'd had to do just to convince them to not throw a feast in his honor.

Don't get him wrong; Jaune wasn't blind to what he'd done. He'd grown up on a farm, after all, and even with Dust-powered machines a broken arm could still put one out of work for a long time (and there was a lot of time-sensitive work to do on a farm).

But even if he could only imagine how much more important taking care of one's body would be in a pre-Dust world, that broken arm probably wouldn't have been life-threatening, and while the village's food stockpiles had looked like they were more than adequate to see them through the coming winter, that had been according to his admittedly-less-experienced judgement, and as such he couldn't in good conscience allow them to offer so much, not for him.

Of course, for some reason, telling them that had only made them even more determined to throw that feast for him...

Jaune quietly sighed, before shaking his head.

While their show of gratitude was certainly appreciated, he couldn't really say that this was what he'd expected, back when he'd left his home to chase his dreams of becoming a hero.

To be fair, though, dying and waking up in another world was also something he could safely say he hadn't expected when he'd left his home (not to mention everything that had happened since), and so, all things considered, this was a pretty tame and harmless surprise.

Unconsciously, his expression darkened into a frown, as his thoughts slowly drifted.

Of course, it still hurt, when he thought back to Remnant.

To his friends.

To his team.

To his family.

But by now, it had been almost a year since he'd died and arrived in England (and almost two since he'd run away from home), and while he still had no idea how or why he'd arrived, he'd had more than enough time (and help) with processing what had happened, with coming to terms with what he'd lost, and with accepting his new situation.

The same, however, could not be said when he thought back to Camelot.

Even though it had been months since he'd left, he found himself constantly thinking about how things were back at the castle.

Whether Agravain and Sir Mordred's mother had still convinced everyone that he was some malicious interdimensional spy, or if someone had finally found Arthur's missing court wizard, and he would be summoned back for a proper judgement.

How Gareth was doing as the newest fully-fledged Knight of the Round Table.

Whether Arthur had finally managed to resolve that entire affair that had been going on with his wife and Sir Lancelot.

How Sir Mordred was faring, especially in regards to his relationship with his father.

And sometimes, on rare occasions, a small part of him couldn't help but wonder what could have happened if he'd been swayed by Arthur's words, and chosen to stay that night.

The crackling fire and the peaceful moonlit night offered no answers as he stewed in his thoughts for a few more moments, before he finally shook his head, forcefully chasing away those thoughts just as he did each time they crept up on him.

Of course things were fine in Camelot; things had been fine before he'd shown up, and even if his departure hadn't calmed things down (a thought he really didn't want to entertain), he knew Gareth, Arthur, and Sir Mordred, and had complete confidence that they would be fine.

Not to mention everything he'd done since he'd left Camelot.

Sure, things hadn't exactly gone as expected (even with earlier events notwithstanding), but even if he wasn't fighting Grimm and being a Huntsman like he'd originally intended, he couldn't deny that he'd done some good in the past few months, going around the villages and making sure things were generally okay.

Of course, Arthur's kingdom was relatively peaceful and prosperous (at least for the standards of a pre-Dust society, or so he'd gathered), and most of the work he'd done so far amounted to helping out in the fields during the harvest, healing any sick or injured people with his Aura, dealing with any animal problems in the area, and in general making sure the village could make it through the coming winter with minimal issue (at least, by his admittedly-limited judgement), but at least it was something.

More than he'd have accomplished if he'd never run away from home in the first place, and more than he'd have accomplished if he'd never left the castle.

... and maybe if he told himself that second part enough times, he'd stop wondering about how things could have gone if he'd stayed.

Unfortunately, this night would not be the night he'd finally told it to himself enough times, and as he began to roast the day's catch over the crackling fires, a part of him continued to wonder how things were, back in Camelot.

-CAMELOT, LOGRES-

Even after twenty years, and as much as she could appreciate its necessity, she had never quite grown fond of poring over parchments, though she had at least become inured to the tedium and monotony thanks to assistance and experience.

Now, however, between the eventfulness of the last few months, the absolute mountain of work she had to process and take care of, and the... absences caused by recent events, she couldn't help but feel an all-too-familiar throbbing in her temples, one that even Avalon could not cure.

Regardless, the task set before her was one borne of necessity, for the sake of nothing less than the safety of England itself, and she could thusly give it no less attention than she had anything else that had been asked of her since she had drawn Caliburn and made her oaths.

Duty and honor demanded nothing less for her lands, her people, her kingdom.

And so, Artoria forced herself to focus.

The incipient discontentment among the nobles, budding for years and brought to the forefront by Sir Tristan's outburst months ago, the continued disappearance of her court wizard (and godfather), the discovery of her then-unknown bastard child (in the literal sense), the absurd accusations levelled at her... advisor and his subsequent departure, the affair between her greatest knight and her wife, its publicization by Sir Agravain, and the shattering of the unity of the Round Table caused by Sir Lancelot's subsequent actions (not to mention the deaths of her kin)...

With a herculean force of effort, the Perfect King cast those thoughts to the back of her mind, and instead turned her attention back to the parchments arrayed before her, resuming making the many plans and preparations required to conduct an expedition to the heart of the former, now-potentially-hostile, Empire.

Notes:

Let the milk curdle, the children cry, and the poxes return, for once more have I finally returned, bringing with me yet a few things, least of which is possibly the timeskip chapter itself.

Firstly, as you may have noticed, this story finally has some cover art (commissioned from anniewalker090). Long story short, I used the donations I got, as well as some of my own money, to commission some artwork for this fic (both of which can be viewed in full on the SpaceBattles forum; not that I intend to self-advertise, it's simply that its nature as a forum allows me to share more information than I can on FFN or AO3), and this one in particular, I feel, best sums up the first 25 or so chapters of this story.

The fact that you're only getting this now, after things have already changed so much, was an unplanned tragedy (which to be fair is, in my personal opinion, a not-wholly-inaccurate summary of this story either).

Now, getting to the chapter proper - the chapter itself can be split into two sections, with the first one showing just what our dimensionally-displaced protagonist has been up to since leaving Camelot, how Jaune would be viewed by the common person in Arthurian Britain at the time (as opposed to Chapter 22, which showed how he was viewed by the common knight at the time), with a special emphasis being placed on just how much he'd stand out (even ignoring the anachronistic suit of full plate armor the Knights of Camelot wear (and he thusly also possessed) and his height, the sword he bears as a replacement to Crocea Mors is still a steel sword from Camelot's armory, and even if it's more mundane and mass-produceable than most of the things in Camelot's armory (it probably isn't actually magic, as far as I know, though) it's still not exactly the kind of thing the average villager can afford in their lifetime), and lastly focusing on how Jaune's feeling, and essentially how much he misses his friends, both the ones in Remnant and the ones in Camelot, though he's had time to come to terms with his situation and try to make the most of it, in what should be a short, subtle, bittersweet segment.

And the second section can pretty much be summed up by "EVERYTHING IS ON FIRE" and "being Artoria is SUFFERING".

Because, in the end, even if the Fall of Camelot wasn't pretty much a canon event, and even if there wasn't a certain force specifically designed to keep things on the rails, Jaune arrived in Camelot far, far, far too late to stop most of the initial dominos from falling (like Tristan's dissatisfaction with Artoria, which stemmed from his inability to deal with the harsh but necessary things Artoria ordered in their war against the foreign Saxon invaders, and whose outburst ultimately led to Lancelot and Guinivere meeting, which led to...), and while he did attempt to help Artoria deal with some of the fallout, he ultimately left too soon, before she could confront Lancelot and Guinivere, which meant that whole mess pretty much blew up just like it did in canon.

As for the one major thing he did change? Well, we'll get to Mordred, when we get to Mordred (and that won't be any time soon, either).

But until then, have a little taste, of one of the two ways it could have gone, if Jaune had met Mordred instead of Artoria at the end of Chapter 26.

SCENARIO: E-2 (ESCAPE & EXILE)

POINT OF DEVIATION: CHAPTER 26

As he stalked through the deserted corridor, utilizing both his knowledge from Beacon's survival classes and his experiences growing up with seven sisters, Jaune mentally ran over his plan one more time, as well as his memories of Camelot's layout.

The exit he was aiming for was about ten minutes away at his regular pace, and if the patrol routes hadn't changed from the last time he and Sir Mordred had returned from training late he should have at least a good twenty minutes before the guards got anywhere near this section of the castle again, and he did have a back-up plan for if he got spotted, of course-

The sounds of footsteps coming down the hallway in front of him made Jaune instinctively freeze, and he immediately began backing up.

Unfortunately, though he'd tried to minimize his movements, the person ahead of him somehow heard him, and hurried their own footsteps in return.

And before Jaune could reach one of the hiding spots he'd mentally marked, the owner of the footsteps turned the corner, revealing a dimunitive armored figure with a distinctive horned helmet, carrying a tray with some bread and cheeses.

Jaune blinked, and though he couldn't see it he imagined Sir Mordred blinked as well.

Silence filled the corridor, as the two stared at one another, before Jaune finally broke it, injecting a forced casualness into his tone as he greeted his mentor: "G-good evening, Sir Mordred! What brings you here?"

"... I could ask you the same thing, Jaune," Mordred replied, as she began moving once more, heading towards her squire and friend where he stood.

Jaune gulped, knowing there was no real good way to explain.

-ONE EXPLANATION LATER-

"You told me everything was alright!" Mordred fought down the urge to shout, though she couldn't quite keep the accusatory tone out of her voice (or the hurt). "You told me you would just ignore what Agravain said!"

"I did, really!" Jaune defended himself desperately, before reluctantly adding: "... but he's still right, Sir Mordred. Look at all the trouble I've caused in the past few weeks. Gareth's been arguing with Gawain and Gaheris because of me, King Arthur's probably been having to deal with Agravain, along with anyone else who's convinced I'm guilty, and you... Sir Mordred, what about your dreams of being the Knight you've always wanted to be... serving your father as you've always dreamed of?

"..." Mordred could only stare at her friend's anguished face, unsure of how to comfort or reassure him in the least.

"... face it, Sir Mordred," Jaune concluded, after a lengthy pause. "Things would be better for everyone, if I wasn't around."

"That's not true," Mordred immediately retorted.

"Isn't it?" Jaune snorted, looking away. "Look, Sir Mordred, I was just a farm boy from another dimension who died, and couldn't even be honest about it before it became a problem; there's no way I'm worth any of this."

Mordred wanted to rebuke him.

She wanted to tell him he was wrong.

She wanted to tell him that he was worth all of it and more.

But she couldn't.

She didn't know how.

Not to the only person who'd done it for her.

And so, instead, after desperately racking her head, she instead tried to argue: "But you can't leave! Father would never allow it!"

"King Arthur also said my indefinite confinement wasn't fair; I'm sure he'd understand."

"Then, what about your dreams of being a hero?" Mordred quickly tried.

"Do you think I'm helping anyone by being stuck here?" Jaune shot back, even as he slowly got up from where he'd been sitting on the floor.

"Then..." Mordred's mind desperately raced, looking for a way to not be separated from her friend, before seizing on the next thing she could think of: "Then I'll go with you!"

"..." Jaune couldn't help but pause and turned back, his jaw agape, as he tried to process what Sir Mordred had just said. "Sorry, what?"

"If you go," Mordred repeated quickly, seeing that it was the first thing that had actually made him stop, "then I'll go with you."

"... you can't just leave with me, Sir Mordred!" Jaune pinched the bridge of his nose as he argued, trying to reason with his mentor. "What about your Knighthood? What about the Kingdom? What about your father?"

"What about you?!" Mordred retorted furiously, refusing to allow herself to be swayed by her squire's words. "Should I leave you to fend for yourself, Jaune?

"The Kingdom and my father will be fine, as they have always been under the Perfect King, but you're my squire, Jaune; I have a duty as a knight to you, too!"

Jaune closed his eyes and looked away, a war raging internally within him as he processed his friend's words.

But no matter how much he wished he could accept Mordred's offer...

He couldn't do it.

He couldn't tear the newly-discovered father and son apart.

He couldn't let Agravain be right.

He couldn't let himself be the reason Mordred gave up on his dreams as a knight.

He couldn't let himself be the reason Mordred gave up on his dreams of proving himself to his father.

Thus, Jaune turned away, back towards the exit, as he said: "Not anymore, Sir Mordred.

"I'm not your squire anymore."

And as Mordred recoiled in a shocked silence, Jaune seized his chance and moved, unable to look his mentor in the face, and for the second time in as many lives he ran away from the people who cared about him, armed with only a stolen sword, his family's shield-sheath, and whatever he could carry on his back, determined to protect others, to be a hero.

And desperately hoping and praying that one day, it would all be worth it.

That one day, his mentor might understand, even if he'd never forgive him.

Chapter Text

There was a time when he'd been in awe of the rebuilt Londonium, and the fae-built castle that was the beating heart of the restored city.

A much simpler time, when they'd been much more innocent and idealistic, and the enemies much easier to identify and deal with.

But those days had long since passed, and just the sight of Camelot's familiar walls was enough to put a scowl on his face as he passed through the castle's outer gates, though it was one that he immediately and effortlessly suppressed.

Regardless of how much he may have hated what the Kingdom now represented to him, no matter how much the castle resembled a prison more and more with every passing year, no matter how much he may have wished that things could have been different...

He knew why things were the way they were, and until the day came that he could finally change her mind, all Kay could do was be there to support Artoria, as he always had, ever since they'd grown up together.

There was little in the world that could have made him endure the not-insignificant journey to Camelot from Sutton, not with the sheer amount of work he had to do in managing the village's affairs now that his father had passed on, and especially not this close to the first snowfall, but even if Artoria wasn't his King, even if he wasn't a Knight of the Round Table, even if Sir Ector hadn't raised him to be a man of virtue and chivalry, even if they shared no relation by blood, and even if she was one of the most stubborn, obstinate, bull-headed people he'd ever known...

He just wasn't the kind of man that could simply abandon his lousy foster sister, especially not when the summons had been so urgent, and the whispers surrounding Camelot so serious and dire.

He knew, of course, how little similarity hearsay oft shared with the truth, but if even a tenth of the rumors and gossip that had reached his quiet corner of Logres bore even a kernel of basis in reality, then something had gone seriously wrong in Camelot, and it was, once again, up to him to save his sister's sorry behind.

Then he saw the castle's courtyard, and knew that something truly had gone seriously wrong.

He'd of course noticed the increased traffic to and from the castle on his way up, but he hadn't paid it much attention then, thinking it to be nothing more than a few caravans trying to secure a bit more coin or supplies before the weather began discouraging travel.

Now that he was actually looking at the full situation in the courtyard, however, he could recognize the organized chaos for what it was, and as thousands of men loaded vast quantities of food, wood, and the other various assorted supplies a large group of fighting men would need onto hundreds of covered wagons as they bustled continuously between the castle and what seemed to be the old Roman port, he did a quick assessment of the situation using his own experience, and after a few heartbeats came to a singular conclusion.

What in the Lord's name was Artoria thinking, planning such a large-scale campaign to the old lands of the Empire, and this close to winter no less?!

The two may have naturally drifted apart as they'd grown older (and he'd found it harder and harder to bear what the throne was doing to her), but he was confident that he knew his sister well enough to know that she wasn't the kind of person to needlessly risk the lives of her subjects.

Then, had she received a message from Merlin?

Had Sir Lancelot passed on something from his contacts on the other side of the sea?

He didn't know, couldn't know for sure until he finally talked to Artoria, but whatever the situation was, it clearly had to be serious, if his sister was convinced that it had warranted such an immediate response.

And he would find out just what was going on, if for nothing else than only his foster sister's sake.

Kay wasted no time in finding one of the guards on duty at the entrance of the castle and "convincing" him to lead him to the King immediately, and the castle's interior passed by in a blur as he was led through opulent halls and luxurious corridors, until he was finally brought before what his memory told him was a private study.

The knight knocking on the door and announcing his presence only confirmed his suspicions, and he had to suppress a snort.

Typical.

Of course she'd be working now; it wasn't like she knew how to do anything else ever since she'd drawn that damned sword from that accursed stone.

It got harder to maintain his composure, however, as he was allowed to enter into the room, and countless complicated and confusing feelings rose up within him as he once again beheld the visage of the Perfect King.

But even as the doors closed behind him, and Artoria rose from her seat to greet him, Kay immediately saw past the facade, noticing the subtle signs of fatigue and exhaustion that marred her face; Avalon may have kept her physical condition pristine and ageless, but even it couldn't do anything for the slight furrow of her brows, the tension in her shoulders, or the tiredness in her eyes.

The face of his all-too-human perfect sister.

There was no hesitation or reluctance as he firmly grasped her outstretched hand, before pulling her into a warm embrace and playfully clasping her shoulder even as he greeted her: "It's been a while, Artoria."

"It has indeed, Kay," Artoria regarded her foster brother with fond exasperation, before pulling away as her face fell slightly: "I... have heard of Uncle Ector's fate. I truly wish I could have been there."

"Father understood why you couldn't make it," Kay reassured her. "And you know Father; he would have wanted you to prioritize the Kingdom over an old knight, especially if even a fraction of the hearsay that was reaching of us was true."

"..." Artoria nodded quietly at Kay's words, grateful for his attempts at comforting her, tempered as it may have been by the sorrow at not being there for the man who had raised her when he'd been at his deathbed.

A moment of somber silence passed, after which Kay spoke up again: "And speaking of the hearsay that was reaching us, Artoria... just what in the Lord's name has been happening to the realm? And why are you preparing for a faraway campaign in this season?"

Artoria sighed, knowing that the coming conversation was necessary, and took a quick breath before answering: "A great deal, Kay. Would you like a brief summary, or would you prefer a detailed explanation?"

"The latter, please," Kay replied, already feeling an oncoming headache but determined to help Artoria.

"Very well," Artoria nodded, before starting with what she felt was the most bitter pill to swallow: "To begin with, the unity of the Round Table as an order... may as well no longer exist."

Kay blinked, needing a moment to process what he'd just heard, before he finally found his voice, incredulous as it was: "What? How?"

"I suppose you could say it began with Sir Tristan's outburst at a feast, over two seasons ago, and his subsequent departure from Camelot," Artoria elaborated. "While I do understand why he could not bear to remain in the continued service of the realm, his words caused some division within the realm and the ranks of Camelot."

"I'd heard that the dour good-for-nothing bastard had left the realm," Kay cursed the Knight of Lamentation, having fought alongside him before and being more than able to guess what Artoria meant. "And I told you, that's why you've got to prioritize mutual self-interest more as well, Artoria; ideals are all well and good, until they come into conflict with reality."

"And yet we could have never succeeded even half as fast as we had, if not for all those who had been inspired by the ideals we demonstrated to join us and overthrow the invaders," Artoria pointed out tiredly, having had this discussion with her foster brother no small number of times. "And regardless, while Sir Tristan's actions may have sparked it, they were ultimately trivial compared to everything else that transpired, and I cannot truly blame him for what others have done."

"Tch," Kay could only click his tongue in annoyance at his sister's nature, before leaning forward as he recalled some of the other things he'd heard in Sutton. "So, what else has transpired, then? Was the castle truly infiltrated by a demon who attempted to hoodwink you?"

"Of course not," Artoria denied immediately, and Kay couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at the sudden firmness of her tone. "Sir Agravain's accusations were flimsy at best, relying on little more than circumstantial evidence, and the only reason Ja- Sir Mordred's squire was unable to properly defend himself was because he had been sworn to silence by me."

"Wait, so Agravain really did accuse someone of being a demonic infiltrator who was hoodwinking you?" Kay blinked, trying to process what he'd just heard.

"Technically he was accused of being an otherworldly infiltrator, but yes, that did indeed happen," Artoria sighed, more than able to recall the day of Gareth's with ease, especially since everything had seemed to go downhill from there. "I know not who put Agravain up to it, though I have a strong suspicion that it was Morgan once again, but in any case it matters little now, considering his death at Lancelot's hands months ago."

"... what?!" Kay couldn't help but ask, wondering if he'd misheard.

"Lancelot had been having an affair with Guinivere, and Agravain found out and tried to take action," Artoria said quietly, the deaths of her kin and her knights still weighing heavily on her heart, though she forced herself to bear it with the same stoicism as she had everything else. "Naturally, Lancelot did not take kindly to the threat against his lover."

"You mean, your queen and wife," Kay pointed out.

"You know full well of my circumstances, and of the nature of my marriage with Guinevere," Artoria reminded him. "She may have been a good friend, a trusted advisor, and a close confidant, but there was little romance between us, and honestly when I first found out there was a part of me that was glad for Guinevere for managing to finally find love, and with none lesser than Lancelot. In fact, I had been planning on confronting the pair, and giving their relationship my blessing, before Agravain's actions made that all but impossible."

"... you... knew beforehand?" Kay asked incredulously, struggling to process the words he'd heard, and reconcile the tacit approval of adultery and betrayal with the overly-serious sister he'd always known.

"I found it out first, yes," Artoria confirmed, before sighing resignedly. "Regardless, handling it discreetly and quietly is certainly no longer an option; even if Lancelot had not been having an affair with the royal consort, he caused the deaths of many of the men who dared stand between him and Agravain, and injured many more, including Gawain and Gaheris, before finally killing Agravain and fleeing justice. Even now, Guinevere remains imprisoned as much for her own safety as for the stability of realm, and it was all I could do to suspend her execution indefinitely, in order to placate the wrath of Gawain and King Lot, and keep them from acting more rashly and decisively."

Kay could only shake his head, regretting ever having returned to Camelot. The politics and intrigues the court demanded had always disgusted him, especially when it involved the self-serving nobles that infested the realm; he still remembered just how hard the first few years had been, just after Artoria had drawn Caliburn, and no small number of nobles had been content to sit on the sidelines and merely watch them struggle, rather than honoring their oaths to the High King.

But at the same time, he couldn't deny the situation wouldn't be so dire, if Artoria had for once actually listened to him, and relied less on ideals and oaths to get them to follow her, especially now that those ideals that had formed the foundation of her rule had been shaken, and the paragons of virtue and righetousness had proven themselves to be less than perfect.

And of course, even now, his sister was still trying to protect Guinevere!

With a herculean force of effort, Kay forced himself to think of something else, lest he lose control and berate Artoria that he had told her so (which while true was less than helpful at the moment), before his mind latched on to a stray thought: "And how's Gareth taking all this?"

