Unknownfate
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Chapter 76
🕑 Added 2025-03-29 03:42:03 +0000 UTCI finished telling my knights the story of how I came into possession of the funny little device in my hand. “And that, is how I acquired it.”
Silence.
For one breath. Then two.
Then—
“You were attacked?” Gawain roared, surging to his feet so violently his chair scraped backward across the stone. “In Camelot? In your own tower?!”
“My King,” Bedivere said, breath catching in his throat. “You were alone? And we—we didn’t even know?!”
Agravain’s voice followed, low and cold, like steel drawn beneath the table. “Who are they? Where are they now? Give the order, and we’ll burn their entire bloodline out of existence.”
“They aren’t like that, they are not as much a faction as a… Company?” Even I had trouble explaining just what the TVA really was, more so doing it in a way my knights could understand.
“That doesn’t matter!” Even the gentle and sunny Gareth couldn’t keep herself in check. “What kind of knights are we?! You were under attack, and we didn’t even know it.”
Lancelot stood, not yelling—but shaking. “We failed. Not just in duty. In devotion.”
“They came into Camelot,” Tristan said. “They set foot in the sacred tower. They drew weapons on you—and we didn’t know.”
Palamedes kicked over his own chair, fury radiating from every line of his body. “Why didn’t we feel it?! You unleashed your lance, and we… felt nothing.”
“Because of time.” I sighed. They toyed with it, as if it were but a toy in their hands. I might be beyond time, but you, you all aren’t. That battle took place and ended in a single moment; you had no chance to notice anything before it was done.”
“That’s not good enough!” Mordred shouted.
His voice cut through the chamber like a blade.
He was shaking with rage, with hate, and with disappointment.
“You think that explains it? That it justifies it? You think we care that we couldn’t have moved in time?!” The emotions in his voice were intense.
“They came for you, Father. With weapons. With intent. And we—we were here. Playing court. Smiling. Sleeping. While someone tried to erase you.”
I didn’t answer.
“Why didn’t you tell us?!” he demanded, voice cracking. “Afterward. Immediately. Why now?!”
A few other knights nodded grimly, not speaking, but burning with the same shame.
“I didn’t tell you,” I said softly, “because I knew this is how you’d react. Angry. Wounded. Loyal to a fault.”
“And you call that wrong?!” Mordred spat.
“No,” I admitted. “But as much as you are pained by hearing it, I am pained by your reaction, and I didn’t want that, this, for you, or for me.”
He clenched his jaw so hard I could hear his teeth grind.
“We are not here to be spared,” he said. “We are not made of glass.”
“No,” I said gently. “But you are still mine. And I will not see Camelot bathed in grief because I brought battle to those who could not fight it.”
“We can fight it!” Gareth cried.
“We were made to fight it!” Palamedes added.
“You think we wouldn’t give our lives for you?” Gawain snapped. “We swore to! I live to!”
“And I will not