"About as well as you'd expect," Artoria's shoulders slumped tiredly. Her niece had already been badly affected by Jaune's departure (almost as badly as Mordred, even), just mere days before the death of her brother at the hands of her mentor. "The sunniness and warmth she was once known for still exists, of course, but it is but a shadow of what it once was. Her heart remains conflicted, torn between her familial bonds and the wrongs he committed not just against her brothers but her brothers-in-arms as well, and the admiration and reverence a part of her even now still holds, for the First of the Round Table, the man who mentored her to be a Knight in his footsteps."

Kay mirrored his foster sister's actions as he tried to imagine just what Gareth had to be going through. No matter how different he may have been from the overly-serious fools of Camelot, he couldn't help but feel sorry for Beaumains; having interacted with her no small number of times, he could safely say that she didn't deserve this.

What in the Lord's name had possessed Lancelot, that he would cause such harm to the Kingdom, his fellow Knights, and his own squire? Even Kay, who had partaken in no small amount of cavorting with the fairer sex, would never have done something like this.

"So... is that why you are mobilizing men and supplies for an expedition across Mare Britannicum?" Kay asked after a few moments of thought. "To bring Lancelot to justice?"

Artoria could only raise an eyebrow at the conclusion Kay had reached, though she conceded: "That is certainly what some of the men, and especially Gawain, would like to think... but it would be inaccurate to believe so. We have no idea of Lancelot's current whereabouts; the safe bet would be to storm his territory across the sea, assuming I was willing to risk besieging his holdings during the winter season, of course, but some rumors from sailors have placed him in Rome of all places, and all things considered he could have fled as far as the eastern-most edges of the old Empire's lands by now."

Kay nodded in agreement with Artoria's words, though that still didn't why she was preparing for an expedition across Mare Britannicum.

Something in his face must have given away his confusion, or Artoria's ability to read his expression hadn't waned in his absence, for she continued explaining: "I received worrying news from some of the merchants that sailed here at the start of the fall, which had been further corroborated by other sources from the continent; a new warlord has risen in the heart of the former Empire, and having already claimed the title of Caesar now has ambitions to reunite the Empire once more, through conquest if need be.

"Rather than allowing him to consolidate his power and waiting for him to invade our lands like the Angles and Saxons, I would much rather strike in full force while he is still vulnerable, and hopefully end the campaign quickly and decisively, and allow the men to return to tend to their lands come the spring."

"At the very least, any damages caused by the battle would be on their lands, rather than ours," Kay murmured approvingly, even though he knew Artoria would much rather minimize the damage to the peasantry regardless of whom they served. Then he realized something, and inquired: "Then what are your plans for dealing with Lancelot and Guinevere?"

Artoria didn't quite meet his eyes as she informed him: "... I was hoping to wait until after I'd returned from Rome, and the memory of their actions had faded from the minds of most, before seeking out Lancelot in private, delivering him judgement as needed, and finally pardoning him and Guinevere."

"... are you serious?" Kay pinched the bridge of his nose in disbelief at what he'd just heard.

"As I have said, I understand why Lancelot and Guinevere did what they did," Artoria defended her actions, "and while they must be judged, we must also keep in mind everything both of them have done in service to the realm."

Kay could only take a deep breath, and force himself to count to ten lest he lose his composure and shudder, before nodding and changing the subject (it was fine, he knew full well just what kind of person Artoria was, or so he kept repeating to himself): "So, you called me back to Camelot to assist you in a foreign campaign against Rome?"

"Not quite," Artoria answered with a smile, relieved that she wouldn't have to deal with her brother's sharp tongue this time (as much as she usually valued his wit and advice, she was in no mood to entertain his argumentative nature this time). "As valuable as your assistance and experience would be on this campaign, your talents in management would be far more valuable in service to the realm during my absence, Kay."

"... isn't that supposed to be Gawain's job?" Kay pointed out.

"He is still recuperating, and had always relied on Agravain for assistance in the more tedious affairs of state, an option which no longer exists to him," Artoria explained. "In any case, considering his emotional state at the moment, I would like there to be someone clear-headed to rein him in. Furthermore... I am not asking you to take sole charge of Gawain or the Kingdom while I'm gone either, Kay. Rather, I would like you to also pass your skills on to someone else."

"Oh?" Kay's eyebrow rose. Certainly, he knew that Gawain's talents lay in other fields, and Artoria's nephew could definitely stand to pick up a thing or two about management, if not because he was the next person with claim to the throne considering his sister's heirlessness then because he was heir to King Lot of Orkney.

But if Artoria had wanted him to teach Gawain how to manage the Kingdom, she would have just said so, rather than saying "someone else".

"Who would you like me to teach, Artoria?" Kay asked cautiously.

"I would like you teach Mordred," Artoria answered in a matter-of-fact tone.

Kay blinked.

Kay blinked again.

Kay blinked a third time, before finally finding his voice once more, and he tried to confirm that his ears had simply failed him: "I'm sorry, I thought I heard you say Mordred..."

"I did," Artoria confirmed. "I would like you to teach Mordred."

"Mordred," Kay repeated, before double-checking that another Mordred hadn't been invited to Camelot while he'd been gone: "Just so we're clear, we're talking about Mordred the Silent, Mordred the Horned, Mordred the Perpetually-Helmeted, that Mordred?"

"... we are, yes," Artoria nodded after a moment, knowing that Kay simply wasn't aware of Mordred's full circumstances (along with pretty much everybody else, to be fair).

"Okay..." Kay took a deep breath, before asking his next question: "Now... what in the Lord's name makes you think Mordred of all people is suitable for managing the affairs of state, Artoria?!"

"It's..." Artoria paused, trying to decide how best to explain to her foster brother that, after Merlin had used his magic to allow her to sire an heir, she had apparently lain with Morgan without her knowledge, before the resulting child had been sent to Camelot, about twice as old as they should have been.

Fortunately for her, before she had to answer, there was a hard knock on the door.

Immediately, she turned her attention towards the door, slipping back into her role as the Perfect King as she called out: "You may enter."

The thick doors slowly opened, revealing one of the other knights guarding Camelot's entrance as he approached and genuflected before Artoria, and spoke: "Your Majesty, Sir Mordred has returned from Cornwall. Would you like me to lead him to you right now, my liege?"

"Please go ahead and do so," Artoria nodded, and as the knight got up and excused himself from her presence to get Mordred she nodded to him and called out: "You have my gratitude."

Once the doors had been closed, Kay finally spoke up: "Cornwall?"

"One of the local lords raised arms in rebellion against me, blaming me for the current events of the realm," Artoria explained. "Mordred was dispatched to put it down. In any case, would you mind waiting for Mordred to arrive, before I tell the both of you why I would like you to pass your skills on to Mordred, and save myself both the time and breath?"

"... very well," Kay finally nodded. "But you will be telling me everything, Artoria."

"Of course," Artoria agreed with a tired smile. "Thanks, Kay."

The pair fell into a companionable silence, before Kay remembered something Artoria had mentioned off-handedly: "By the way... you said Mordred had a squire earlier, right? The one that Agravain accused?"

"Oh, right..." Artoria winced.

"Wait, so the rumors were true?!" Kay pressed, seeing Artoria's reaction. "Mordred actually picked up a squire?! How on Earth did-"

"Kay, I'm going to give you this warning only once, for your own sake," Artoria cut him off with a firm tone. "Do not under any circumstances bring up Mordred's squire in front of him, and especially do not bring up the fact that he was accused by Agravain. It is still a very sensitive topic to him."

Kay's curiosity only grew more burning.

Notes:

And so do I once again return, and with it do I introduce a brand new character to Camelot, 28 chapters in, a figure quite pivotal to the Arthurian mythos and yet one that I can find precious little about during this time period (yes I know he might have possible turned into a giant once, but that's neither here nor there).

So... yeah, I had to do a lot of extrapolating from the wiki's few paragraphs about Kay (namely that he held the least admiration for King Arthur, despite his love for Artoria, and believes that a bilateral cooperation for the purpose of mutual interests is more comfortable than what Artoria has going on).

Hope you enjoyed his characterization - one of the few people capable of looking past Arthur the Perfect King and seeing Artoria the person underneath it all... and is utterly sickened by what he finds, being unable to understand her dedication to protecting the happiness of her subjects, such that she never allowed herself the chance to personally experience that which she protected, and instead feels bitterness towards her rule, because of everything that it's costing her.

Just thought it was an interesting contrast, in comparison with another character who could see past the facade of perfection, but who instead was able to sympathize and empathize with the lonely green-eyed girl (although he didn't and doesn't know about that) being crushed by the weight of others' expectations.

Moving on, now it's time to discuss the pachyderm in the hall - Gareth's continued survival.

Here's the thing - as far as I knew, Gareth and Gaheris were dead by this point in the timeline (at least canonically), and Artoria should have been heading to Rome because Lancelot was supposed to have fled there after killing a lot of knights and rescuing Guinevere, and her absence is what gave Mordred the chance to lead a rebellion against her (at least canonically).

And according to the Garden of Avalon translation cited on the Guinevere page, as well as the Guinevere page itself, it says that, and I'm paraphrasing, Guinvere was sentenced to death and imprisoned (as per what was said earlier)... BUT she was still imprisoned when Artoria led an army to Rome to fight off a threat to her Kingdom (specified because Mordred went so far as to mockingly propose to Guinevere while she was imprisoned), AND when Lancelot then freed Guinevere from her prison, killing Gareth and Gaheris during this time, Artoria was still on expedition in Rome.

Is this confusing as hell? Absolutely.

Does it clash with a lot of the other portions of Arthurian legend? Of course.

But will I pounce on this inconsistency between sources and the fact that I neither specified which of Artoria's kin was killed by Lancelot nor exactly why Artoria was preparing an expedition to "the heart of the former, now-potentially-hostile, Empire" to say that I'll stick with FATE canon over "historical" accuracy and say that Gareth and Gaheris are still alive for the time being? You fucking betcha; in any case, historical accuracy got thrown out of the window when Caliburn's inscription was "Rightwise King of All England" and plate armor being in use in Arthurian Britain despite it being at least 600 years too early, so unless you'd like to say that Artoria apparently led two expeditions to Rome...

Also, apologies, but we'll get to Mordred in the next chapter; I initially wanted to include it as a part of this chapter, but I do really feel sorry for the delays between chapters , as well as how my rapidly-diminishing readers might feel (alas, as mentioned many times, the price of competence is even more work).

Just to be clear, though, it was absolutely canonical that Artoria left Camelot in the hands of Kay, Mordred, and Gawain while she went to Rome, which... doesn't make much sense to me, considering canon!Mordred had pretty much sworn to destroy everything Artoria had ever built after being rejected as her son by this point in time.

On a side note, the Plot Fairy's been trying to get me to write even more 30k for ATDITW, which is not fucking happening since I literally cannot add any more words to that chapter thanks to AO3's character limits, so unless I want to suddenly add an additional chapter after 3 damn years...

Also, you know that that feeling of getting a sudden flash of inspiration, one you absolutely, positively, definitely have to write?

Yeah, unfortunately, the Plot Fairy does not care about little things like suitable location or good timing when she hits you with the bolt from the blue (fortunately my brain's too disorganized for it to affect me too much, and I was able to carry a few wild pigs and some medical equipment and take medical notes while sketching the idea in my head at the same time).

Also unfortunately (or perhaps fortunately), it had nothing to do with FIIIP, or even FATE, which will probably (definitely) confuse most of the people reading this, but alas, what can you really do?

SCENARIO: HSR

POINT OF DEVIATION: CHAPTER 0 (ATDITW CHAPTER 1)

Author's Notes: I'm well aware that most of my readers are probably not familiar with Honkai: Star Rail, but like I said, the Plot Fairy does what she wants, and she likes what she does - making me suffer.

Also, uh, spoiler alert for version 2.5 of HSR, as well.

An odd sensation of heat in his chest tickled the edge of his consciousness, and it slowly roused from its slumber, stirred by the sudden and unfamiliar stimulation.

The next thing he noticed, was the feeling of cold metal beneath him, dulled as it was through his clothes.

Then Jaune Arc opened his eyes.

There was a light on the unfamiliar dark ceiling, though fortunately for his vision it wasn't shining directly in his face and blinding him.

And as he slowly opened his eyes wider, getting used to light once again, he belatedly noticed two unknown figures hovering over him.

Immediately, he froze.

"Oh..." the first breathed, a beautiful mature woman with purple hair, purple eyes, and a pair of sunglasses propped up on her fringe, as she studied his face closely, before her brow furrowed. Glancing towards the second figure, a younger, shorter woman with grey hair and a dark purple ribbon in her hair (what was with these people and purple?), she observed: "I thought you'd remember me."

Jaune blinked, confused by who these people were, why the first expected him to remember her, and why she sounded so... disappointed? Concerned?

He couldn't quite place it, but it disturbed him nonetheless.

After all, he was fairly sure he'd never seen them before in Beacon...

Beacon!

Team JNPR!

Disorganized images and memories began flashing through his mind, of chaos, destruction, fire, most of which he was sure he'd never experienced before.

What on Remnant had happened?

And who were these people?!

Before he could begin asking questions, however, the second figure idly commented: "Maybe you're not as important as you think."

The first figure looked back down at him, her face falling almost imperceptibly to anyone who didn't have seven older sisters, and for some reason seeing the hint of disappointment on her face sent a pang through his heart.

Then a name suddenly came to his lips from the forefront of his mind, one both familiar and unfamiliar at the same time, and as he opened his mouth it slipped out like a question: "Kafka...?"

The first figure, who was apparently named Kafka, blinked, and a hint of satisfaction colored her tone as she answered: "Great, so you do remember me."

Jaune didn't, not really, and he still didn't know how they knew him, but as he looked away from Kafka's softened gaze and back at the unfamiliar ceiling, he decided he had more pressing concerns.

"Where..." Jaune groaned, his voice still hoarse, as if it hadn't been used for a while, but he forced himself to continue: "... am I?"

"A space station," Kafka replied off-handedly as she shook her head, never looking away from him all the while, "but that's not important."

Jaune's eyes almost boggled.

What in the name of the Grimm did she mean, a space station?!

Since when could people even go to Dust-damned space?!

Didn't Dust stop working once it was outside the atmosphere?!

Once again, someone spoke before he could ask any questions, this time apparently being Kafka's turn: "Listen: you are in a daze right now. You don't know who you are, why you're here, or what you're going to do next. You think I look familiar, but you're not sure if you should trust me..."

Jaune blinked, unsure of how to respond, what to say, as Kafka's voice trailed off, cutting her explanation short.

He knew he was Jaune Arc, sure, but beyond that, everything else she had said was true.

He was indeed in a daze.

He didn't know why he was in space, let alone a space station.

He didn't know what he was going to do next; the obvious thing would have been to get back to Remnant, to Beacon, to Team JNPR, but if he was really in space... wasn't space supposed to be really, really, really big?

And he certainly didn't know if he should (or even could) trust Kafka, considering he didn't even know why she looked familiar.

Then Kafka shook her head, and spoke again, capturing his full attention once more: "None of that matters. All you need to know is that I'm leaving, and you will be left all alone on this space station. From now on you needn't think about your past or doubt yourself.

"Listen: in the near future, you will encounter all kinds of perils and hardships," Kafka continued on, before quickly reassuring him: "but you will also have many wonderful experiences. You'll meet companions who treat you like family, embark on surreal adventures with them, and help countless people in need...

"At the end of your journey, all that perplexes you and troubles you will resolve. This is your future that Elio has foreseen.

"Do you like it?" Kafka finished with a question, smiling down at him.

Jaune could only blink, trying to take it all in.

That was... that was a lot to process...

Even if he could just stop thinking about his past, his friends and family, his team, even if the worst student in Beacon's history could just stop doubting yourself... what was all that about perils and hardships?

What was that about being left alone in space?

And what was that about his future having been foreseen?! Who even was Elio, anyway?

At least that other part about wonderful experiences and companions and adventures and helping other sounded nice, though...

Slowly, reluctantly, Jaune finally nodded: "... I guess..."

"Lovely," Kafka smiled down at him. "Hey. Remember what you're feeling in this moment. As long as you know in your heart where you're heading, you are guaranteed to see the ending of your story. That's the you I like."

Jaune blinked, heat creeping up his face.

Seriously, just what kind of relationship had he even had with this Kafka?

... and why couldn't he remember any of it...

"How long do you think you need?" The second person cut into their conversation. "According to the script, the Astral Express crew is arriving soon. We should avoid being seen by them."

"I know, Silver Wolf," Kafka turned to the second person (evidently named Silver Wolf), annoyance creeping into her tone. "Just give me another minute.

"i must leave now," Kafka explained apologetically, turning back to Jaune. "Don't worry, someone will come and find you very soon, just go with them. You won't remember a thing except me."

Jaune didn't know what to say, what to ask, where to even start.

Fortunately, he didn't need to.

A wave of weakness suddenly overtook his body, and he felt his eyes slowly closing despite his best efforts.

And even as he did his best to fight it, Kafka got up and began walking away with Silver Wolf, leaving behind some parting words: "Relax. And when you have a chance to make a choice, make one that you know you won't regret..."

Then darkness overtook him, and Jaune passed out.

-? ? ?, ? ? ?-

"Weren't their coordinates sent out from the space station...?" A male voice cautiously asked from somewhere above him, stimulating his consciousness.

"Who cares?" Another voice retorted, this one female. "They're here and alive. Do they look like a mannequin to you?"

Then he felt a hand gently grab his wrist, before the male voice spoke again: "... weak heartbeat and pulse... March, you better do CPR."

"Huh!?" The female voice loudly protested in surprise. "I-I've never done it before! Dan Heng, you do it!"

That was the final push needed to tip Jaune back into consciousness, and he slowly opened his eyes with a groan...

Just to see a man leaning down towards him, seemingly about to help with the assisted breathing portion of CPR.

Fortunately for both of them, the person next to him noticed him wake up, and quickly pushed the man out of the way as she excitedly exclaimed: "Wait - stop it! They're awake!"

Jaune groaned again, clutching his head in pain even as the two helped him get up from the wall he'd been slumped against.

What on Remnant had happened, and where even was he...

"Are you all right?" A pink-haired girl, the one who'd first noticed he was awake, asked him in a voice full of concern. "Can you hear me? ... do you remember your name?"

Jaune groaned for a third time, trying to jog his memory, but only drawing blanks.

He could only remember a purple-haired woman and a name, and before that...

Blur images and vague fragments of memories flashed through his head, providing nothing concrete, and eventually he just shook his head, admitting: "I... don't remember a thing..."

"Aw, this isn't good..." The woman sounded worried now, glancing at the man. "Can you try harder? I'm sure you can at least remember your name..."

That much, he could at least remember.

"My name's Jaune Arc," Jaune introduced himself. "Short, sweet, rolls off the tongue."

"Jaune Arc?" The man confirmed with him, sharing a look with the woman, before introducing himself and the woman in turn: "Nice to meet you. My name's Dan Heng, and this is March 7th."

"Nice to meet you too, Dan Heng, March 7th," Jaune nodded at the pair, before asking the most pressing question on his mind: "So, would you mind telling me what's going on?"

"This space station was just attacked by the Antimatter Legion," Dan Heng explained. "We came to help with the rescue at the request of Lead Researcher Asta."

Jaune blinked.

-SUPPLY ZONE, HERTA SPACE STATION, 2 TUTORIAL MISSIONS AND 1 TUTORIAL BOSS FIGHT LATER-

Jaune panted in exhaustion as he propped himself up with the bat he'd picked up from somwehre, and watched the massive "Doomsday Beast" (and wasn't that just an ominous name?) roar and rear back, before it finally ran out of strength, and collapsed backwards.

And he wasn't the only one either; around him, Dan heng and Himeko were both hunched over and panting too, and March 7th was on the floor.

But regardless, they'd done it.

They'd defeated the Doomsday Beast and saved the Herta Space Station.

And by Oum, that had been a difficult fight; he hadn't even struggled that much when he'd fought that Deathstalker at Initiation, or...

Jaune shook his head, forcing himself to focus.

Even if he missed his friends and family, rationally speaking he was in space, with no idea how he got there, and as far as he could remember Remnant hadn't discovered space flight.

Somehow, he didn't think there was a way back home from wherever he was.

Then his Aura started screaming at him, and he looked up just in time to see the Doomsday Beast's head begin to glow, even as it whipped it forwards in their direction.

A beam of energy suddenly shot out of its head, aimed towards March 7th, who was still kneeling on the floor.

There wasn't any time to think, let alone drawing his empty family scabbard and flicking it back into its shield configuration.

All Jaune could do was jump in front of March 7th, intercepting the Doomsday Beast's final attack, futilely trying to block it with his bat and his Aura.

For a moment, he managed to resist the beam.

Then, his chest began glowing, radiating a golden light, and an overwhelming pain surged throughout his body.

He grit his teeth and forced himself to continue holding back the beam, of course, refusing to let his new friend get hurt.

And then he suddenly got visions, images, fragments flashing through his mind, that he just couldn't understand, before suddenly seeing a yellow eye gazing down upon him.

Suddenly, he found he wasn't looking at the space station any more, but instead at a void, looking at a massive human-shaped... THING.

Then the golden light exploded outwards from his body uncontrollably, disintegrating the massive Doomsday Beast.

And that was how he found out that someone had apparently implanted a Stellaron (more affectionately known as a Cancer of All Worlds) inside of him at some point in time.

-MASTER CONTROL ZONE, HERTA SPACE STATION, LATER-

"I'm very interested now, so there's almost nothing I won't accommodate," Herta concluded her pitch to Jaune. "A Stellaron in your body, how interesting is that! Be grateful that I'm offering to help you out. This is a service even the IPC can't buy."

"You understand now, Jaune?" Himeko confirmed with him. "Herta wants you to stay in her space station."

Honestly, Jaune wasn't sure if he did.

"Well, I'm going to have to modify your wording here," Herta impatiently corrected Himeko. "This little twerp can only stay temporarily until the research is done. Or maybe I'll lose interest halfway through and they can just beat it."

"And after that?" Himeko inquired with a touching amount of concern.

"Not my problem," Herta shrugged nonchalantly.

Himeko simply sighed, before addressing Jaune once again: "Jaune... you also have another option - the Astral Express. If you want, you can leave with us.

"The Express has its fair share of experiences with Stellarons. The thing you're worried about, and the answers we're looking for are one and the same. Besides... we can come back any time to let Herta conduct her research. She's absolutely fascinated now."

"Hm, works for me," Herta nodded, after barely a moment's thought. "Keeps this subject fresh, too. And that way I won't need to keep worrying about this little twerp all the time. Perfect!"

Jaune bit back a sigh, as the pair turned to him expectantly, waiting for his answer.

All things considered, he didn't really feel like he had much of a choice; he was completely out of his league, in a place he didn't understand and he apparently had a ticking time bomb in his body.

... then again, except for the bomb in his body, the rest wasn't too unfamiliar to him...

Sure, space was a bit more unfamiliar to him than Beacon, but in all honesty, this was pretty close to how he'd felt ever since he'd ran away from home to be a hero, wasn't it?

You'll meet companions who treat you like family, embark on surreal adventures with them, and help countless people in need...

When you have a chance to make a choice, make one that you know you won't regret...

... well, the way they'd said it, it did seem like the Astral Express was the better option, didn't it?

And he had met March 7th and Dan Heng first...

There was just one thing he needed to know first, though.

"What... what do the Nameless of the Astral Express actually do?" Jaune asked curiously.

As soon as he found out that they were pretty much retracing the steps of their disappeared god, and travelling around the galaxy, fixing the star rail the space train used (and how that worked was completely beyond him), dealing with other Stellarons, and in general helping people wherever they went, there was zero hesitation in his answer.

-SKYSPLITTER, XIANZHOU LUOFU, ~11 VERSIONS LATER-

"Your healer, Jiaoqiu, served you with such loyalty," a familiar voice taunted her, even as she confronted and dispelled the wraiths of suspicion, fear, and desire, that had suddenly sprung up within her heart, and she turned to see Hoolay standing behind her, looking down at her. "He was even willing to die in order to cure your Moon Rage. I told him before that the only way to save you lay in my hands.

"If you just nod your head," the specter of Hoolay continued to promise, "you will awaken from this nightmare that the Crimson Moon has inflicted on you, and your body will be born anew. From that moment, you will no longer be trapped by your rage, your doubt will be swept from your mind like dust, and your fear will naturally disappear."

"So this was the path that you prepared for me..." Feixiao breathed in understanding, before looking back up at Hoolay. "To become a new you?"

"That's right," Hoolay confirmed with a grin, "we are so similar after all. We are both monsters that were born for war and will die for war."

"... I'm sure my answer doesn't need much explanation," Feixiao replied, after barely a few moments, before confidently declaring: "I refuse."

Hoolay simply looked at her incredulously, before slowly trying again: "I told you before, "foxian" and "borisin" are no more than labels! You can be whoever you want to be; you can do whatever you want to do!

"Accept these truths and the borisin will bow down to you. Destroy them, reduce them to dust, or teach them to become servants of the Xianzhou... you are free to do as you please. Carve your name into the Xianzhou's history books, or into the List of Archenemies; you have the final say!"

"You do not understand, Hoolay," Feixiao shook her head again. "You have no idea what it is I truly desire."

And Hoolay listened as the Merlin's Claw shared her past with her hated foe, of her childhood, when she was a war slave for the borisin still named "Saran", and of her escape, and her subsequent battles for the Xianzhou Alliance.

"I prayed to the God of the Skybow that I would never have to witness one of these "shooting stars" fall again," Feixiao finally concluded her tale, frustration and sorrow tinging her tone as she remembered the sheer destruction each "shooting star", each Lux Arrow fired by the Reignbow Arbiter, wrought. "But... THEY ignored my prayers."

"That's right," Hoolay nodded in agreement. "THEY never answer us. THEY just let us loose in this world to massacre one another. That is why the fierce battle between us has raged to this day. If the Gods, who never bleed nor cry, watch silently from above, refuse to listen to the prayers of mortals, then we have no choice but to fight for our own desires!

"Do you understand now, Saran?" Hoolay empathized with Feixiao. "You and I are similar in more ways than you think. You are a beast that was born for war and will die for war!"

"... perhaps..." Feixiao conceded as she looked down, chewing on his words, on the sudden and surprising sincerity she felt from the old borisin.

And yet, even if they were similar...

"So, what is it you yearn for, Hoolay?" Feixiao asked, turning back to him. "Why is it that you fight?"

"I fight so that I can turn the stars above into a great wilderness for the borisin to roam," Hoolay answered confidently, without any guilt. "What about you, Saran?"

... she could never become Hoolay.

"I fight so that one day, I will never have to witness another "shooting star" falling to the ground," Feixiao answered with conviction, without any doubt. "So that just one more person can live and return to the Yaoqing alongside me."

And as she spoke, she remembered the countless people of the Xianzhou Alliance she'd fought alongside, as she'd protected the innocent from the countless abominations throughout the cosmos.

And then, like always, she remembered the outsider who'd become a Cloud Knight, who'd been picked up by General Yueyu just before she had, who'd fought together with her under General Yueyu's banner throughout countless missions, protecting her and healing her innumerable times, before...

"You would resist becoming the person you were supposed to be, lower yourself from a free wolf to a domesticated fox, just for... the sake of one person?" Hoolay asked in utter disbelief.

Feixiao nodded.

She'd do even more than that, for the sake of that person, but he was long gone, just like General Yueyu was long gone.

But even so, even if they were gone...

Even if the talk with Hoolay's specter had been surprisingly insightful, in the end, he hadn't told her anything new.

She was, indeed, free to choose whoever she wanted to be, do whatever she wanted to do.

And she had already chosen, to be the Merlin's Claw of the Xianzhou Yaoqing, to hunt down all the abominations, and to be a hero in his stead, saving others just as she had been saved.

"... then have it your way!" Hoolay finally declared, seeing that Feixiao could not be swayed. "I will use your fear and doubt as my nourishment! I will seize you and deovur you! I will replace you and become "Feixiao"!"

-1 BOSS BATTLE AT THE CENTER OF FEIXIAO'S MIND LATER-

With a final swing of her axe, Feixiao vanquished what had once been the specter of Hoolay, a Brood Lord of the Borisin, that had turned into a shadow of herself as they had clashed.

But even as the other her collapsed, however, it still tried one final time to shake her resolve: "No matter how many you kill... you will never be able to bring him back..."

Feixiao didn't bother dignifying it with a reply, and instead simply watched stoically as it fell.

Of course she knew that.

She could never change the past.

All she could do, was make sure it never repeated.

Also, he'd have never wanted her to become another Hoolay; when her Moon Rage had first kicked in, at the start, and most of her comrades-in-arms had begun looking at her with (not-wholly-unjustified) suspicion and caution, he'd been one of the only people who'd still seen Feixiao, seen Saran, whenever he'd looked at her.

Taking a deep breath, Feixiao recomposed herself, before her consciousness reawakened...

... to find her body swinging her axe down at the kids from the Zhuming, the Luofu, and the Astral Express, all while they fought desperately to resist her weapon with their own.

Relaxing her grip on her axe, the strain her body had been through in the past few hours made itself known, and she almost collapsed to her knees, panting.

Even as she did so, however, and the kids she'd been fighting quickly dropped their own weapons and supported her tired body, she still took a moment to quickly check her surroundings.

Good, there didn't seem to have been any further casualties in the area since she'd swallowed the Crimson Moon.

At least Lieutenant Yanqing, Yunli, and March had succeeded in... occupying her, even if they hadn't been able to fully subdue her.

Even as they fussed over her, she gave them a quiet nod, feeling a measure of pride and gratitude.

Then she froze, as she smelt someone approaching, a smell she hadn't smelt in over a century.

Oh, she'd smelt similar scents quite a few times, but none of them had been the true him, possessed the same character, the same soul (Aura, as he'd called it), and none of them had smelt exactly the same as he had.

Her head shot up in an instant, her ears alert and trained towards the approaching person even as he ran towards them, surprise and concern coloring his tone, and began healing them with his Aura.

And as he pressed a gentle hand against hers, and shared his Aura with her once more, her eyes began to water.

Sure, his hair may have been grey now, and he had a bat for some reason instead of a sword, but this was, without a doubt, him.

And before he could remove his hand from hers, she gripped him tightly and pulled him into her, much to the shock of everyone there, and embraced him with all her (not inconsiderable) strength even as she cried: "Jaune! It's really you!"

-SEAT OF DIVINE FORESIGHT, XIANZHOU LUOFU, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

"I suppose the mess aboard the Skysplitter should have been wrapped up right about now."

"I believe it has, yes. But I'm also surprised that you actually sent Jaune to the Skysplitter, Jing Yuan."

"Well, Elder, all things considered, I'm sure his healing abilities will be useful for those who've had to face Hoolay."

"You know what I mean, Jing Yuan, though admittedly I'm surprised it took you this long to finally allow them to meet, especially considering all the work you've had to do in the past few days, just to keep them from accidentally encountering one another."

"To be fair, the Seer Strategist did have a point, that with everything that's been going on, with all of our foes suddenly revealing themselves, and with the upcoming Wardance, we couldn't afford to let the Merlin's Claw be distracted, especially when she learns that he remembers nothing of his time with the Xianzhou Yaoqing."

"True, though if it is fated to be, then I doubt they will have any difficulty reconnecting."

-HERTA'S OFFICE, HERTA SPACE STATION, JUST AFTER THE ASTRAL EXPRESS HAD DEPARTED-

As the Herta puppet in the office began going through the data this Jaune had collected as he'd gone through the Simultated Universe (Beta) that she'd created, the doors to her office.

The Herta puppet didn't bother looking up, having expected this meeting as soon as she'd seen the face of the person the Nameless had rescued, and as Asta stepped into her office she immediately began: "Before you ask, no, I had nothing to do with this Jaune Arc; even I'm not crazy enough to try and put a Stellaron into a cloned body, after all."

"Well, who else could have done it?"

"I don't know, Ruan Mei, maybe? She was working on some biological experiments in the Seclusion Zone, after all."

Postscript: Ugh, thank god, it's finally out of my head...

Anyway, to anyone who actually bothered reading this, I hope you enjoyed briefly following the journey of The Trailblazer, Jaune-HSR, and that you weren't too put off by the usual Shitty Rambler's twist at the end.

And just in case it's not clear, Jaune has actually been in the HSR world for quite a while, and his enhanced strength, speed, and Aura aren't just because he's got a Stellaron in his body empowering him, but also because of all the growth he's gone through during his first (when he was with the Xianzhou Yaoqing as a combat healer, before falling in battle protecting Feixiao during the battle which saw her be canonically badly injured and meet Jiaoqiu for the first time) and second romp (during his time with the Stellaron Hunters, after Elio recovered an amnesiac near-dead Jaune from the remains of the destroyed planet before the Xianzhou Yaoqing could recover him, though Elio had him hide his identity during this time so as to minimize the issues he would face during his third (and current) adventure as a Nameless of the Astral Express) across the galaxy, and while he's definitely not the BIGGEST name out there (he's certainly no Emanator or Genius Society member, for example) he's still done enough that people in the know do recognize him (as that scene with our beloved Foxian Arbiter-General should hopefully show), though most would assume he's just another clone (as that scene at the end should hopefully show).

Man, I had so many more interactions in mind between the Stellaron Hunters and Jaune (especially Firefly), but  honestly my mind just could not picture Firefly without her emotional support trash panda (and while Jaune may be the Trailblazer in this story he would definitely not act as silly as our silly protagonist), and between that and the 2.5 story update I just decided to focus more heavily on Feixiao for this snippet. L ooking at how bloated this silly snippet's already getting... yeah, perhaps it's for the best I keep it short.

On a side note, Jaune isn't thinking too much about Remnant and JNPR because of Kafka used her Spirit Whisper skill on him at the beginning (pretty much a domination/suggestion ability), when she told him that he needn't think about his past, as well as telling him that he won't remember a thing.

Chapter Text

A tense silence settled between the pair as Artoria watched her foster brother with apprehension, knowing full well from Kay's own gaze upon her person exactly just what thoughts were running through his own head.

After all, she'd been on the receiving end of his inquisitive mind and sharp tongue oft enough, having grown up with him.

In all honesty, though, she couldn't blame him in the slightest; in the interest of time (and the honor of her knights current, former, and future), she'd been forced to give Kay the briefest of summaries regarding what had transpired in his absence, despite knowing full well that it would have only stoked the embers of his curiosity rather than quenching it.

But there had truly been too much that had happened in the past few seasons, even by the standards of Camelot, and as much as she may have wished to set aside some time to having a proper conversation with Kay, time was simply a luxury she could not afford, not with the goods and supplies they'd stockpiled, goods and supplies that wouldn't last.

In fact, a part of her had begun to worry that Kay wouldn't have made it to Camelot before she'd have had to depart for the continent, and thusly wouldn't be able to make her request to him in person (not to mention the possibility of Mordred's return from Cornwall being delayed); she'd made plans for that eventuality, of course, prepared letters for Kay and Mordred explaining the situation and their respective roles, but there was only so much space on a parchment, and she'd have doubtlessly been unable to answer every question Mordred and Kay would have had (especially Kay).

Regardless, such concerns had fortunately not been necessary, and she instead now had to contend with a curious Kay (a foe almost as formidable, in her private opinion).

Artoria's mind raced as she observed the way Kay's eyes darted between the door, the window, and her own person, knowing him well enough to know that he was still ruminating on her latest warning, running through their entire previous conversation in his head for anything she'd mentioned or let slip that would provide some context, and calculating how much time they had before the messenger returned with Mordred.

After all, skilled as he may have been with his words, he'd barely had any interactions with the new Knight of the Round Table (which, to be fair, was not a slight against him; as far as Artoria knew, there existed only four individuals in the world that Mordred would actually willingly interact with for extended periods of time (and of those, three shared her blood; she hesitated to use the word "family", considering her absence in Mordred's childhood, her sister's... sub-standard rearing of her youngest, and after what Agravain had done to Jaune she was reasonably sure Mordred had all but renounced any relations with him before his death), and Kay was certainly not among that number), and he was more than self-aware enough to know that, and that things would probably not go well if he were to be caught discussing a topic that Artoria herself had warned him, in no uncertain terms, was sensitive to Mordred (let alone trying to discuss it personally with a Knight with the title "The Brash").

Which meant that, if he wanted to sate his curiosity...

"So, Artoria," Kay finally began, and she had to fight the urge to roll her eyes, already knowing what his next words would be. "What can you tell me about Mordred's squire? How did Mordred even get a squire? And why did Agravain accuse him of being an otherworldly infiltrator trying to hoodwink you?"

"To begin with, his name is Jaune Arc," Artoria answered, seeing no harm in responding to his blatant and transparent attempts at fishing for information with openness and honesty. After all, better that he hear it from her than from another, less objective source once his patience ran out (even though the general consensus around Camelot was far more sympathetic to him than when he'd left, he was still a divisive figure, and no small number of people (like Gawain) still viewed him with suspicion), and in any case he'd certainly find out about Mordred's mysterious squire once Jaune was back in Camelot and officially reinstated with a pardon, when either Merlin had been found or, more likely, in a few seasons' time.

"Doesn't sound like he's Brittonic," Kay observed off-handedly. Sure, "John" was hardly uncommon throughout Old Imperial lands, but he'd neither heard of a settlement called "Arc", nor was he familiar with any family or profession that possessed such a name.

"He indeed is not from our lands," Artoria confirmed, before giving him a half-truth (as much as she may have hated lying to her foster brother (even if it was but a small lie of omission), Jaune's story wasn't for her to share, not even to Kay): "Jaune hails from a faraway Kingdom known as Vale, a distant land not known to even the old Empire.

"As for how he became Mordred's squire... I will preface this by saying that I was on campaign when he encountered Mordred, Lancelot, and Gareth in Snowdonia, and only met him after he had already been under Mordred's unofficial tutelage for a few months, but as far as I have been told, Jaune woke up in Snowdonia after almost falling in battle, and chanced upon Mordred while he was attempting to slay the Addanc, during which time he distinguished himself in both character and combat skill by assisting Mordred in his task."

Even as Artoria continued relaying Jaune's tale to Kay (or at least, those parts that she could share), of how he'd ended up earning Lancelot's and Gareth's respect as well and had been subsequently brought to Camelot, of his first months in the castle as Mordred's unofficial squire, and the months that followed, a small part of her couldn't help but think about the squire in question.

Of all he'd done for her, for Mordred, and for Camelot... and all that had been done to him.

Before she could allow those thoughts to occupy any more of her mind, however (before she could begin once again wondering about what could have happened if she'd successfully convinced him to stay that night), she banished them forcefully, refusing to indulge in them.

Even disregarding what some people could have been driven to do in their paranoia and suspicions, she'd meant it when she'd said she'd understood his thoughts, why he'd decided to effect his departure.

His conscience would not allow him to stand by and watch as others suffered for his sake, and hers would not allow her to ask him to do so.

... though he could have at least hinted his intentions to his mentor before his departure...

Then again, had he tried Mordred would have almost certainly forced him to stay, so it was perhaps understandable that he'd avoided letting Mordred know of his intended actions.

... but still, that had left her, Gareth, and the other remaining Knights of the Round Table around that day to stop Mordred from leaving the castle and hunting down his wayward squire... and then to stop Mordred from trying to kill Agravain after that...

Not to mention Mordred's fury at her for not letting him chase after Jaune...

"As for why Jaune was accused by Agravain..." Artoria refoucsed her attention towards her brother as she finished answering his questions. "He possesses a unique form of magecraft, one that allows him to heal others, but which Morgan considered wholly unnatural. Between her suspicions, Jaune's homelands not being known to any records we possess, and Agravain's innate paranoia..."

"... yeah, that makes sense..." Kay conceded, digesting everything he'd been told (and hadn't; Artoria may have gotten a lot better at maintaining a stoic facade, but even if he hadn't known her for over three decades, he'd still spent enough time playing politics to read a little between the lines).

At the very least, it was clear from the way she spoke that his sister held a certain fondness for the squire in question, enough to completely write off the concerns of her own nephew, chancellor, and spymaster, but for the life of him he couldn't figure out why that was so.

"You certainly seem convinced of his innocence," Kay casually remarked after a few moments.

"I am completely confident that Jaune Arc held no ill intentions towards me and Camelot," Artoria nodded.

"And what makes you say that?" Kay inquired innocently.

"Because he has had ample opportunity to do so," Artoria explained, not fooled for a second, "but has not only failed to engage in any sabotage of the realm, but has actively worked in service of it in his short time in Camelot."

And before Kay could even attempt to play devil's advocate, suggesting that it may all be part of a long-running ploy to earn her trust for a final decisive strike, Artoria preemptively sated his curiosity: "One of his services was in assisting me in preparing for a private confrontation between Guinevere and Lancelot, and myself, before Agravain's actions made such a resolution unfeasible."

"... he... knew?" Kay couldn't help but raise an eyebrow.

"I informed him personally, before requesting his assistance and silence on the matter," Artoria nodded. "Hence why I said he has had ample opportunity to cause harm to myself and Camelot; can you think of any easier way to mislead me?"

"... and you're certain that his advice would have worked?" Kay asked skeptically.

"You can see the results of our many nights of practice for yourself," Artoria gestured to one of the shelves behind her, unable to fully suppress the sad smile that crossed her face.

Truly, had Agravain waited but two days, such a herculean effort would not have gone to waste, but she refused to allow herself to dwell on such thoughts.

At least she'd been able to salvage portions of their work, to be used in crafting Lancelot's and Guinevere's official pardon...

Before she could grab the parchment that had endured much scribbling and scratching from her quill, however, there was another knock on the door, and she immediately slipped back into her role as the Perfect King, responding with a kind yet regal: "You may speak."

"Your Majesty, I have Sir Mordred with me," the same voice from earlier spoke up.

"You may bring him in," Artoria allowed.

Kay, for his part, couldn't help but swear, both at the facade his sister adopted and the horrible timing of Sir Mordred.

After all, he'd been more than able to notice that Artoria had both mentioned "one of his services", and that she had personally confided in this John the details her wife's affair, which implied that he had already done something to earn her trust before she'd found out about Guinevere's infidelity.

And not just that, but that he'd earned enough of it that his lousy sister had then even gone on to actually, willingly, ask him for advice too!

Even as the thick doors began to open, Kay's mind was like a thoroughbred stallion on a gallop, thoroughly reviewing both what he'd heard of Camelot in the past year as well as his entire conversation with Artoria, trying to look for any hints, any clues as to what it could have been.

Alas, there just wasn't anything solid enough for him to come to a conclusion.

He still speculated, of course; it was easy enough to guess that John had definitely aided Gareth and Mordred, considering the rumors flying around, but what he could have done that would have earned Artoria's attention hence was beyond him.

Had it perhaps to do with the Addanc's demise?

Tristan's departure?

Mordred's outburst?

Perhaps, it had to do with why Artoria wanted him to teach Mordred-

Then the Knight of the Round Table in question entered the room, and any thoughts of his unknown squire immediately disappeared.

Kay could count the number of times he'd actually met Sir Mordred with two hands (and still have a few fingers to spare), but from what he could remember of the young knight, even though every inch of him had always been covered in steel, there'd always been an admiration and respect for Artoria that had been obvious from the way he moved and spoke, and even if it hadn't extended to his fellow Knights of the Round Table, Kay had never doubted that his loyalty and eagerness to serve the King.

The armored figure that trudged into the room possessed precisely none of that.

There was a stiffness in his gait, and not the kind born of nervousness, before he brought himself to a halt in front of them while the knight that had allowed him entrance closed the doors behind him, leaving the three of them alone in Artoria's study.

And where Sir Mordred had once comported himself with pride in front of Artoria, Kay instead saw a restrained tension in how Mordred carried himself now, not unlike a drawn bowstring.

"You summoned me, Your Highness?" Mordred spoke first, and it was this, more than anything, that had Kay's well-honed instincts screaming at him.

Forget reverence or respect; there wasn't even any attempt to hide the irritation in Mordred's tone.

And was that an undercurrent of hostility he detected?

Towards Artoria?

Just what in the Lord's name had happened between them, and why on earth did she want him to teach him how to manage the Kingdom's affairs?!

"I did, Sir Mordred," Artoria simply replied, showing no surprise at Mordred's conduct, though Kay was barely able to pick up the faintest traces of disappointment. "But firstly, how was your mission to Cornwall?"

"Count and his rebel forces were destroyed," Mordred answered bluntly.

"Though I wish it had not been necessary, you have my thanks for your service."

"Is that all you needed from me?" Mordred coldly brushed off Artoria's praise.

Kay surreptitiously glanced between the pair, wondering when Mordred had been replaced by a poor excuse for an imposter, and why Artoria didn't seem to be giving a damn.

Artoria, for her part, could only sigh, before answering her child: "I apologize, Sir Mordred, but there is yet one more thing that I must ask of you."

Mordred merely huffed in acknowledgement and crossed his arms in response, waiting impatiently for his next assignment.

"I would like you to learn stewardship and managing the affairs of the kingdom under Sir Kay's tutelage."

Whatever Mordred had been expecting, it clearly hadn't been that, and his arms fell to his sides in shock as he choked out in disbelief: "M-me?"

"Yes," Artoria confirmed.

Silence subsequently followed, as Mordred stared at Artoria, before asking the question Kay had been wanting an answer to ever since Artoria had asked the same of him: "Why?"

"Because I will be leaving for a campaign across the seas, to neutralize a foreign threat rising in the heart of the Old Empire," Artoria explained patiently, "and I would like to at least grant you the chance to acquire the capacity of a King, as is my paternal duty."

A small part of Kay felt that it was lucky he'd been already sitting down, and hadn't been partaking in any drinking at that particular moment.

The rest of him, however, was occupied trying to process what he'd just heard, and his head shot rapidly between his diminutive foster sister and the diminutive armored Knight of the Round Table even as he couldn't help from exclaiming his absolute disbelief: "What?!"

Mordred's helmet turned towards him, as if he'd just noticed him, but Kay was still too busy trying to figure out how in God's name Mordred could be Artoria's son to even notice.

Sure, he remembered Merlin and Artoria discussing the whole issue of the High King being unable to sire an heir almost a decade ago (on grounds of both her and her wife being female and all), but if Merlin had somehow been able to find a solution to that issue, then why hadn't they ever announced it?

Moreover, why had Artoria raised such a brutish and short-tempered knight like Mordred?

And most confusingly, as far as he could tell, Mordred seemed to be around the same age as Gareth... which would still make him years older than that aforementioned discussion about Artoria's inability to sire an heir.

"Mordred, would you kindly remove your helmet?" Artoria gently requested, knowing there was no faster way of confirming the truth than that.

After all, that had been how she'd been convinced beyond any doubt, too.

Mordred turned back to her uncertainly, and glanced once more at Kay, before hesitantly raising his hands up towards the base of his distinctive horned helmet, and pulling up.

Kay's jaw dropped, as his sister's face looked between him and Artoria with barely-hidden nervousness.

Well, at the very least, he could definitely believe that Mordred was Artoria's child.

That only left a thousand more questions unanswered, though.

As he gave his honorary nephew's face a second look, however (and third, and fourth, and fifth), he began to be able to notice some of the small differences that distinguished Mordred from Artoria, from the lack of a certain unruly lock of hair to how the former had his hair tied loosely in a simple ponytail while his sister wore hers in a neat bun.

If he had to name the biggest difference, however, it would have to be their eyes.

Both may have been a vibrant green, but Artoria's had always had a certain spark to them, from when she'd first been brought to Sir Ector's house and up til even now, exhausted and occupied as she was.

Then his sister dropped yet another revelation as she formally introduced her heir: "Kay, this is Mordred, a child born of me and Morgan le Fay."

Kay didn't insult his sister by asking her to repeat that statement, but it was a close thing, and he still met Artoria's eyes searchingly, seeking confirmation that Artoria had really just told him she'd had a child with her half-sister (and not Guinevere). Artoria noticed and gave a small nod in response.

Mordred, for his part, simply gave Kay a curt nod, before looking away, decidedly not meeting Artoria's eyes even as she addressed him once more: "So, Mordred, will you be willing to learn from Kay? I can assure you, Kay has little equal when it comes to such skills, and I am sure you will benefit greatly should you accept."

Mordred's lips curled slightly, and there was an awkward silence as he glanced between Kay and his father (or was it mother? Kay genuinely wasn't quite sure), before his shoulders slumped, and he reluctantly acquiesced: "... fine..."

"You have my thanks, Mordred," Artoria inclined her head to him, and Kay once again noticed just how unreceptive Mordred seemed to it. "Then, if you have no questions, you are free to take your leave; I am sure that you must be tired after your recent task."

Mordred replied with nothing more than yet another nod, before donning his helmet once more, and exiting the room.

Once he had closed the doors behind him, Artoria's shoulders slumped tiredly, and she turned to Kay before speaking with resignation: "Ask your questions, Kay."

Kay's curiosity unleashed itself like a dam bursting, much to Artoria's chagrin.

Most of Kay's concerns and suspicions had been on the mark, for the most part, as Artoria confirmed that she hadn't ever even known of being intimate with her half-sister (and still clearly found the very thought distressing and repulsive; considering everything Morgan had done and tried to do since she'd drawn Caliburn, he would have been very concerned if she'd had any other reaction), let alone of Mordred's existence until he'd come bearing a letter of introduction from Morgan around a year ago (he would have had some very pointed questions about her upbringing if he'd found out that Artoria had had a hand in raising Mordred the way he had been), that Mordred himself was innocent and should not be held accountable for what Morgan had done and planned to do (Mordred hadn't even been told of the identity of her father until two seasons ago, and had promptly informed Artoria once he'd found out. In fact, as far as Artoria could tell, the only people who knew of Mordred's parentage were Morgan, Agravain, her, Mordred's former squire, and now Kay, and Mordred's former squire had only found out from Mordred as well), and that Mordred's physical age did not match at all with his actual age (Artoria blamed Morgan for that, though she couldn't be sure without Merlin's confirmation).

But it was only as he heard Artoria recount Mordred's tales of his upbringing, of what Morgan had seemingly wanted him to do (kill the King and claim the throne, because of course her demented half-sister would think that Gawain being practically the next in line for the succession and Agravain being the Chancellor and Spymaster of Camelot just wasn't enough, and thusly needed to secretly sire the King's bastard son for the sake of regicide), and Artoria casually remarked that it was odd that Mordred had been raised with so much admiration for her and the ideals of chivalry despite her intended task, that a stray ominous thought struck Kay, one that he almost immediately dismissed out of hand on grounds of just how absurd it was.

Sure, he fully believed Morgan was more than heartless and cruel enough to do something like that, but there was just no way it was possible, right?

Sure, Mordred's voice was a bit high for a man's, and his face was quite feminine (and all but the spitting image of Artoria's), but there was just no way that Morgan had been so determined to replace Artoria that she'd replicated her as much as possible, down to that minor detail of forcing a girl to be raised as a man and to hide their true sex.

Surely not, right?

-MORDRED'S NEW ROOM, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

The bed creaked as Mordred collapsed backwards into it with a groan, scowling all the while as she thought about her meeting with her father.

A part of her had thought that it might have been easier after not seeing him for a few weeks, after dealing with the useless ingrates and parasites that infested the Kingdom and dared to rebel against him despite everything he did for them and the Kingdom.

And yet, as soon as she'd heard his voice and seen his face, all she'd been able to remember was how he'd not only refused to tell her anything about where her squire had disappeared to, but had even gone so far as to expressly forbid her from seeking him out...

A sigh escaped Mordred's lips, and she turned her head, such that she faced the window instead of the ceiling.

She knew that Father had been more than lenient with her in their interactions; if she'd acted that way towards Mother she'd have been on the floor writhing in pain and agony for hours.

And she knew that she should have been thrilled to be given the chance to earn Father's acknowledgement, she really did!

But she just couldn't find it within her to care about it in the least, for some reason.

In fact, she just didn't even want to see Father's face at all, let alone think about what he wanted from her.

After all, why did Father get to ask her to put down some rebels or run the Kingdom when he'd refused to listen to her at all?

It wasn't that she didn't have faith in Jaune (and the very fact that Gareth had even dared to suggest that had almost earned her perfect older sister a punch to her perfect little face); she'd trained him, sparred with him, spent the most time with him, and knew more than anyone else just how capable her squire really was.

But still, he was her squire, her responsibility, her friend!

How could they just expect her to abandon him like that?

Something squeezed in her chest, and the urge to just lash out, to strike something, anything, welled up within her

Before she could do anything rash, however, she remembered what had happened the last time she'd lost control, and instead took a deep breath.

At the very least, Father had assured her that Jaune had promised to return before next fall; the least she could do for him (and was apparently allowed to) was to not destroy his old room.

Mordred forced herself to hold on to that thought as she exhaled slowly.

Sure, she didn't understand why Jaune had left, why he hadn't told her, or why her Father had allowed him to leave without telling anybody... but Jaune would return, and she would get the answers out of him when he did, she swore to the Lord.

Until then, all she could do was wait, and do her duties as the Knight of the Round Table that had mentored him.

... including obeying her Father, and fighting the urge to punch a wall or storm off every time she saw his face...

"Forgiving him is the right thing to do, but that doesn't make it easy; you're only human, Sir Mordred."

"Tch. It'd be a lot easier if you were around, squire," Mordred huffed angrily as her dangling legs idly kicked the air, wondering what Jaune was doing right now, and why her chest felt so tight again.

Chapter Text

"Is there anything else you would require, Your Royal Highness?"

"That will be all. Thank you for your assistance, Sir Gareth."

"Then I shall take my leave. Please ring the bell should you require anything else."

With those parting words Gareth began walking out of the dungeon, taking care to maintain her friendly air and polite smile as she navigated the tower's corridors, until she finally reached the private room reserved for those whose duties involved guarding Camelot"s prisoners.

Under normal circumstances there'd have been at least half a dozen knights occupying the room (especially considering just who was housed here), but these were not normal circumstances, and the only other knight she could expect to see today would be Gaheris (and maybe Gawain, if he came to bother his remaining siblings and check up on them).

And while she would have hardly minded the company of her fellow knights under normal circumstances, this time she couldn't help but feel grateful for the privacy, even as her shoulders slumped and her lips fell, leaving behind no trace of her prior demeanour.

Truthfully speaking, she was aware that few would be unreasonable enough to blame her for not being her usual self, considering everything that had happened in the past few months (from the accusation of her former fellow squire and friend, to her mentor's betrayal of the realm, and the death of her elder brother and many of her fellow knights), but even so, she still refused to allow her spirit to fail.

That just wasn't the kind of Knight of the Round Table she'd been trained to be, and not even Sir Lancelot's infidelity and treachery could change everything he'd done for her.

Not even the murder of her brother could allow her to simply toss aside her loyalty to the man who'd granted her her knighthood.

... at the same time, she couldn't just accept the death of her brother, of course, nor could she ignore the fact that Sir Lancelot had indisputably committed numerous grievous crimes, from treason to murder.

A sigh escaped from Gareth's lips as she collapsed into a nearby chair, and once more pondered the dilemma that had haunted her ever since her brother had barged into her knighting ceremony and accused her friend (and which had only worsened after Lancelot's affair had been made public).

When her vows and oaths were in conflict, what was she supposed to do?

Which course of action was the just and honorable one?

What mattered more, being faithful in love or being loyal in friendship?

Who was more important, the brothers that she shared blood with, or the brothers that she'd shed blood with?

Sir Lancelot's and Queen Ginevere's actions were undoubtedly wrong, both morally and legally, that much she would not deny.

But she knew her mentor, knew that he had to have had his reasons for doing what he had (even though the mentor she knew would have never cut down his fellow brothers-in-arms and betrayed his King).

But their crimes demanded justice and restitution, as none could be above the laws of the realm, especially not a Knight of the Round Table or the High Queen of Logres.

But the King had clearly sought understanding, citing their not-insubstantial records of services to Camelot, and considered clemency despite the weight of their actions, and no small amount of protests, objections, and outrage throughout the court.

Gareth exhaled tiredly, still finding herself no closer to the answer despite all the time that she'd had to think about it.

In the end, in lieu of being able to come to a conclusion on what the code of chivalry entreated as a course of action, and in the absence of the counsel of those whose advice she would have once seeked, she had chosen to hold fast to her oaths.

Prisoner or not, guilty or not, no sentence had yet been pronounced; Lady Guinevere was still Her Royal Highness, High Queen of the Realm, and as such Gareth would treat her with all the respect her station demanded, regardless of her infidelity, or even whether she'd bewitched her mentor and led him astray.

It was the last thing she could do for the woman that her mentor loved.

(It was more than she'd been able to do for her friend.)

Gareth's frown deepened even as she shook her head, refusing to dwell on the past, on what she couldn't change.

It didn't matter that, even from the beginning she hadn't been convinced of his guilt (or rather she could no more believe that Jaune was a traitor to the realm than she could any Knight of the Round Table (an admittedly-poor comparison, considering her mentor's actions).)

It didn't matter that her mother was an accomplished and renowned witch (so there surely had to have been some merit to her observations), and even Gaheris had ultimately advised prudence, to say nothing of Gawain's overbearingness and Agravain's overcautiousness.

It didn't matter that even the King had not only been clearly skeptical of the charges from the start, but had also apparently met with Jaune before he'd left, and allowed him to leave without issue.

Ultimately, she'd failed then to fulfil her oaths to defend the defenseless, or to uphold justice and fairness.

Wondering whether things could have been different if only she'd openly acted against her mentor and family and shown support for Jaune would not change the fact that she hadn't.

All she could do now was to not repeat the same mistake with Her Royal Highness.

Unsurprisingly, that did little to endear her to those who'd doubted her loyalties because of the actions of her mentor, and who'd treated her refusal to condemn the First of the Knights of the Round Table and the High Queen of England as support for or even complicity in their treason.

Fortunately, while she'd never relied on it, she still had her status as the only daughter of King Lot of Orkney and Queen Morgan le Fay, niece of High King Arthur Pendragon, sister to Sir Gawain of the Round Table, Champion of the Lady Lyonesse and Vanquisher of the Red Knight Sir Robigus Ironside, and a fully-instated Knight of the Round Table in her own right, which did much to insulate her against any potential reprisals.

That only left those who blamed the Queen for Lancelot's rampage.

Gareth sank deeper into the chair with a groan.

She could understand their pain, she really could; she'd lost her brother too, after all.

But it hadn't even been a week since the King had left, and though Sir Kay had done his best to enforce discipline in His Majesty's absence, there had been a few who had attempted to take advantage of it to take matters into their own hands.

She and Gaheris had intercepted and apprehended all of them, of course, and handed them over to Sir Kay, but their actions still bothered her.

Had things in Camelot truly deteriorated so much, that people no longer trusted the judgement of the King, the ultimate arbiter of justice in the land?

And that wasn't even getting into the whispers she'd heard whenever she'd left the castle, of how King Arthur lacked the caliber required to be worthy of the Crown, of how his Knights, even those of the Round Table, had begun leaving his service, and of how even his wife, whom he had never sired an heir with, had found love in the arms of another.

... well, it wasn't as if she was completely free of doubt either; of course, her uncle, King Arthur Pendragon, was the Perfect King, whose actions and decisions had been more than vindicated by the decade of prosperity the Britons had enjoyed since his coronation, and she would never dare even dream of disobeying his decrees.

But while she was certain he had his reasons, even she had to admit that she struggled to see the wisdom behind his decision to appoint Sir Mordred to the Regency Council, especially not with how the latter's demeanour had changed since Jaune's departure.

... perhaps His Majesty believed that working with Sir Kay would teach Sir Mordred some valuable and important lessons? Or maybe even change him for the better?

At the very least, she was reasonably sure it had nothing to do with her brother's presence on said council.

As she sat in her chair, puzzling over Sir Mordred's additional responsibilities, she heard footsteps approaching, and sighed as she straightened her back, figuring that it was Gaheris returning from his own patrol.

Then she froze, as she processed the quality of the footsteps, too hurried and heavy for Gaheris's normal pace, before leaping to her feet.

But even as her hand reached for her sword, however, the footsteps reached the room, and the door was flung open, revealing an all-too-familiar figure.

Sure, his armor was no longer polished to a gleam, and his once-impeccable bearing and grooming had given way to a messy and unkempt appearance, but there was no way she could ever mistake her mentor for anybody else.

"Sir Lancelot..." Gareth breathed, shock and sorrow filling her voice as she took in his state.

There was no need to ask what he was here for.

And while she'd occasionally imagined seeking out her wayward mentor and convincing him to lay down his arms and return to the castle, atone for his sins, and seek mercy and forgiveness from the King and those he'd wronged, now that she was face-to-face with him she found that the words would not come.

She'd been his squire long enough to recognize the determined glint in his eye, to know that even if she were to insult his resolve by attempting to sway him from his course it would do no good.

She'd just never imagined she'd ever be on the receiving end of it.

Even as her mind raced, he was already moving once more, heading in her general direction, completely ignoring her voice.

And yet, even though she knew she stood between him and the door towards Camelot's gaols, she found herself unable to draw her sword from its sheath.

It wasn't fear that stayed her hand.

She just could not raise her weapon, not against her mentor, Sir Lancelot, the man who'd trained her, bestowed her knighthood upon her, earned her loyalty.

Not even after everything he'd done.

Not even with what he was about to do.

Instead, as the man she adored and admired closed the distance and reached for her, and time seemed to slow, she only tensed up and closed her eyes, and prayed.

-TEN MINUTES EARLIER-

A forlorn sigh involuntarily escaped Mordred's lips as she slumped against the window sill, her eyes fixed on the horizon beyond the city surrounding the castle, her mind equally distant.

It was odd; she'd finally begun taking the steps towards achieving her mother's dreams of claiming the throne (and her dreams of being acknowledged by her father), with the King not only having entrusted her with overseeing the kingdom's affairs in his absence but also assigned the Sir Kay, whose management skills even Mother had recognized, to mentor her.

And sure, she'd always known that there were some subjects that were important (or so a certain someone had kept saying), even if she couldn't quite understand why yet, and that the crown was as much of a burden as it was an honor (Father had emphasized that to her)...

But she just couldn't find it within her to like learning things like tracking prices and choosing words at all!

And what on earth did her childhood, her hobbies, and bleeding and behinds have to do with ruling the Kingdom?

Why did Kay occasionally bring up such unusual topics and ask her such questions?

Not for the first time, she found herself wishing her squire was still here, though this time she at least knew why; even though Sir Kay was a patient teacher, and she did truly try to listen (Mother had taught her more than enough times the price of losing focus), she'd have definitely had an easier time understanding if Jaune had been there with her.

After all, he'd not only managed to get a hang of all that useless crap Agravain had drilled into them, but he'd also helped simplify and explain it in terms she could actually understand.

... for some reason, as she remembered the simpler, happier times, she could feel her face warming and her chest growing tighter.

She couldn't imagine why, though; her unique constitution should've prevented any such abnormalities...

Groaning, she shook her head, deciding to ignore it for the time being; after all, what kind of Knight or King got sick, or let a little warmness and tightness stop them?

As she slowly pushed herself off of the stone sill, however, her ears perked up at the sound of heavy footfalls, and she looked up to see a pair of enforcement knights briskly marching somewhere, whispering something about a patrol failing to return from around the dungeons, and to quickly gather reinforcements, inform Sir Kay, and investigate as per protocol.

She couldn't help but scowl at the mention of Camelot's dungeons, reminded of two of the people she least wanted to see.

She may have still not been on the best of terms with her father yet, but Guinevere's actions frankly disgusted her; surely as the Queen she knew how much of a burden the King was forced to bear for the Kingdom's sake! How could still she break her sacred oaths of matrimony and betray the man she'd wed?

As for her elder sister, she still hadn't forgiven her, both for failing to support Jaune when he'd been accused by Agravain and for even having dared to imply she doubted her squire.

But even as she felt the urge to simply ignore it (surely her perfect older sister could guard one prisoner, right?), she still found herself preparing to make her way to the dungeons.

After all, it was only a short distance from where she was, and as one of the people in charge of Camelot she was supposed to check it out, and she didn't need to talk to Gareth or Guinevere while she was there, and her squire would've gone in as soon as he heard something was wrong...

Then she got to the dungeons, and immediately picked up her pace, recognizing the signs of a forced entry (one of Mother's favorite methods of instilling constant vigilance into her had been to occasionally release some of her more stealthy experiments into her quarters while she'd been out training).

Of course, it was probably still nothing, just some angry knights who wanted to kill the Queen again; honestly, she didn't really care whether Guinevere lived, considering the severity of her crimes, but Father had made his decision.

And then she reached the guards' quarters, just in time to see Lancelot reaching for Gareth's unguarded and unhelmeted head.

There was no hesitation as she charged at Lancelot, her inhuman body and enhanced strength and speed allowing her to close the distance faster than any normal human, sword already poised to chop Lancelot's hands off.

She didn't succeed, nor had she expected to; even in his disgraced state, Lancelot was still the First of the Round Table, and he was more than able to notice her attack and step back.

But it had the intended effect of preventing him from hurting Gareth, and even as he launched a quick kick at her as she passed in front of him, she was already shifting her sword, and managed to meet his armored foot with the flat of her blade.

"Sir Mordred?" Gareth's surprised voice reached Mordred's ears, and she couldn't help but click her tongue in irritation and tune her out, never taking her eyes off of Lancelot all the while.

Seriously, what kind of stupid squire, what kind of insane, irrational, idiot, just stood there, unresisting, as their mentor almost killed them?!

And more importantly...

Her only friend, the only person who'd ever truly trusted and believed in her, lay defeated beneath her, his face scrunched up in pain and apprehension, his closed eyes hiding his gentle blue orbs as he helplessly anticipated her final blow...

"What kind of knight," Mordred snarled, a cold fury seeping into her tone as a memory rose to the surface, "almost kills his own defenseless squire with his bare hands?!"

Lancelot didn't reply, but instead drew Arondight, and raised it into a guard stance.

Mordred didn't waste another word on him, but instead charged at him once again.

Neither of the pair fought like they normally would have one another; there was no longer any honor to be found in Lancelot's actions, not after he'd betrayed his king and murdered his brothers-in-arms, nor would Mordred show him even the barest hint of restraint, and even as they crossed blades at speeds even Gareth could barely keep up with, each strike of their swords was more often than not accompanied by an elbow, a knee, a fist, a foot.

But in the end, even though Mordred had been trained all her life by Morgan, and even though she had an inhuman strength, speed, and endurance, Lancelot was still the First of the Round Table, whose experience easily eclipsed Mordred's, and who had slain many inhuman foes.

More importantly, where Mordred may have had a steel sword of superb quality, Lancelot wielded Arondight, and even if he was no longer a perfect knight worthy of the Holy and Unfading Light of the Lake, it was still a divine construct capable of receiving any attack without sustaining even a scratch.

It took almost a quarter of an hour, but eventually, as Mordred parried a thrust from Lancelot, and the latter attempted to use his sword's crossguard and superior reach to wrench her sword from her grasp, the abused steel finally gave way, and the blade snapped.

Before Lancelot could begin to capitalize on his newfound advantage, however, the sound of numerous heavy footfalls gave them all pause, and a dozen enforcement knights charged into the room, led by Kay, all of them with their weapons raised.

"Lancelot," Kay greeted his former friend curtly even as he looked him over, taking note of just how far he'd fallen since they'd last met.

Lancelot's only response was to tighten his grip on his blade as he looked around, judging the situation.

Kay sighed and shook his head, before addressing Gareth: "Sir Gareth, please escort Guinevere out here, now."

This finally elicited words from Lancelot, and even as Gareth heistantly moved to obey he growled: "If you dare harm her, or even think about using her as a hostage, I swear I'll-"

"You'll what, kill more knights of Camelot?" Kay retorted with disgust. "Stain your name and honor even further? Do you think Guinevere would want this?"

"Of course not!" Lancelot spat furiously. "But I could never abandon the hand of the woman I love when she is imperiled! Or would you expect me to turn a blind eye as your knights make attempts on her life, all while she's helpless to defend herself!"

"Imperiled?" Kay echoed incredulously, and scoffed: "You, of all people, should know of the King's true intentions."

"How could I not," Lancelot laughed hollowly, madness and self-loathing coloring his tone. "After all, I took advantage of his wife's loneliness, betrayed him, committed adultery, and when discovered killed his knights, including his own nephew, and fled justice!"

"... for all the time you've spent in his service, Lancelot," Kay shook his head, "even you can be blind to his heart."

"The perfect King, who exists solely for his Kingdom's sake?" Lancelot countered mockingly, though it was directed as much at himself as it was at the others in the room. Guinevere had told him of the King's true identity, and how much she'd truly denied herself, all for the sake of the island of Britain.

How could such a King even hesitate to punish such severe and clear-cut crimes, especially from her own Queen and the First of her Round Table?

Then, to Lancelot's surprise, instead of responding, Kay simply withdrew a scroll from a pouch (one that he'd found between notes about Athenian governance and pre-Imperial Roman Senates, and a parchment about farming techniques and crop yields), and tossed it to him.

"See for yourself, then," Kay challenged, as Lancelot eyed it warily.

"What... what is this?" Lancelot asked, unable to keep the suspicion from his voice.

"The King's official pardon, to you and Guinevere," Kay explained, eliciting incredulous whispers from everyone in the room, even the enforcement knights watching Lancelot, and as Gareth brought a concerned and confused Guinevere into the room Kay began barking instructions: "Knights, stand down. Lancelot, take Guinevere and go, and never return."

Guinevere hesitantly approached Lancelot once her shackles had been removed, unable to help but look around the room, and even as Lancelot wrapped the arm holding the scroll around Guinevere he too glanced between the scroll, Guinevere, Kay, and the exit.

Then the enforcement knights finally, reluctantly, lowered their arms (though Mordred did not), and Lancelot began cautiously moving, bringing Guinevere with him.

"Remember,' Kay repeated, "never let me see either of your faces, ever again."

The pair picked up the pace as they reached the exit without incident, though none took their eyes off of them, before Lancelot, apparently satisfied that it wasn't some elaborate scheme, scooped Guinevere into his arms and fled, presumably before anybody could change their mind.

Finally, once they were no longer visible, someone carefully asked: "Sir Kay... was that wise?"

"Probably not," Kay shrugged casually, "but it was the King's wishes."

"Tch," Mordred quietly clicked her tongue as she looked between her broken sword and Gareth.

Kay could tell what everyone (except maybe Beaumains) was thinking, but if they believed that had been leniency, then they were as naive as his sister.

-LANCELOT'S DEMENSE, A FEW HOURS LATER-

The queen's cheeks were stained with tear streaks, and even in her restless slumber her mouth moved constantly, apologizing to Artoria even in her dreams.

Lancelot wasn't in a much better shape, seated as he was on the bed by his lover's side, unable to wipe away her tears with his uncouth hands, still reeling as he was from the letter of pardon he'd read, still feeling as though something within him was crumbling apart as he kept turning the words over in his mind:

"Lancelot, my friend, my pride, my ideal knight, you have proven yourself dedicated to chivalry time and time again, always caring for justice, honoring women, and loathing evil. Countless are the times that we have fought alongside one another in the name of justice and the realm, and countless are the times that your strength and bravery have saved both the lives and the spirits of the men that have followed us. Both I and the realm know that you are a person that will only act in a way you deem just and good.

"And that is why, while I cannot condone your actions when Agravain publcized your relationship, if you had seen fit to commit such actions, they must have good cause, and that you were sure of their justness, of that I am certain. Nor can I ignore the years you have spent in service to the realm, a realm that you despite not even hailing from have yet have adopted and accepted as your own.

"...

"Guinevere, my wife, my closest friend and confidant in Camelot, I have always acknowledged the burdens you have been forced to bear for the Kingdom; the knowledge of what you have been forced to sacrifice has always inspired me, given me the strength to continue to sacrifice for the Kingdom in turn, for what I have given up has always paled next to you.

"And that is why, when I was made aware of your affair, there was a part of me that did truly rejoice, glad in the knowledge that you had been able to finally find the love and happiness that you have always deserved, and that I have never been able to provide, and that it was in a man no lesser than Sir Lancelot was also a source of comfort, for I have the utmost faith that he will not mistreat you.

"Had you but told me of your growing feelings regarding Lancelot earlier, I would have done my best to be supportive, understanding, willing to discuss an arrangement for the three of us. As it stands, however, I am truly sorry that I had neglected you, failed to confront you and Lancelot earlier despite my own knowledge of your relationship with him, and my knowledge of the growing turmoil it was causing the both of you, until things came to a head with Agravain that day.

"...

"And thusly, in memory of both of your extensive records of services to the Kingdom and my own personal culpability in how events have transpired up until now, do I, King Arthur Pendragon, seek forgiveness from the two of you for my failures from the bottom of my heart, just as I sincerely forgive and henceforth pardon the two of you for your actions, and do give your relationship my blessing, as God is my witness."

Chapter Text

"Do you understand, Mordred?"

"... mmm..."

"..." Kay could feel his temples throbbing, and it took a herculean feat of strength for him to resist the urge to discipline his newest student, even as he reminded himself that this was a favor to his foster sister.

Then he looked at said sister's bastard child, obviously distracted despite baring no visible features, and could only sigh as his temper immediately began to cool.

After all, even if it hadn't been an eventful couple of days since Lancelot's assault on Camelot's dungeons, Mordred's passions, interests, and general demeanour made him ill-suited for the topics that Kay had been asked to teach him, topics that (through no fault of his own) Mordred lacked even the barest of a background in, and which thusly necessitated him to begin with the most basic (and boring) bits for his education.

Also, considering what Artoria had told him of Mordred's upbringing (and he had very little reason to doubt her words), there was hardly anything he could do to punish him that could compare to how Morgan had raised him.

Instead, a different approach would be needed.

"Alright, Mordred, what's on your mind?" Kay bluntly asked as he set aside the parchment he'd been using to try and illustrate his teachings about tracking expenses, opting for the direct approach; while he still couldn't say he knew Mordred very well, what he did know was that the silent and dour knight had little patience for meaningless pleasantries and hollow words (a not-insignificant drawback when it came to politics, but Kay could wholeheartedly empathize with the sentiment).

Mordred's helmet paused, and Kay could feel the gaze levelled upon him.

There wasn't much hostility in it, though, and Mordred didn't immediately make any dismissive noises, so Kay felt somewhat encouraged.

Instead, after a few seconds, Mordred simply exhaled, and his helmet lowered as he tried to brush it off: "There isn't anythi-"

"You've spent more time looking out of the window than at your parchment, Mordred," Kay pointed out, shutting his nephew(?) up, before his tone softened slightly: "Look, I get it; poring over papers is hardly the most interesting way to spend one's time, even for those with such passions. So, let's not waste each other's time, Mordred. If your mind is occupied on other matters, it would be prudent to address it first, rather than allow it to continue distracting you throughout future lessons."

Mordred could only cock her head in confusion at Kay's words, wondering if this was how most normal people did things when a lesson was interrupted by a distracted student.

Okay, granted, Agravain's lessons hadn't involved much more than the occasional implied threat of violence, but she'd figured that had simply been because she and Jaune had managed to focus without any issue.

But still, while she didn't particularly feel like talking to Kay, Father had told to listen to him, and so she reluctantly asked: "... then... why did you just let Lancelot and Guinevere go, just like that?"

Emboldened by the fact that he had actually responded, Kay took a moment to carefully consider his next words, before deciding to pounce on the provided opening, and answering Mordred's question with one of his own: "Oh? Do you think I shouldn't have?"

"Of course," Mordred huffed. "After their betrayal of the King, and especially Lancelot's slaughter of his fellow knights, for them to be able to just walk away..."

"I don't disagree," Kay nodded, before snorting as Mordred's helmet snapped back to him. "Hey, don't look at me like that. The pardon was Arthur's idea, not mine.

"Okay, he hadn't planned for that exact situation," Kay quickly clarified, feeling the gaze upon him intensify. To be perfectly fair to Artoria, he was reasonably sure she hadn't ever considered that the pardon might have been delivered while Lancelot was breaking into Camelot's dungeons and fighting two of the Knights of the Round Table to the death. On the other hand, though, it didn't change the fact that his foster sister was still a naive idealist despite everything that had happened to her, all in the name of the Kingdom. "But it was still his intention to forgive Lancelot and Guinevere, and as such I made the choice in my capacity to fulfil the spirit behind his words, rather than allow for any further bloodshed that day."

"But why?" Mordred questioned, frustration creeping into her tone. "Why would he still forgive them despite everything?"

"Because..." Kay began, before slumping his shoulders and sighing, realizing that he would have to actually praise that damn French womanizer. "You have to remember, Mordred; despite everything he did, Lancelot was still the man who once crossed the sea to serve England. Despite owing no allegiance to us, he still chose to swear an oath to Arthur."

Behind her helmet, Mordred found herself frowning, as Kay's description of that damned traitor brought to mind another man from a foreign land, and the idea of even comparing the two, even involuntarily, utterly irked her.

But externally, nothing changed, and unaware of her expression or emotions, Kay simply continued: "Countless are the times they fought alongside one another, and countless are the times Lancelot and Arthur have saved each other's lives in battle. He was the First Knight of the Round Table, and Arthur's most-trusted knight and good friend.

"Similarly, though Guinevere and Arthur married only for political reasons, and there existed no romantic love between them, she was still a close friend and confidant of his, aiding him in innumerable ways, and Arthur has always acknowledged the depth of the sacrifice that Guinevere made in agreeing to be wed to him.

"In the end, in the name of the relationship Arthur once shared with them, and for the sake of the people they once were, your father chose to grant them a pardon, rather than have them be executed." Kay concluded, all the while discreetly eyeing Mordred for anything that could clue him in on his nephew's current thoughts.

For her part, Mordred found her frown only deepening, though not from distaste, and after a few moments of struggling with the mental image of being forced to condemn her squire (though unlike Lancelot he had been innocent), could only remark: "That... doesn't sound like justice, though..."

"It isn't," Kay agreed, shaking his head tiredly, still unable to glean any hint of what Mordred was thinking at the moment.

Was he disillusioned with Artoria for failing to uphold justice? Disappointed? Furious?

Sure, his words and tone were far less harsh than they'd been when he'd last seen the pair speak, but that honestly wasn't saying much...

And more importantly, how was he supposed to steer the conversation from here?

Should he try to encourage a staunch dedication to justice, a blind and fair ideal that the King was meant to uphold?

Or would it be better if he tacitly acknowledged the humanity behind Artoria's actions, hypocritical though they may have been?

Should he risk eroding Mordred's respect for Arthur (a notion he'd literally never even considered a possibility, let alone a real concern, before two weeks ago), out of the desire to not see another Pendragon heir repress their humanity and emotions for the throne's sake?

As the silence began to stretch on, and Kay's internal debate intensified, Mordred quietly asked a question: "Then... did Father not pardon Jau- my squire, because he did not like him?"

Kay could only blink as he processed Mordred's words, utterly blindsided by both the direction his thoughts had gone in as well as the fact that Mordred had actually brought up his squire.

Hadn't Artoria said it was a very sensitive topic and to never mention Mordred's squire in front of him?

Then he shook his head, and quickly refuted Mordred's misassumptions: "What, no, no, that definitely didn't have anything to do with it; if anything, Arthur had nothing but praise for your squire."

"Then why?" Mordred pressed, remembering the weeks of suspicion Jaune had been forced to endure, treated by others like a criminal. Sure, Father had said back then that he hadn't believed the accusations at all, but...

"Why wasn't your squire simply pardoned?" Kay guessed.

Mordred nodded.

Kay took a moment to think about it, before patiently explaining: "Well, if I had to bet... it's probably because Arthur believed in your squire's innocence, and felt that there was thusly no wrongdoing to excuse.

"Consider Lancelot's and Guinevere's case - their crimes are clear as day, and there are none who doubt their guilt. Even if Arthur may have forgiven their treachery, their honor remains forever stained, and their reputations marred.

"Compared to that, allowing your squire to be tried by our laws and have his innocence conclusively proven, which Arthur probably believed the most-likely outcome, would have cleared his name without any further controversy."

"I see..." Mordred nodded again, this time both in understanding and approval. "So it's all because my squire did nothing wrong after all..."

Kay wasn't sure he'd go quite that far, but Artoria had mentioned being completely confident that John had, at the very least, held no ill intentions towards her or Camelot, and more importantly this was the first time Mordred was actually engaging in a conversation with him; there was absolutely no way he could pass this chance up!

"And speaking of your squire..." Kay innocently changed the subject. "Did you know he had a hand in Lancelot's pardon?"

"He did?" Mordred leaned forward, taking the bait.

"Apparently Arthur asked for his assistance in preparing for a private confrontation with Lancelot and Guinevere at first," Kay nonchalantly recounted, "and when that option became unavailable, he used his prior aid to craft Lancelot's pardon."

Instead of the pride he'd have expected, however, Mordred's tone was tinged with a trace of dissatisfaction as he remarked: "Huh... he never told me anything about it, though..."

Kay mentally revised his prior assessment of Mordred's relationship with his squire; evidently, the two had been close enough that Mordred found the idea that John had kept a secret from him displeasing.

That... wasn't exactly common of the average relationship between a knight and his squire, but neither was it unheard of.

It certainly wasn't what he'd expected from Mordred, however, and a wild suspicion began to nag at him once more.

He ignored it for the time being, however, lacking anywhere near enough evidence to even entertain it for the time being; it would have been much easier to simply explain it all with acknowledging that Mordred and John were not common knights and squires.

Of course, he communicated exactly none of these thoughts to Mordred, and instead kept his voice level as he quickly explained: "Well, Arthur said he requested your squire's silence on the matter..."

"And an Arc never goes back on his word," Mordred mused nostalgically, the bittersweet smile on her face hidden even to her. Well, she supposed that answered the question of why Father had kept seeking Jaune out in the weeks between her finding out that Arthur was really her Father and Gareth's knighting ceremony.

And while she still wasn't exactly thrilled to find out that he'd kept it a secret from her on Father's orders, that it had concerned Lancelot's and Guinevere's treachery made it at least understandable. And considering how he'd helped her and Father reconcile somewhat (before Father had allowed him to leave without telling her, of course), it did alsl make sense that Father would trust her squire with such a task.

(It also helped that Kay had explained that Father hadn't abandoned Jaune (though she still didn't like that she hadn't been allowed to go after him), and that Jaune had done it for Father (and not, say, Gareth).)

Kay, for his part, barely suppressed the thoughtful frown that almost crossed his face, and his brows still furrowed despite his best efforts.

Fond exasperation was certainly not uncommon, but there seemed to be a little bit too much longing in Mordred's tone to be proper.

Well, there was only one way to find out.

"So..." Kay casually began. "Your squire... John Arc, right? Can you tell me more about him?"

Sure, Artoria had told him not to bring it up... but she could hardly blame him if Mordred mentioned his squire first, right?

"Yeah, Jaune Arc!" Mordred nodded rapidly, and as Kay took a mental note of the slightly-different pronunciation (sounded vaguely French to him, though Artoria had said he was from a land beyond the Old Empire's borders), Mordred eagerly began to tell Kay all about him.

By the time the conversation ended (and it only ended because a fearful page boy had been sent to remind them that the cooks wished to retire for the night), a stiffly-smiling Kay found himself no closer to having his suspicions alleviated (but a lot closer to being confirmed), and in desperate need of a strong drink.

-FOREST, SOMEWHERE IN CENTRAL ENGLAND, AROUND THE SAME TIME-

As Jaune absently swung his sword left and right, he couldn't help but dwell on the rumors he'd heard, when he'd passed through the market in the town to the South earlier in the day.

Sure, he knew just how much he should trust rumors, having grown up with seven sisters and all, but Arthur's Knights of the Round Table were all viewed as heroes, even as far out as here, and most of what he'd heard in his travels had been nothing but praise.

Which was why, when he'd heard people whispering that Lancelot had gone mad and murdered scores of knights in Camelot, including Agravain, before fleeing justice, he hadn't been able to stop himself from pausing and doubling back, trying to listen for more details.

In the end, though, they'd been nothing more than the usual reliable "he said she said" or "a friend of a friend of a friend", and so he'd promptly dismissed them, and had since been busy focusing more on why and how such absurd rumors could have even started.

Sure, when he'd left Camelot he definitely hadn't been able to exactly say he liked Agravain as a person anymore, but he was still Sir Mordred's older brother, and Jaune definitely wouldn't say he wanted to see him dead of all things.

And while Lancelot may have been having an affair with the Queen, Arthur had made it clear that things were a lot more complicated than they'd looked. Moreover, while he was reasonably sure Lancelot could take on multiple knights at once and win, he just couldn't imagine Lancelot actually butchering his fellow knights and comrades-in-arms.

Belatedly realizing that the clearing around him was still, Jaune sighed and lowered his sword, mentally berating himself for paying so much attention to vague and unreliable rumors.

Sure, he wanted to know how his friends in Camelot were doing, but with the way the rumor mill was churning, for all he knew the next thing he heard would be something utterly absurd and unbelievable, like Lancelot's next victim being Gareth or something!

No, next time he'd make sure to remember to take anything he heard with lots of salt.

In the meantime, though...

Jaune scanned his surroundings, mentally noting the number of dead bears around him.

The first time a village had asked him to help them clear out some predators that had moved into a forest, he'd been expecting something more like the Addanc, rather than, well... something that felt closer to pest control.

Frankly, boars, wolves, and bears had absolutely nothing on Boarbatusks, Beowolves and Ursai Major; if anything, he almost found them cute and cuddly...

Well, at least this village probably wouldn't have to worry about wild animals for a while.

He, on the other hand, had to figure out how to dispose of a dozen bear corpses.

... would the village mind if he cooked up some bear meat for them?

Chapter Text

"Oh, Beaumains?" Kay blinked as he noticed the diminutive figure of his honorary niece in the kitchen, before a small grin appeared on his face as she turned around, confirming that it was, indeed, Gareth before him.

"Ah, Sir Kay," Gareth smiled genially at him, a senior Knight of the Round Table, her uncle's foster brother, and a man who'd saved her life more than once, before bowing her head and awkwardly continuing: "I know I may have said this before, but still, please allow me to express my gratitude for your intervention during..."

"I was simply doing what needed to be done, nothing more," Kay modestly replied as Gareth's voice trailed off, and he took a moment to look the young woman over before asking: "Anyway, how are you doing, Gareth?"

"As I told you, Gawain, and Gaheris multiple times in the past two weeks, my former mentor dealt me no wounds, thanks in no small part to the actions of you and Sir Mordred," Gareth exasperatedly reported with a weak smile, and Kay didn't need his years of experience to see just how strained the facade she was forcing truly was; save Agravain, all of the Orkney kids had little issue expressing their passions and emotions openly.

Even Mordred, come to think of it, and the only reason it didn't seem that way was because Mordred never revealed his face or talked to anybody.

Concern tinged his tone as he gently but firmly pressed: "And how are you really feeling, Gareth?"

Gareth paused and met Kay's gaze for a moment, before breaking eye contact with a tired sigh, and finally admitting: "I... it is still... difficult, for me to believe that my mentor, the First of the Round Table, the man who trained me and bestowed upon me my knighthood, was willing to kill us... and yet, I will not shame my mentor by feigning ignorance of his intent or his abilities..."

Once again, Kay couldn't help but curse that French bastard he'd once called friend.

Then the conflicted, sorrowful expression on Gareth faded away as she recomposed herself, and quickly concluded: "Regardless, just as I cannot ignore what he has done, so too can I not forget all the good he has done, for me and the Kingdom. The King saw fit to pardon him for his actions; all I can do as his former squire is pray he finds redemption with his second chance."

There was a time, not too long ago, when Kay might have thought Lancelot finding absolution to be a given, but after everything that had happened he found himself less inclined to optimism.

Rather than voice his true thoughts however, he simply nodded and hummed noncommittally, before granting Gareth a reprieve by casually changing the subject: "And do your prayers require you to be in the kitchen at this late hour, Gareth? Or have the kitchen servants been taking advantage of your charity again and requested your assistance in cleaning up after one of Gawain's messes?"

"The kitchen servants have not been "taking advantage of my charity", Sir Kay; if anything, for the services they provide for the castle, rendering aid when needed is but the least I can do," Gareth insisted firmly, defending the honor of her former fellow peers, though Kay didn't miss the slight twitch at the corner of her lips (or that she hadn't defended her brother).

Just as he barely managed to suppress his snort, however, he noticed Gareth subtly shift her weight to her other foot, and avert her eyes ever so slightly, as she hesitantly admitted: "I was... I merely lost track of the time earlier in the day while training, Sir Kay, and ended up missing dinner, hence why I was still in the kitchen..."

Kay found his brow furrowing as he searched Gareth's face, looking for any further hints towards her true thoughts.

He could more than understand if her small actions had been caused by Lancelot (even if he wouldn't allow himself show any further sympathy; she got more than enough of it from the overprotective lunk, and while she'd still understand he knew she wouldn't appreciate the excessive concern); he could easily see his niece being lost in reminiscence as she wielded her blade and lance, remembering the simpler times she'd spent practicing under her former mentor's guidance.

But there was a slight difference in her tone, compared to when she'd been talking about Lancelot earlier, not to mention her expression, and if he didn't know any better he may have attributed it less to awkwardness and more to embarrassment.

Though, why would Gareth be embarrassed to admit that she'd lost track of time due to her training?

Then he remembered his most recent "lessons" with Mordred, and he found himself concentrating even further, trying to see if Gareth's rosy cheeks held any more color than usual.

Was it possible that Gareth had remembered someone besides Lancelot, as she'd swung her sword?

Ordinarily, he'd have summarily dismissed such thoughts; while she was far from lacking in encounters with men, even if he ignored her multitude of overprotective brothers (both biological and sworn) he'd always thought her feelings towards her mentor had went beyond mere admiration, and the idea that another man might be able to compare to Lancelot was laughable to say the least.

But that had all been before Kay had left for Sutton, and returned to find a changed realm.

She was, after all, at that age, and he could easily imagine that, despite what Gareth may have said, Lancelot's place in her heart may have diminished somewhat of late, allowing another to find a place within it.

Stranger things had happened, like... well... Mordred; as happy as he was that Mordred was finally, actually actively engaging in conversation with him, he'd learned far, far, far more about his squire in the past few days than he'd initially intended (and it wasn't in the least helped by his suspicions, but he still wasn't any closer to conclusively confirming it himself, much less figuring out how to even begin to broach the topic with Mordred).

If anything, he found himself sympathizing with this hypothetical guy who'd possibly caught Gareth's eyes, especially when Gawain found out (though that wouldn't stop him from hurting whoever this guy was if he hurt Gareth in any way).

Of course, that was all but conjecture as of yet, and Kay easily masked his inner thoughts and brimming curiosity with casual conversation: "Oh? And then you came to the kitchen for a meal? Last time I was late, they sent some poor page to tell me they wished to retire for the night, but I suppose they've always had a soft spot for you, Beaumains."

"Actually, though they offered, I declined their generosity," Gareth explained quickly, before elaborating as Kay raised an eyebrow: "I did not wish to impose on them, not when the fault is mine for failing to keep track of my surroundings. Also... well... after seeing the example my fellow squire set, I felt it best to do my own cooking from time to time as well... after all, shouldn't we as knights be able to provide for our own sustenance as well?"

"Indeed, though if only Gawain had picked up but a fraction of your talent," Kay nodded with a snort, even as he discreetly watched Gareth idly scratching her cheek as she looked out of the window, and mentally processed the information he'd just gathered.

To be fair, Gareth had received training to be a noble lady-in-waiting as part of her royal upbringing in Orkney, before she'd ultimately chosen a more martial path, so he couldn't really blame Gawain for failing to compare to Gareth's talents within the kitchen (though he could absolutely blame Gawain for failing to compare to anybody else's ability to cook).

More pertinently, by the looks of things, Gareth was absolutely telling the truth, which meant that, if there really was a guy who'd caught her interest (and it did seem more plausible with her reactions), he wasn't from among the ranks of the kitchen servants (one of the groups of people that both met frequently with Gareth and which Gawain had little interactions with), but was rather instead likely one of the squires of Camelot...

... wait a second.

As far as he could remember, while Gareth's bright disposition, social nature, and humble and soft-spoken demeanor allowed her to make friends with the same ease as breathing, there existed, through no fault of her own, an insurmountable gap between her and the other squires of the Knights of Camelot, a distance that made the average interaction between her and them tinged with an undercurrent of awkwardness.

After all, while the average page and squire were hopeful boys receiving martial training and guidance on the code of chivalry from Artoria's knights, Gareth the Gentle was the Daughter of Queen Morgan le Fay and King Lot of Orkney, the Sole Princess of Orkney, the Only Niece of High King Arthur Pendragon, Sister to the Knights of the Round Table Gawain, Gaheris, and Agravain, Squire to Lancelot, Defender of the honor of Lady Lyonesse, Slayer of the Red Knight Sir Ironside, and quite possibly the only person in all of Britain who'd earned herself a Numbered Seat at the Round Table despite still having been a squire (the gulf between her and the average squire was, he suspected, one of the reasons she'd first come to Camelot disguised as a servant boy, though he'd never really bothered prying too deeply into that, for personal reasons).

Moreover, those same pages and squires were also generally too busy with their demanding and rigorous training and lessons to even have the time or energy to cook for themselves.

So, if it was really a squire that had caught her interest (and he was really starting to pray it wasn't), they'd then probably have to be someone beyond the average squire in terms of ability, and also likely someone capable of overlooking Gareth's achievements and status.

Or utterly ignorant of her achievements and status.

Kay hadn't known anyone who may have fit that description before he'd left, but thanks to Artoria and Mordred (especially Mordred) he was aware that there was, indeed, a squire (or former squire) who did, and who'd even earned Gareth's respect as well.

Of course, this was all still mere speculation on his part, but even so it was all he could do to hide the apprehension creeping up his spine even as he forced himself to ask: "The "fellow squire" you mentioned... it wouldn't happen to have been Mordred's squire, would it?"

Gareth's response was telling, her head immediately whipping away from the full moon hanging idly in the night sky towards him as she asked: "You... know Jaune?"

"Arthur mentioned him while briefing me on what had transpired in my absence," Kay explained easily, even as he found himself wondering just who exactly Jaune Arc was (and no, two dozen tall tales about him did not count), and how in the Lord's name he'd apparently earned the trust (if not more) of (at least) three members of the royal family of Logres, and within a year of his arrival no less.

Maybe there really was some weight to Agravain's suspicions, even if Artoria had assured him otherwise.

And speaking of royals that definitely felt more than mere "trust" towards Jaune Arc...

"And, Mordred told me more," Kay continued with forced nonchalance, barely hiding an involuntary wince.

"Wait, Sir Mordred actually talked to you about Jaune?" Gareth couldn't keep the incredulity out of her voice.

Kay raised an eyebrow at Gareth's words; once Mordred had begun it had been like a dam bursting, and if anything he'd have probably had an easier time keeping a hungry Artoria away from food than stopping Mordred from talking about Jaune (as the long hours he'd endured being bombarded with information he'd never needed or wanted to know served as testament to).

Then again, hadn't Artoria explicitly warned him against bringing up Mordred's squire in front of him?

Considering how reserved Mordred had been when he'd first returned to Camelot, even by the standards of a knight who'd earned the title of "the Silent", and bearing in mind that, as far as he could remember, Mordred had never been the fondest of Gareth, it was entirely plausible that Mordred had simply refused to discuss his squire with anybody in Camelot, least of all his half-sister.

"He did," Kay finally answered. "In fact, he was the one to bring it up first, much to my surprise."

"Unexpected as it may be, that is certainly good to hear," Gareth nodded, before explaining: "When Jaune's departure was first reported months ago, I tried to speak with Sir Mordred, to empathize with his sorrow, but he rebuffed me. Even my subsequent attempts to offer my support were met with a staunch refusal from him; it was clear as day that the loss of his squire and friend weighed heavily on Sir Mordred's mind, and it is comforting to see he is finally willing to discuss it with another, even if not me."

"Indeed, Mordred did certainly seem... close, with his squire," Kay carefully admitted, choosing his words with caution. "At least, based on what I've heard."

"The two of them certainly held a strong bond," Gareth agreed with a sad smile. "In fact, I'd say that Jaune and Sir Mordred were both equally positive influences on each other, and I'd never seen anybody get along as well with Sir Mordred as Jaune had, not even the King or... or Agravain..."

Kay automatically placed a comforting hand on Gareth's shoulder as her smile became strained, even as he digested everything Gareth had told him.

Admittedly, it wasn't anything really new (he was more than aware that Mordred and Jaune had a close bond, after all), and it certainly wasn't nearly enough to settle his increasingly-nagging suspicions either way, but it still provided him with direction in future.

More importantly, Gareth's mood had fallen, and as a Knight of the Round Table and Artoria's (foster) brother, it was his duty to fix it.

"By the way, you never mentioned what it was you'd made," Kay casually turned back to the empty plates on the table behind Gareth as he easily changed the subject, deciding he could afford to not dwell on the subject of Mordred's personal connections for one night.

-SOMEWHERE ALONG THE SOUTHERN COAST OF ENGLAND-

As her eyes focused on the wrapped package clutched tightly in her hands, and she cast yet another simple Structural Analysis spell on it to once again ensure that it was, indeed, within her grasp, even though it went against all noble decorum that had been instilled into her by her upbringing Morgan still found it progressively harder and harder to suppress the smile that was threatening to split her face.

Accolon, oh sweet and passionate Accolon of Gaul; his loss was truly a great shame, and if he had still been around she would have been more than happy to show him just how she appreciated his actions, not to mention fulfilling her promise of granting him the throne as well.

Then again, even with her interference she honestly hadn't expected him to actually succeed in killing Artoria; her wretched sister was just too skilled, and too strong with her Magic Core, for even dear Accolon to have realistically held any chance of success.

No, the fact that he'd pushed her as much as he had, distracted her long enough for her to successfully steal what she had and get away, was more than sufficient, especially when paired with how well her other efforts were paying off.

Sure, Lancelot hadn't caused nearly as much chaos as she'd expected, nor had she thought that her naive daughter wouldn't even try to resist when faced with her maddened mentor, and she certainly hadn't foreseen that Kay would somehow resolve the situation with a pardon from Artoria (or even that her sister, even with all her idealistic folly, would pardon Lancelot and Guinevere for their crimes), but it had all ultimately worked out in the end, as the ever-watching nobles and knights of Camelot's court had their faith in Artoria's "justice" shaken, wondering whether Lancelot and Guinevere had only been so leniently pardoned where any other should've been executed for treason and murder.

Between that, the whispers she'd been subtly cultivating throughout the Kingdom (enough to have sparked even a few rebellions, which Artoria had responded to with her typical efficiency, and thusly stirred even more fear within those already discontent with her rule), and the interception of messages across the channel by her familiars (not too much that the sabotage was obvious, but just enough to spread panic and worry among those who were expecting word from their fathers, brothers, and sons on the continent), the realm was slowly but surely beginning to fracture.

And now, with Artoria's latest loss? A loss made all the more obvious among her precious knights by Accolon's actions?

She was finally vulnerable, for the first time in over a decade, and even if she didn't do anything to assist it word would spread back to the Kingdom.

But when it did, she would be sure to be there, asking which noble would be the next to sacrifice the contents of his coffers, the livelihoods of his peasants, the lives of his soldiers, for an increasingly-weakened and desperate inhuman King.

It was almost time, and once her foolish weapon stopped resisting its duty and destiny, even the city of Camelot would be stricken by the same instability that was brewing in the lands of Logres.

Soon, she'd be able to finally reclaim what had always been rightfully hers by birth.

But first, she had a scabbard to dispose of.

Notes: Something something hate dialogue something something loathe dialogue something something why the fuck do I always do this to myself something something Kay and I are both knee-deep in suffering, and things are only going to get worse from here.

Anyway, let's quickly address the first half... there really ain't much to say, I'll be honest. It's just a conversation between Kay, best (foster) uncle in Camelot, and Gareth, the inexperienced and enthusiastic squire of the Round Table.

Except none of that's really true, is it? Gareth was knighted 10 chapters ago, but even when she was a squire she was far from inexperienced when compared to the regular squire... w ell, that doesn't really matter, I guess. By the standards of the Round Table, at least, she's "inexperienced".

As for Kay... I really didn't expect these chapters to basically be Kay playing detective, filling in the gaps in his knowledge, but that's just how things turned out I guess...

And now the second half, regarding Morgan... look, if you know just what should be happening at this point in canon, and especially if you know just who Sir Accolon of Gaul is, then you can probably guess exactly what has happened here.

And yes, it is explicitly stated that Morgan (" lecherous, cruel, and selfish, a true model of vice" according to FGO) took Accolon as a lover, and promised him the Kingdom should he have succeeded in slaying her sibling and her husband.

Look, do bear in mind that, by this point in time, Morgan is insane (thanks to the circumstances of her birth and the splitting/fracturing of her personality, among many, many, MANY other things) and not a nice person (to put it nicely), and has carried out multiple plots and schemes against Artoria, ranging from her machinations causing Artoria to lose Caliburn, to what she did to collect Artoria's seed and conceive Mordred, to trying to seduce Lancelot (despite her other personality, Vivian, having essentially raised that French bastard), to even, and I swear I'm not making this up, sending the Green Knight to Camelot, to be beheaded by her son Gawain... apparently, in the hopes that the shock would cause Guinevere to drop dead from a heart attack or something.

No, I honestly don't understand it either.

But you know... while the current Morgan may be a bitch beyond any hopes of fixing (you know who you are)... considering she was also canonically one of the fairies who carried Artoria's body to Avalon after Camlann, and that canon says one of her personalities was Morgan the human, Artoria's caring sister... maybe...

... maybe there really is something in her past worth exploring.

... yes, I am aware that April Fool's was a week ago.

Some of you have already seen it on SpaceBattles a few months back, so you know this isn't an April Fool's joke.

SCENARIO: M (MEET THE PENDRAGONS)

POINT OF DEVIATION: CHAPTER 0

Author's Notes: No, your eyes do not deceive you.

No, this isn't different from the one I posted on SpaceBattles to celebrate this story's birthday.

No, I was honestly going to hold off on releasing this omake on FFN and AO3 until the end of the story, considering how much some people complained about the last one, but then I remembered that this is my story, and I do what I like, and like what I do.

And no. Just no. I genuinely have no fucking words to explain this one.

Just know that the Plot Fairy does what it likes (and likes what it does), and that the Plot Fairy would especially like to thank (and I would especially like to curse) certain members on the SpaceBattles forum for being so goddamned thirsty for a certain goddamned MILF...

Happy belated birthday to this story.

Princess Morgan Pendragon, eldest daughter of High King Uther Pendragon and the Lady Igraine, student to the esteemed Court Wizard and Magus of Flowers Merlin, renowned young lady with the innocence of a fairy throughout the realm, secret Great Mother fairy spawned from the island of Britain itself, inheritor of Britain's primeval power and supposed heir to the throne, was not having a good day.

In fact, it was safe to say she was having the worst day of her life thus far.

Ironically, it was supposed to have been one of the happiest days of her life, what with the birth of her younger sibling and all.

But when she'd laid eyes on little Artoria, while a part of her, the one raised as a human, had immediately fallen in love with her adorable baby sister, another part of her, the one attuned to the Will of Britain, had instinctively recoiled at what it had perceived as its natural foe.

And before she'd been able to properly process and reconcile her sudden conflicting emotions, her father had suddenly told her that damned child was to inherit the crown.

Artoria, and not her, was to be the future High King of Britain.

Why?!

It wasn't fair!

What did Artoria have that she didn't?!

She might have been able to somewhat understand if Artoria had been born male, like she knew her father wanted, but both she and Artoria were female, and both shared the same blood!

So why had Merlin (and she knew that damned Magus had to be involved somehow) and Uther selected Artoria over her?!

And if all that hadn't been enough, she'd later overheard Merlin and her parents discussing plans regarding her marriage.

Sure, she'd always known that, as a royal, she'd have little say in who she would ultimately be wed to, and growing up under Igraine and Uther had left her with little delusions of romance...

And sure, the whispers surrounding King Lot in the court were generally positive, and she could certainly do a lot worse than him...

But she'd never even met the man before!

Was it really too much to ask for, that she could at least say she knew her future husband, or what he even looked like?

In the end, it was all just too much, and as her tumultuous emotions had threatened to overwhelm her, she'd elected to storm out of the castle, leaving its walls without an escort and going for a walk in the surrounding grounds by herself to try and clear her head.

It may not have been what was expected from a child of Uther Pendragon, who was supposed to instead bear it all with stoicism, but then again she was no longer Uther's heir, now was she?

That thought elicited a wry smile and a small chuckle from her, before they both died as she felt a pang run through her heart.

Just... why?

Why had they chosen Artoria over her?

In what way was she lacking?

Even as her feet continued taking her through the dense, and her thoughts continued to plague her, she found herself no closer to an answer, let alone any balm that could soothe her troubled heart.

And then she almost tripped over a body where it was lain, between the thick roots of an old oak.

While Morgan hadn't been expecting to encounter anybody during her impromptu excursion, she'd still subconsciously maintained a minimum level of caution as she'd strolled along the forest.

After all, even if the Saxons were still mostly focused on consolidating their hold over the Southern and Eastern coasts, there was always the chance that a raiding party might attempt to strike at the lands of the High King, the symbol of the Britons' resistance against their foreign invaders.

But even as she'd almost instinctively cast two dozen spells, a moment's study allowed her to quickly analyze the situation, after which she cautiously lowered her hand, satisfied that the man wasn't about to leap up and attack her and that this hadn't all been the signal for some unseen ambush.

Rather, by the looks of things it seemed that she had simply stumbled across the resting place of some vagabond, likely another wandering knight based on the state of his armor (and the fact that he even had metal armor).

It didn't seem like his final resting place, though; despite the bloodstains, dents, and holes marring his breastplate and the lack of a sword in his scabbard, he bore no obvious wounds or injuries, and still drew breath.

If she had to hypothesize, he was probably yet another warrior from the continent, who had come to their lands seeking a new patron and liege following the fall of the old Empire and the accompanying aftershocks that had shaken now-former Imperial territories, and had barely escaped or triumphed in some recent battle.

In other words, nobody of any true importance, at least not here and now.

She would've simply walked away from the man after that, paying him no further thought, but then his empty scabbard caught her eye once more.

While the golden stripes accenting the scabbard were hardly unheard of (and a bit gaudy in her opinion; she was far from an accomplished swordswoman, but she'd still picked up a few things from Uther and Merlin, and couldn't help but feel the extra weight on the hip was far too much of a drawback), she'd never seen one made out of a white metal before.

Come to think of it, his breastplate seemed to be made of the same white metal, too...

It certainly wasn't silver, being too dull, nor was it lead or tin, not being nearly dull enough for those, and it definitely couldn't be any of the other white metals she knew, considering those metals were all far too heavy and/or brittle to be practical as armor.

Her finger tapped against her cheek impatiently as she stared intently at the two pieces of metal, as if trying to will them to spontaneously combust for the crime of frustrating her by daring to exist without a convenient explanation.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her, and she reached out towards them with both a hand and her other senses, casting a simple Structural Analysis spell to determine their material and make...

And immediately withdrawing with a startled hiss as she sensed something enveloping his body, firing up a dozen spells in her mind and preparing to cast them at the thing that lay in front of her, even as her sudden movement caused it to begin to stir.

What kind of lunatic wore its Magic Circuits as armor?!

-A FEW DAYS LATER-

Jaune Arc wasn't having a good day.

Okay, maybe that wasn't the most accurate statement.

Jaune Arc wasn't having a good week.

To be fair though, when one's week involves a terrorist attack during an international tournament, some fire witch and a literal Grimm dragon killing Beacon's Headmaster and attacking part of the school, and one's death at the hands of said fire witch and Grimm dragon at the top of said former Headmaster's office, it's probably very hard for that week to ever be considered "good".

And, as it turns out, waking up after your supposed death to find some girl standing above you, staring at you like you personally insulted her mother, and using some bullshit Semblance to fire a whole lot of bullshit at your exhausted body did not come close to making it better.

Nor did it help to find out that he'd apparently woken up in a whole different world (he was pretty sure, considering the Moon wasn't shattered here), that the girl hadn't used some bullshit Semblance to try and kill him again but had instead used actual honest-to-Oum magic, and, oh, that the girl wasn't just some girl, but was instead the eldest child of the High King of the land!

Evidently, somewhere in his life he'd made a wrong turn and ended up in a bad Mistralian comic; if he had to guess, it'd have to have been sometime between running away from home with the family sword, and trying to fight a Huntress who'd killed the Headmaster by herself, and her pet Grimm dragon, all alone.

... he couldn't say he regretted any of it, though.

When he'd run away from home to try and be a hero, he'd always known that it wouldn't necessarily have a happy ending.

And he'd never have forgiven himself if it had been Pyrrha, or Ruby, or Weiss, or Ren, or Nora, who'd died atop that clock tower instead of him, the fraud who'd cheated his way into Beacon.

And as far as he could tell, this world wasn't too bad; based on what he'd seen and heard, he was in a Kingdom much like Vale, with dense forests, thick trees, and lush vegetation, though their society was apparently still in a pre-Dust stage of development (likely since this world didn't really have Dust or an equivalent, or at least hadn't discovered it yet), and Grimm weren't a thing here (though they still had their fair share of stories of monsters and beasts in the forests).

The company, on the other hand, could use a little bit of work.

"You were just thinking something insulting about me, weren't you, Arc?" Morgan accused, levelling a cold glare at him.

"Of course not, Your Highness," Jaune denied innocently, meeting her sharp blue eyes with his own.

Morgan studied his face for a few moments, but Jaune had grown up with seven older sisters, and though the platinum blonde woman remained unconvinced she could find no trace of deceit in the Foreigner's face or tone.

Rather than admit to that, however, Morgan simply changed the subject with a huff: "Anyway, you were telling me more about odd Magecraft?"

"I keep telling you, it's not magic or anything," Jaune sighed, "it's just Aura, that's all. Every Huntsman and Huntress has it."

And the fact that he hadn't even known about it until Beacon's Initiation was something he'd take to the grave... which was a pretty poor saying, now that he thought about it.

"And yet you can't tell me the slightest thing about it, beyond that it is the supposed manifestation of your soul, and that you not only coat yourself but your equipment in it in order to protect both?" Morgan asked suspiciously.

"I, uh... wasn't the best student..." Jaune admitted, scratching the back of his neck sheepishly as he did so (and feeling mentally thankful that Morgan had stopped restraining him during their conversations after the second day).

In his defense, though, his father had refused to tell him anything about being a Huntsman, and he hadn't even completed his first year at Beacon, nor had he gone to a combat school like most other people!

"I can see that," Morgan remarked drily.

Jaune could only pout at that, to which Morgan merely responded with a single raised eyebrow, challenging him to defend himself.

"Regardless," Morgan continued on as Jaune chose silence. "Have you never tried to experiment with your Magecraft? Seen what else it could do?"

"I was, uh, too busy trying to get the basics of Aura and combat down first..." Jaune elaborated, though he then added: "But most people that I know, they also have Semblances, which allowed them to do... stuff..."

"Stuff?" Morgan repeated, her raised eyebrow inching further upwards.

"Well, apparently it was unique from person to person," Jaune explained. "For example, my partner could control metal, and I had a friend who could move at super speeds, leaving a trail of petals in her wake, and another who could absorb lightning for a power boost."

Morgan mentally took note of this new information, comparing it to her own knowledge of the Moonlit World. While she knew that comparing Parallel Worlds and making assumptions was an exercise in futility due to possible differences in the fundamental laws of reality governing each World Line, it still made for an interesting mental exercise, trying to find parallels between how the Magecraft she knew of worked, and the Magecraft of another World.

At the very least, it helped her remain distracted.

Though, if each "Semblance" was truly unique (and not hereditary), then how could masters truly teach apprentices (as Arc had claimed to have been) about the proper way to utilize their Semblance?

What if a master and an apprentice had Semblances that seemed incompatible, like lightning absorption and super speed?

... how would one even discover they could absorb lightning in the first place?

Were Semblances simply instinctive?

"And what's your Semblance?" Morgan inquired.

"Oh, uh... I... don't know yet..." Jaune admitted after a few seconds.

"... how?" Morgan pressed.

"They, uh, think I might be a late bloomer," Jaune offered.

"... is it possible for your kind to simply not have Semblances?" Morgan asked, ignoring his excuse.

"... maybe?" Jaune shrugged weakly. Sure, everyone in Team RWBY had one, as had all of his teammates... but Cardin hadn't had one, as far as he knew, nor had anyone else in Team CRDL...

Morgan simply studied the blonde man in front of her, as her natural instincts continued their war within herself.

The part of her connected to Britain held a certain distaste for the Foreigner in front of her, revolted by the existence of an Outsider from another World polluting the island.

But the Magus that had been tutored by Merlin himself couldn't help but admit to being curious about his whole existence, to say nothing of the way his Magecraft worked.

Moreover, unlikely as it may have been, helping him figure out how his "Aura" worked might offer her insight into improving her own abilities.

And since she had hardly anything to do in the castle now that everyone's attention was focused elsewhere...

"I'll look at my mentor's texts, see if he might know something," Morgan declared, before her brows furrowed and she muttered resentfully: "I'd ask him, but all he's got time for now is Artoria..."

Jaune didn't miss it, or the familiar look on her face, and while he had no idea just who this "Artoria" was, he knew Morgan.

Or at least, he thought he had.

Haughty, frigid, entitled, and a little bit of a bitch, she'd honestly reminded him a little bit of Weiss at her worst, the Weiss that Ruby had complained to him about occasionally at the start of their first semester at Beacon, especially with her pale hair and eyes.

But looking at her now, seeing the loneliness in her blue eyes and the undercurrent of bitterness that tinged her voice, and especially the way her long platinum blonde hair framed her face...

Jaune couldn't help but be reminded of his older sisters.

"What are you looking at?" Morgan snapped, as she caught him staring.

"Nothing, nothing," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, even as he mentally pondered his next course of action.

... well, it wasn't like he had anything else to lose...

"So... you have a mentor?" Jaune casually changed the subject to something that seemed like it was weighing on her mind, deciding to do his best to give her the opportunity to vent about it (without being too obvious; he doubted she'd appreciate it). "Who is he? And what's he like?"

"An incorrigible pervert and a bastard," Morgan sniffed as she unwittingly fell for the bait, before begrudgingly conceding to an attentive Jaune: "... but, as a magus, his skills and knowledge are certainly unrivalled..."

-FOUR AND A HALF-ISH YEARS LATER-

As Morgan looked around the cave, and found a distinct lack of blonde Foreigners ready to wait on her hand and foot, she couldn't help but begin tapping her foot against the floor impatiently, an unamused frown unknowingly crossing her face the whole time.

Just where in the Lord's name was that fool now?

She wasn't worried in the least about Arc, of course; fool as he may have been, he had been the equivalent of a squire in his world, and more pertinently possessed absurd reserves of Od (far more like Artoria's Magic Core than a typical magus's Magic Circuits, much to her irritation), which when combined with his odd soul Magecraft (or "Aura", as he kept insisting) meant she was reasonably sure he could probably take on an entire Saxon army and come out unscathed if he made an actual effort (and stopped being so soft and naive).

(She'd once theorized to him that he was just so ignorant that his body simply hadn't realized that it actually possessed limits, and had thusly elected to just keep going. The resulting pout he'd given her had been absolutely worth it.)

It was simply that her current visit wasn't a purely social one, to put it frankly.

She wouldn't say she needed to speak with him, of course, nor would she ever admit to desiring to speak with him; it was simply that there was something on her mind, and unfortunately he was the only person available.

It helped that he wasn't a bad listener, of course-

"Oh, Your Highness? Is that you?"

Morgan immediately turned around, hands dropping to her hips, and levelled her best glare at the source of the voice even as she fumed: "Took you long enough, Arc. Didn't I send a familiar over?"

"You did," Jaune conceded, before raising his arm and displaying his peace offering: "But I didn't expect you to arrive so soon, so I thought I had time to hunt a bit of game for us for dinner."

Morgan eyed the dead rabbits with a neutral expression, though internally she was far less composed.

On the one hand, she was royalty, and rabbit was a poor meal for a future monarch.

On the other hand, she couldn't really blame Arc for the lack of choice meats, considering he'd been living in a cave in a forest for years.

What ultimately tipped the balance firmly in favor of the latter opinion, however, was that the years had made her familiar with his culinary abilities, and so, after a haughty sniff, she regally seated herself on one of the chairs she'd decorated the cave with, before she snapped her fingers, and a pair of her familiars brought in a basket filled with some simple ingredients and foods, which Jaune accepted good-naturedly, familiar enough with Morgan by now to simply be thankful that she wasn't making a snide comment about rabbit meat (not that it ever stopped her from stuffing her face with his cooking).

Don't get him wrong; he considered Morgan a close friend (namely by virtue of not really knowing anybody else in this World), and he'd gotten to know her well enough to know that there was definitely a heart buried deep underneath that harsh exterior, but that didn't mean he was blind to the fact that she could still be a haughty bitch if (when) she so desired.

If she was content with just lounging around today, he certainly wouldn't complain (in fact, it was probably safer if she just remained where she was while he cooked).

He doubted lounging around was all that she'd come here for, however; if it was something so casual, she wouldn't have made such a fuss about him not being in the cave, and she certainly wouldn't have sent a familiar just to inform him of her impending arrival.

But he also knew her enough to know better than to pry (or at least, to be too obvious about it), and so he instead busied himself with cooking, all while keeping an eye on the princess where she sat, and taking note of the way she was fidgeting ever so slightly.

In the end, it was halfway through her second helping that she finally spoke: "So, Merlin and Uther have finally remembered about my existence."

"Oh?" Jaune made a noise of interest as he looked up from his own food, waiting for Morgan to go on.

"Specifically..." Morgan had to pause briefly to recollect herself, before continuing on with feigned nonchalance, refusing to allow Arc to see her weakness: "They have decided it was time to address my arranged marriage."

Jaune couldn't help but wince; thanks to her countless rants on the topic he could safely say he was an expert in the myriad of ways that Lot, Lothian, and Orkney sucked.

"Have they listened to you and cancelled it?" Jaune asked hopefully.

Morgan could only snort in amusement at his hopeless and unwarranted optimism, before her face fell and she explained into her plate: "The opposite, in fact. Uther will be going to fight Vortigern soon, and left behind two decrees before he commits suicide-by-fratricide.

"The first, was that Merlin was to take his precious heir, Artoria, to be raised by Sir Ector, one of his most trusted and renowned knights.

"The second, was that I was to be wed to King Lot of Orkney, as soon as possible," Morgan finished bitterly. "I am to depart for the North by the end of the week."

A stunned silence enveloped the cave following her declaration, as Morgan continued to examine a particularly-interesting stain on her cutlery, and Jaune stared at her, trying to figure out what to say.

Finally, Jaune carefully asked: "Then, what will you do now, Morgan?"

"What else can I do?" Morgan laughed hollowly, not even chastising him for daring to use her name without permission. "Even if I am no longer the heir, I am still the eldest daughter of the High King of Britain, and I still have a duty to Uther's will."

"..." Jaune recognized the helplessness and resignation in her voice, and took a moment to close his eyes and take a deep breath, before asking: "Can I tell you a story?"

Morgan couldn't help but raise an eyebrow at that, unsure of what that had to do with anything, but ultimately she decided to humor him, and imperiously allowed: "Go ahead."

"So... there was a boy," Jaune began. "The boy grew up on a farm, and wanted to be a warrior, a hero, like his father, and his father's father, and his father's father's father."

Morgan barely suppressed a snort, more than able to figure out that Jaune was talking about himself, though she continued to listen anyway, curious to see where he was going with all this.

"But the boy's parents disagreed, and refused to allow it, allow him to receive any training, no matter how much they fought," Jaune continued his tale, his face falling as he remembered the numerous fights he'd had with them about it. While he couldn't say he knew Uther Pendragon, he knew what Morgan thought of him; at the very least, he knew his parents did love him.

"... so what did the boy do?" Morgan gave him a thoughtful look. If his parents had disagreed, how had he ended up as a squire (or Huntsman-in-Training, as he'd called it)?

"He took the family sword and scabbard, and ran away from home in the middle of the night, determined to get to an Academy and receive training," Jaune recounted.

Morgan's look became unamused, and though she knew she should have expected something like that, she still remarked: "Sounds like a fool."

"... maybe..." Jaune had to concede that point, the smile on his face turning sad as he glanced at where his old breastplate hung.

And as Morgan followed his gaze, and saw the punctured metal, she heard him quietly speak: "But let me ask you something; do you think the boy regretted any of it?"

Morgan simply looked back, wondering just what he was getting at with this.

After all, she knew Jaune Arc; of course the fool didn't regret a damn thing!

All he cared about was that he'd helped someone, regardless that he'd defied his parents, fled his home, and even died...

... oh.

Oh, that's what he was getting at.

Morgan's eyes narrowed as she realized just what he was saying, and while a part of her ruefully praised him for successfully and sneakily tricking her, the rest of her furiously snarled: "This and that are different; your situation and mine are hardly comparable!"

"Of course," Jaune held up his hands placatingly, before nodding and making the occasional chagrined noise as she went on to expound to him, in great length and detail, just why he was a fool for even thinking his story was similar to hers.

After all, he knew her well enough to know that, if she was really insulted, she'd have just left after getting one final jab in at him.

Rather, it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself than him.

He wisely kept quiet about that, of course.

Morgan, for her part, refused to relent in her tirade. After all, she was the inheritor of Britain by the island's own Will and Holder of its Mystery, and true heir of Uther Pendragon, even if he and Merlin had chosen another.

Even if she wanted to, she couldn't just abandon her duty to her land!

... if she were to disobey Uther on this, then what?

Run away from home chasing a dream like the fool in front of her?

She'd be disowned by that damned man!

... but he'd already treated her as nothing more than a spare since Artoria had been born, hadn't he...

After tens of minutes, as she ran out of steam and slowly wound down, she finally finished, in a quiet voice: "... Britain means everything to me, Arc... it's connected to me, belongs to me, in a way you can't comprehend with your limited senses."

Jaune knew that she wasn't making a jibe at his intellect with that statement (possibly for the first time); she'd demonstrated her magic and enhanced senses before, back when they'd first met.

"And if I were to leave, and be disowned, if I were to renounce my claim to it... what would I have left?" Morgan asked uncertainly, shaking her head. "... who would I even be, if I were no longer a Pendragon?"

Similarly, Jaune knew that he couldn't really relate to her status, considering he'd just been a farm boy in a Kingdom that hadn't had a King in generations, and she was a princess in a world with magic and dragons.

But he could relate to her as a person, and after thinking about his response for a bit, he carefully answered: "Well... you'd still be Morgan, right?"

As Morgan's head whipped back towards him, Jaune immediately held up his hands, pre-emptively forestalling any response as he quickly explained: "I mean, even if you're no longer royalty... all your experiences, everything you've learned, what makes you, you... it'd all still be there, right? Nothing could change the fact that you're still Morgan, right?

"And whatever you choose, no matter what happens... you'd always still have me, Morgan," Jaune continued, encouraged by the fact that she hadn't ripped his head off, before quickly adding: "After all, that's what friends are for, right? ... we are friends, right?"

Morgan snorted in amusement at his sudden uncertainty.

At the very least, she did know she could count on him; even discounting the fact that he didn't have anyone else to rely on, Jaune Arc was just that kind of fool.

Seriously, what kind of person his age went around proudly saying things like "strangers are just friends you haven't met"?!

... it still felt good to hear, however, as she met his eyes, she couldn't help but feel an odd sense of reassurance.

Oh Lord, his damn naivety was contagious!

Even so, however, she still felt her intended response dying right at the edge of her tongue, and something else instead slipped her lips: "... then, what about the Kingdom? King Lot possesses many troops, due to the need to protect his lands from the Scots and Picts to the North, but that distance also insulates him from the Saxon threat. My marriage was to be a political tool, meant to tie him to the Britons in the South, and ensure that he has an interest in assisting us in the fight against the Saxons."

This time, it was Jaune's turn to raise an eyebrow, as he in turn countered: "I'm sure there are many more ways you can think of, to help your Kingdom and your people, Morgan."

And as Morgan's pale blue eyes searched and studied Jaune's deep blue eyes, cynically searching for any hint of a lie, any sign of deceit, their sharpness slowly began to soften, as their owner found herself slowly agreeing.

And a wild, unthinkable plan began to form in her mind.

Postscript: Something something WHY something something WHY something something IT'S MORGAN LE FUCKING FAY OF ALL PEOPLE.

Alright, now that I've returned from that brief descent into insanity, let's discuss how we got here.

Buckle the fuck up, this is going to take a while.

So, the original "ideas" those dehydrated desert dwellers (you know who you are) tossed around was Atlas Arc!Jaune or Rusted Knight Jaune using his MILF Magnet powers to basically woo Morgan le Fay... and look, while it may have been funny as a one-off joke, it really wouldn't have gone anyway, considering MILF Morgan is definitely not somebody Jaune can fix, nor would Jaune necessarily be able to accept her hilariously obtuse plans to get the throne.

Seriously, some of the lore, like that whole debacle with the Green Knight and trying to seduce Lancelot, pretty much reads like something Cinder Fall would think of... and not canon!RWBY Cinder Fall, but Cinder from RWBY Chibi (and being a witch who plots  repeatedly  against a green-eyed girl being crushed by the weight of her destiny would probably not endear her to a Jaune who's lost Pyrrha to Cinder Fall, either).

(Maybe I could kind of see it working out with Vivian, though, but then again we know pretty much nothing about her except that she's Morgan's good personality (unless you're Merlin), she raised Lancelot, and she gave Artoria Excalibur and Avalon after she lost Caliburn, and I really don't want to go any deeper into any more Arthurian Legend rabbit holes...)

And then someone suggested pre-insane Morgan.

And, unfortunately, I thought about it.

After all, judging by Gawain's age compared to Artoria's (we know that he was the Solar Knight and Wielder of Excalibur Galatine by the time Artoria slew Vortigern at 25), we can guess that Morgan was somewhere between 10 and 20 years old when Artoria was born (I split the difference and put it around 15).

And we know that Morgan's split personalities (and insanity) are the result of the conflicting roles forced onto her by her birth... but we don't know when exactly the split occurred (but we do know that Kay knew of her as a fine lady with the innocence of a fairy, and the shift to a warrior maiden and then a brutal witch was pretty sudden and jarring to him), so in this omake Artoria's birth was the final catalyst for the split, with Morgan's love for her baby sister warring with her hatred for her for taking the throne... except that Jaune ended up here while she was brooding, sufficiently distracting her enough to keep her intact.

And I used Chapter 0 Jaune (the Jaune that dies during the Fall of Beacon) because a) that's a convenient way to get him isekai'd, and b) I had to tie it back to this story somehow.

And before anybody makes any noise about there being knights and chivalry just after the fall of the Western Roman Empire... do remember the history of the world of FATE is fairly anachronistic to our (known) history (full plate armor, for example, should not have been around until the 13th century). But in regards to this specific topic, a lot of the people who fought for Artoria between the drawing of Caliburn and the Slaying of Vortigern were very specifically wandering knights who were attracted to the ideals of the King of Knights. All things considered, we can infer that most of them were wandering because the fall of Western Rome pretty much caused most of them to lose their patrons and lieges (despite them not being supposed to exist for a few more centuries).

Also make no mistake; Morgan may be slightly less insane in this scenario, but she's still a fucking bitch, and Jaune only got something resembling a pass because he is very experienced at dealing with blonde-haired-blue-eyed older siblings thanks to growing up with seven older sisters.

But wait, I hear you say! This omake's title was "MEET THE PENDRAGONS', and we've only met Morgan!

Well, don't you worry.

After all, there's still a few things this postscript hasn't addressed.

Moreover, do you really think Merlin would fail to detect the presence of a Foreigner right outside Uther's holdings for years?

-A FEW WEEKS BEFORE " FOUR AND A HALF-ISH YEARS LATER"-

Jaune Arc had been humming to himself, as he'd slowly roasted the fish he'd caught over a fire outside the cave, when he heard it.

Footsteps, approaching his clearing.

At first he didn't think too much about it; after all, Morgan had a tendency to drop by whenever she pleased, with hardly any forewarning.

And then he realized he was hearing a pair of footsteps approaching his location.

And neither of them were light enough to be Morgan's.

Cautiously, Jaune began reaching for his scabbard, ready to transform it into a shield and protect himself if somebody was about to attack him, when a man's voice spoke up, clearly amused: "Relax, child; if I truly wished to harm you, you would've been unable to resist before you even noticed."

That statement did very little to make him feel relaxed, and he kept his hand on his scabbard as he turned around to face the voice, and found a white-haired man in a white robe watching him, curiosity evident in his vibrant violet eyes, as he continued speaking: "So, you're the one that my student's adopted... I can see why she would find you intriguing, Foreigner from Another World."

And as Jaune tensed up even further, Merlin laughed once more, and made a dismissive voice: "I know not what Morgan has told you, though I can hazard a guess, but I have no interest in doing anything to you at the moment; if you had truly wished this World harm, you would have been destroyed by Morgan long ago."

That wasn't exactly the most reassuring sentence ever spoken, either, but it was a bit better than told that he could be killed before he even noticed, and so Jaune forced his shoulders to loosen slightly, as he spoke: "Then, you must be Merlin?"

"I assume Morgan told you about me?" Merlin inquired casually, and as Jaune nodded he immediately leaned forward, a mischievous smirk on his lips as he asked: "So, what did she tell you about me?"

"Well..." Jaune chose his words carefully, not wanting to reflect poorly on his friend. "She said that, as a magus, your knowledge and skills were unmatched-"

"Bah, I'm not interested in that boring stuff," Merlin waved his hand dismissively. "I know Morgan well enough; there's no need to sugar coat it for me. Does she still call me a womanizer, or has she found more creative descriptors for me yet?"

Jaune barely suppressed a snort, and briefly wondered if he should confirm Merlin's suspicions (the last one had been "pansy bastard") or remain silent.

After all, as personable as Merlin might seem right now, according to Morgan he and her father had basically been neglecting her ever since her baby sister was born.

Merlin detected the awkward shift in the emotions of the man in front of him, and sighed and shook his head as he changed the subject: "Regardless, I am not here about Morgan, Foreigner; if things were different I would have been more than content to simply watch her clumsy attempts. But someone else would like to meet you, and so I am here, to ensure the safety of his person."

"Who are you-" Jaune began to ask, before his voice cut off as a big bear of a man entered the clearing, noble and regal in his demeanor despite his face and body being mostly hidden by a simple plain hooded cloak.

"I bid thee a good afternoon," a deep voice boomed as the man removed his cloak, revealing a rugged face with blonde hair and blue eyes. "Might I have the pleasure of knowing your name?"

"My name's Jaune Arc," Jaune introduced himself as he offered his hand, which the other man grabbed and shook with a vice-like grip. "Short, sweet, rolls of the tongue."

"Then, you may call me Uther, boy," Uther returned the favor.

Jaune froze at that.

What in Oum's name was Morgan's father and the High King of Britain doing here?!

What was he supposed to do?

"In any case, Jaune," Uther continued, heedless to Jaune's confusion. "Firstly, I'd like to thank you for your efforts in assisting my people."

Jaune blinked, surprised to learn that his actions had already been found out; as far as he could tell, even Morgan didn't know that he'd been wandering out of the forest on occasion, and assisting some of the surrounding settlements.

"And secondly, I would like to thank you for keeping Morgan's spirits lifted, while Merlin and I have been occupied with her younger sibling."

Jaune winced at that, though he quickly covered it up, and casually brushed off the older man's words: "Uh, no need for thanks... Morgan's a friend..."

... she was, too, wasn't she...

"Um, Uther, sir?" Jaune asked uncertainly as he made up his mind. He knew Morgan definitely wouldn't appreciate his meddling, but as her friend... "Do you mind if I ask you a question?"

"You may speak your mind," Uther nodded magnanimously.

"Then..." Jaune took a deep breath to steel himself. "Why have you two been neglecting Morgan for Artoria, sir?"

Uther and Merlin shared a look, and Merlin simply held his hands up with an amused snort, prompting Uther to sigh tiredly before he turned back to Jaune and answered: "I suppose I should be thankful that Morgan has made such a loyal friend. Very well then; how much do you know, Jaune?"

"Not much," Jaune quickly admitted.

"To begin with, there is a prophecy," Uther explained. "Two dragons, one red and one white, are destined to do battle for ownership of the island, with the Red Dragon representing the Britons and the White Dragon representing the Saxons."

Jaune nodded, unsure where any of this was going.

"My brother, Vortigern, is the incarnation of the White Dragon," Uther continued grimly, "and if he wins then Britain will return to its original form, becoming a paradise of darkness no man can set forth in forever."

Jaune blinked as he processed what he'd just heard.

Sure, as far as he knew prophecies didn't really matter... but that was back on Remnant.

In a world with magic and dragons, who was to say prophecies weren't real?

And if that was real, then the stakes involved were really high...

"And, uh, what happens to the people already on the island?" Jaune slowly inquired.

"They die," Uther said bluntly. "All of them, all of my subjects, all of my Kingdom, all of it will perish should Vortigern be unopposed."

Jaune gulped and nodded.

"I have devoted my entire reign to ensuring the creation of the Red Dragon and averting the victory of the White Dragon," Uther planted himself onto the log across from Jaune and his shoulders slumped in exhaustion from the weight of his sins. "I have caused the death of one of my loyal nobles so that I could covet his wife, a woman I had no true love for, all so that I could sire an heir with one possessing the blood of a dragon."

"And that's Artoria?" Jaune quickly asked, trying not to dwell on that whole part about coveting his subordinate's wife and killing him.

"Indeed," Uther confirmed, before laughing hollowly. "And before you ask, while Morgan does indeed share the same blood as Artoria, for some reason she took too much after me, and while Britain may acknowledge her quality as its ruler, she lacks the dragon's blood needed to qualify her as the Red Dragon, to allow her to triumph over my brother. This is something Merlin has confirmed, many times."

Jaune genuinely found himself at a loss for words.

Sure, he hadn't exactly considered Morgan an objective source thus far, and he still didn't really know about how magic and blood and prophecies worked...

... but if this prophecy was true, and the stakes really were that high...

"... does Morgan know about this?" Jaune finally inquired, deciding to focus on his friend for the time being.

"Of it, perhaps, but not the whole thing," Merlin spoke up this time.

"And even if she did, Morgan would never accept it," Uther agreed, shaking his head; his eldest did truly take too much after him.

Jaune frowned at their answers, and pointed out: "You know Morgan believes that you hate her, right?"

To his surprise, however, Uther only nodded: "I can guess that much, boy. It matters little, though; soon I will likely be dead. If it is easier for her to blame my grave, then so be it."

"You'll be dead soon?" Jaune quickly looked Uther over, but saw no signs of sickness or injury.

"Artoria took too long to be born, and Vortigern has amassed too much power," Uther explained resignedly. "Vortigern shall soon usher in a new Dark Age unless checked, and Artoria certainly cannot hope to triumph over him at the moment. And so, I shall travel to Londinium, and do battle with him."

"But... I thought you said the Red Dragon was needed to defeat the White Dragon."

"He is," Uther confirmed. "I have no hope of slaying my brother in combat. But I can still hurt him, injure him, delay his ascension, and with my death stain his name forever more with the crime of being a Kinslayer, ensuring that the Britons will never follow him."

Jaune looked over Uther once more, finding himself understanding the older man slightly more (though he had evidently done some pretty horrible things).

But that didn't answer one of his concerns, however, and so he asked: "And what about Morgan?"

"She will be sent off to Orkney, and wed to King Lot," Uther explained, before elaborating: "King Lot has the political power necessary to oppose Vortigern, and the distance will keep her safe from the Saxon invaders that arrive at our Southern shores in greater numbers every day. Moreover, unlike me, King Lot is a good man, and I have confidence that he will not mistreat her. Regardless of her reservations, this is the last thing I can do as a father to keep my eldest child safe."

Jaune's frown deepened, as he compared what Morgan had told him to what Uther was telling him, and he found his thoughts growing more and more conflicted.

Sure, on the one hand he wanted his friend to be happy, of course, but on the other, well...

He hadn't quite married her off to some guy she'd never met (not that he even could), but he could certainly empathize with sending someone away to keep them safe, even if they didn't like it (and he'd known Pyrrha would never have agreed with it, which is why he'd had to throw her into that rocket locker).

And while he could never agree with or condone his actions, after hearing exactly what was at stake he found that he couldn't really judge or hate the man, not when he was clearly prepared to die to buy his people time.

As Ruby Rose had told him, so long ago, a good leader had to place his team ahead of himself, and who wasn't allowed to fail, no matter how hard, because it wasn't just about them any longer.

What about a King who placed his Kingdom ahead of himself?

... of course, that still didn't change the whole "killed his noble and coveted his wife" thing...

Uther, meanwhile, was also studying the younger blonde, and noticed the exact moment his face changed.

"You do understand..." Uther remarked with surprise.

"... I... don't know if I can accept what you've done, and what you're doing..." Jaune shook his head, before sighing and conceding: "... but I can't judge, either. Somehow, I do understand..."

A comfortable silence followed, as the two re-evaluted one another, all while Merlin watched them.

Eventually, though, Jaune broke the silence: "Is there really no other option for Morgan?"

Uther couldn't help but marvel at the absolute loyalty Jaune displayed, and after a few moments of contemplation made an offer: "... perhaps... if I were to call in a few favors, I could arrange for Morgan to be adopted by King Lot as a ward, rather than being wed to him, affording her a modicum of the protection he would provide, though such a solution would be untenable in the long-term

"But, if I do this, I must ask that you assist me in turn. What say you, Jaune Arc?"

"... what do you need, Uther?"

-SOME TIME LATER-

"What do you mean, Jaune's gone with you, Merlin?!" Morgan thundered at the familiar that had been left behind in the cave... the only thing left behind in it when she'd come to visit after having been occupied for a few weeks.

"Exactly as I said, Morgan," the familiar answered, "Uther was so impressed by the spirit of this Jaune Arc that he asked him to help train Artoria at Sir Ector's village-"

Merlin's familiar was cut off as Morgan accidentally crushed it in her hands as they balled into fists, a cold anger threatening to overtake her.

Oh, that was how they wanted to do it?

That was how much they hated her?

It wasn't enough that Artoria got the throne and all of Uther's and Merlin's attention and affection, no!

Now she just had to go and get her Foreigner too!

"Artoria..." Morgan snarled, as her fury finally reached its tipping point, unable to restrain herself any further.

She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but someday, she would repay her little sister for everything that she'd done to her, that much she swore.

Postscript: And so, for the second time in her life, Morgan gets shafted by Artoria.

Also, as it turns out, the other Pendragon we'll be meeting is Uther Pendragon... g od fucking damn it why.

Seriously, the only person with maybe less lore than Uther is Igraine, and what lore we do have about him is... not the most flattering, to put it lightly.

Or, to put it bluntly, Uther Pendragon has done many, many, many terrible things (and before anyone brings it up, just because I'm portraying and acknowledging what supposedly happened doesn't mean I'm fucking condoning it).

In the old legends, for example, Uther basically immediately lusted for Igraine upon seeing her/fell in love with her upon first sight (depending on the source, and brother, there's a lot of sources) during a feast for his nobles, and Duke Tintagel of Cornwall (or Gorlois of Tintagel, Duke of Cornwall, depending on the source), Igraine's husband at the time, basically immediately takes her and departs from the feast at her request after she sensed Uther's gaze (and without Uther's leave), which Uther then used as casus belli to attack Tintagel (I am not making this up).

And then Uther has Merlin disguise him as Tintagel, after which he sneaks into Igraine's chambers and has sex with her in rape by deceit, which is supposedly when Arthur was conceived, while his men kill Tintagel during the siege at the same time, after which he then marries her (I am not making this up).

FATE's Uther, while slightly different (rather than love, it was more that Uther was obsessed with Merlin's prophecy, and wanted Igraine because their child would have the perfect blend of his essence and her dragon's blood) did also have Merlin disguise him as Tintagel, sneak into Igraine's chambers, have sex with her in rape by deceit, and then married her after Tintagel's death (I am not making this up).

And sure, I could have simply portrayed him as a psychopath, or a ruthless and unrepentant king and tyrant...

But I wanted there to at least be something of Artoria and Morgan in him, and so I decided to lean in more on the prophecy, the stakes, and the struggles that Artoria herself had, about the difference between being a good person and being a good king, and show a man burdened by the weight of his actions, essentially giving one final confession, and doing the last things he can, before he goes to where he knows death awaits him.

As for the whole thing with Lot of Orkney... yeah, no, I just made most of that up from looking at a map and making inferences. I will also remind people that 6th century Britain is not the 21st century. Values were different, morals were different, and loveless arranged marriages between nobles did happen.

But wait, I hear you say! Why would Uther ever entrust his precious child of prophecy with a Foreigner from another World?

You're right, that's probably not what really happened, either...

-SOME TIME LATER (AGAIN)-

"What do you mean, Jaune's gone with Uther, Merlin?!" Morgan thundered at the familiar that had been left behind in the cave... the only thing left behind in it when she'd come to visit after having been occupied for a few weeks.

"Exactly as I said, Morgan," the familiar answered, "I am sure you are aware that Uther has gone to do battle with Vortigern in Londinium, correct? Jaune Arc has gone with him-"

"That's not what I meant!" Morgan hissed, shaking the familiar in her hands. "How did you and Uther even know about Jaune in the first place?!"

"... that's not important," the familiar deflected. "Anyway, Jaune Arc has gone to assist him in his duel against Vortigern-"

"But why?!" Morgan refused to relent. "Arc certainly has that strange Magecraft of his, I'll grant him that, but Vortigern is a foe far beyond his prowess! Why would Uther take him with him?!"

"As a Foreigner, there's a chance that Jaune might be able to simply ignore the destiny that surrounds Vortigern," Merlin explained patiently through his familiar.

"And the fact that he's expendable compared to Uther's other knights and nobles helped, I'm sure," Morgan noted uncharitably.

"Regardless, all you can do now is to have faith, Morgan," Merlin counselled.

Morgan snorted dismissively. This wasn't a matter of faith; Vortigern was simply far too strong, and no matter how she thought about it she could see no way for Jaune and Uther to triumph.

... regardless, she found a small part of herself hoping despite everything that they'd be okay.

-TWO WEEKS LATER-

News about the Duel at Londinium begins to spread, where it is rumored that High King Uther Pendragon and King Vortigern have slain one another in a duel to the death.

Saxon reinforcements to Britain slow down as Vortigern, their official contractor and the holder of their foedus (officially requesting their aid as mercenaries in dealing with rebellious nobles), ceases to communicate with them any further.

Despite the best efforts of many, nothing can be confirmed about Uther or Vortigern.

Nothing is heard about a third party at the battle, and despite the best efforts of a certain individual, nothing can be confirmed, either.

A furious Morgan eventually hunts down Merlin at Sutton, demanding answers.

A previously-recalcitrant Merlin, who had been asked by Jaune not to mention that he had done it to ensure Morgan's arranged marriage would be cancelled, is finally forced to break his silence.

Jaune Arc gets called a fool no less than two dozen times, though he is not around to hear it.

After a lengthy discussion, Merlin finally manages to redirect Morgan's ire towards the Saxon invaders, the last legacy of Vortigern the Kinslayer's attempts to destroy the Britons.

-CAMELOT (FORMERLY LONDINIUM), FIFTEEN YEARS LATER-

As Artoria Pendragon (officially Arthur Pendragon), High King of the Britons, looked around at the new castle of Camelot, she couldn't help but marvel at the miraculous architecture that would be her new home, and the new seat of a revitalized Kingdom of Logres, especially when she compared it to the state it had been in but a few days ago).

The fairies had truly outdone themselves with rebuilding the old abandoned ruins of the former Roman fortress...

Moreover, with their recent victory over the Saxons and the reconquest of Londinium, they'd finally done it.

Five years after she'd drawn Caliburn and they'd finally broken the back of the Saxon invasion, and forced most of them back across the sea.

Personally, though, there was a part of her that could empathize with the foreign invaders, and which almost felt sorry for them.

After all, could she really blame them for trying to escape the chaos of the current continent, and seeking greener pastures and better lives?

Honestly, if they'd tried to settle anywhere else besides Britain, she'd have probably decided to simply turn a blind eye to them.

But unfortunately, they'd invaded the lands that she had sworn to protect, and worst of all, they'd invaded the lands that contained her older sister.

Ah, yes, her older sister... the other reason why she pitied the Saxons.

Many of the nobles throughout the land had heard tale of Morgan's numerous campaigns against the Saxons, and many of the nobles viewed her as a warrior maiden, somewhat akin to Queen Boudica of the Celts.

Also, many of the nobles had clearly never seen her on the field before; the romanticized image of Morgan le Fay died almost as quickly as the Saxons did whenever her sister joined battle with them, and the sheer brutality of her witchcraft was mercilessly unleashed against her foes.

Ironically enough, according to Merlin (though he'd made her promise never to tell anyone, lest it reach Morgan's ears), the comparison to Queen Boudica was actually rather apt; apparently, she'd once loved someone, a foreign knight who'd accidentally stumbled into their lands around the time Artoria had been born, before he'd lost his life thanks to the foreign invaders.

Apparently, Morgan had blamed everyone for his loss, from Uther to Merlin (and Merlin did admit that he bore some culpability in the knight's death, having convinced him to go with Uther to fight Vortigern), but most of all she'd blamed Vortigern for his death.

And since Vortigern had been killed, she'd been forced to slake her thirst for vengeance on the Saxons that he'd called to Britain to serve him.

Artoria wouldn't say she could truly understand Morgan's hurt, considering she'd never loved someone in that sense before (and probably never could, considering the secret of her sex), but she could at least understand that Morgan was hurting deeply.

And speaking of Morgan...

Artoria surreptitiously glanced to a corner of the room where her older sister regally stood, watching with the ongoing feast with clear disinterest, and bluntly rejecting any nobles that dared to approach her.

She'd never really talked with Morgan much, considering her sister's demeanor, and she was honestly surprised that Morgan had actually even bothered to attend this feast.

Perhaps this would be the chance for her to make amends with Morgan...?

Before she could come to a decision regarding her sister, however, there was a commotion at the entrance of the hall, and as Artoria strained her ears she picked up some snippets of conversation.

Evidently, Lady Guinevere of Gwent had arrived.

What was apparently unexpected, however, was that the noble lady had arrived at Camelot's halls with a man besides King Leodegrance.

While she had little interest in the romantic affairs of nobles, she could certainly understand why they sounded so scandalized.

And then a servant boy opened the door, and loudly announced:" Presenting Lady Guinevere of Gwent, and Sir Jaune of Arc!"

Artoria blinked, as Lady Guinevere entered the hall with a blonde man with blue eyes.

Wait, hadn't that been the name of her sister's lost love?

A crashing sound from the right of her caused her to instinctively spin around, just to find a shattered glass on the floor, while its former owner, Morgan, openly staring at the newcomers, any semblance of decorum forgotten.

FINAL Postscript (For real this time): And so Morgan gets shafted again... though this time by Guinevere of all people finding an amnesiac Jaune Arc after the Duel at Londinium.

Okay, look, that ending was clearly just a joke to screw with Morgan, and in all honesty, if this was an actual scenario, Morgan (with Merlin's help) would've probably found Jaune Arc's barely-living amnesiac body within a couple of years, and Morgan would've then devoted her time to restoring her blonde fool's memories and helping him to recuperate... while also destroying the Saxons for daring to harm her property.

(Artoria, on the other hand, would have essentially gotten a brand new uncle, though Morgan would do her best to keep her baby sister from her property.)

But yeah... look, Vortigern is a level of opponent that Artoria needed Gawain's help to defeat; even with Jaune's help, there's no way Uther's fight with him ends without Uther and/or Jaune dying (and in this branch, specifically, a grievously-wounded Jaune basically distracted Vortigern long enough for Uther to land a mortal blow, though his death throes still killed Uther and knocked Jaune into the River Thames).

Also, on a side note, I did consider also adding epilogues to each branch, but, well... look at how long this damned thing is (and consider how much I already cut it...).

For the few who are interested, however, while Branch #2 (the one where Jaune goes to Sutton straight away) doesn't really go anywhere (that branch was just meant to screw with Morgan), Branch #1 (the one where Morgan runs away with Jaune) ended up getting an entire timeline fleshed out over at SpaceBattles (and you can read it there if you'd like), beginning with Morgan, well, running away with Jaune on the night she was to depart for Orkney (and Merlin basically covers for Morgan, one last favor to his former student).

After that we follow the pair as they travel to the border between Briton-held land and Saxon-occupied territory, and then basically fighting back the Saxons and slowly getting closer and bonding (for example, Jaune basically acts as Morgan's butler during this time, since he's the farmer boy and huntsman-trained one who convinced her, the sheltered magus princess, to go with him, as well as Morgan (awkwardly) comforting Jaune after he's forced to kill his first Saxon), and Morgan finding herself more and more irritated as Jaune attracts more and more attention from the local village girls the longer they're there.

A few years later we'd have seen Merlin dropping by to enlist Morgan's help in training and assisting Artoria, and immediately figuring out what's going on (and laughing his arse off for half an hour to Morgan's irritation and Jaune's concern)...

And finally it'd all culminate in Artoria facing Vortigern alone (since Gawain wouldn't be nearly the same age as he was in this timeline), before Jaune drops by to save her with Excalibur  Galatine... and then a wall of water springs up to protect him, which turns into Morgan, who then berates him for foolishly going to interfere in her sister's battle with Vortigern, much to the mutual confusion of both Vortigern and Artoria.

And Branch #3 (the one where Jaune joins Ector in facing Vortigern)... that one actually split into THREE separate branches as well, depending on who found him first (with the one I wrote technically being #3-2).

Branch #3-1 would have been the one I mentioned earlier in the postscript, with Morgan's familiar managing to find Jaune floating down the Thames two weeks after Londinium, and her rescuing him and taking him to Sutton to enlist Merlin's help in healing Jaune (and due to their timely intervention, no permanent damage would be sustained).

From there, Jaune ends up living in Sutton with Morgan and helping to train Artoria as an honorary uncle of sorts (as well as getting training as a knight from Ector), all while Morgan does her best to limit his interactions with Artoria (much to Jaune's and Artoria's mutual confusion, and Merlin's unending amusement). Merlin never misses a chance to make remarks about this.

Branch #3-2 (the one above) would have Jaune getting found in the forests near Gwent a decade after the duel, having pulled himself out of the Thames and essentially wandered his way West, helping out any towns and villages on the way, having lost most of his memories thanks to Vortigern. King Leodegrance of Gwent meets with him, assuming he's simply some wandering knight seeking a patron or liege (like Morgan did, actually), and after learning of his circumatances and his ideals and spirit decides to have him receive a formal remedial training as a knight, while also assigning him as the tomboyish 15 year old Lady Guinevere's bodyguard and playmate.

From there it's basically light Jaune x Guinevere shipping (which I'm sure nobody wants to see), with the caveat that both are utterly dense and oblivious (Jaune is Jaune, and Guinevere was specifically raised, and I quote from the TYPE-MOON wiki, "(f)rom a young age, she was taught to avoid self-reflection, as was the culture of the time, so she was someone who had little sense of herself as a woman. Ignorant that there was even a true difference between the two sexes, she believed the relationship between a king and queen was something formed purely from ideals. Not even understanding that a different type of attraction could exist between two people...")

And then things progress til where they do at the feast, with Jaune attending as Guinevere's personal bodyguard (and inadvertently revealing to Morgan that he's alive), and after Morgan gets over the shock of seeing him alive would pull him  aside to ask him just where the hell he's been, while Guinevere would be formally meeting "Arthur" for the first time, since Guinevere would be one of the eligible noble ladies he could wed...

And then Guinevere would realize that, while she may admire the Boy-King of the Britons, she has absolutely no other feelings beyond that for him, especially compared to her long-time companion, before feeling the first stirrings of envy when she sees how close Morgan is to Jaune.

And Morgan would realize that Jaune has no memories of their time together, and start to feel envy over how close he apparently is to Guinevere...

... and then things come to a head when Morgan declares she'll take Sir Jaune with her for healing, Guinevere strongly objects, and it falls on Artoria (as High King) to decide what should happen next.

Branch #3-3 is honestly the most fucking depressing one of the lot, because that one involves the Saxons instead of Morgan ( since Londinium would've been much closer to Saxon lands than Briton territory) and accidentally become their champion... but then that branch would end with Morgan Saxon-Slayer probably slaughtering a horde of Saxons and noticing one enduring a lot of punishment to protect others before finally collapsing... and then ripping off his helmet to find Jaune Arc, Shield of the Saxons, dead by her hands...

And I refuse to expand it beyond that, because things get REALLY dark after that.

Anyway before I sign off on this absolute fucking abomination of an omake (seriously, I did not want to dig even deeper into Arthurian Legend than this supposed "short simple silly story" has already forced me to), I'll share one of the things I found while I was "researching" on Morgan for this damnable idea.

Apparently, Salter (Saber Artoria Alter), the cold-hearted (albeit never truly heartless; Artoria will always be Artoria after all) tyrant devoted to cruelty, actually has a lot of respect for Morgan:

"My mother and my sister. And she is a reflection of me too. She is a woman who cannot live without cursing others, but in terms of kingly disposition, she is above me. For you see, she is a woman who was loved by Britain more than I."

(Notably, however, it is not exactly reciprocated by Fairy Morgan (and in lieu of an actual Pan Human History Morgan to use as reference I can only assume she'd feel the same way too):

" Artoria... you bitch, are you some sort of tormenting genius? Were you born just to look down on me? And that... why the hell did you add my name to the end of that Noble Phantasm, which does nothing but destroys in its wake? Say it, I dare you to say it. ")

Anyway, when I saw these lines I couldn't help but wonder - what if, after Jaune's supposed death, Morgan had ended up begrudgingly helping Merlin raise Artoria... and ended up raising her as the cruel tyrant Salter (because Morgan is still Morgan after all), before the whole joke ending where Jaune's revealed to be alive and in Guinevere's care.

But I ended up deciding against fleshing out that idea because a) after how the story progressed I couldn't see Morgan really wanting anything positive to do with Artoria (her only interactions with Artoria are when it screws the Saxons over, nothing else), b) I couldn't figure out how Artoria being Salter actually changed anything at that feast (nor did I want to try and figure out the entire new timeline born from all those butterflies... I completely understand why Morgan hates caterpillars so much now...), c) I like Artoria too much to want to see her as Salter, d) who'd even want to see Queen Regent Morgan and Prince Salter terrorizing Saxons and Britons alike, and e) how much more do you want me to suffer for what was supposed to be a joke omake?

Say it, I dare you to say it.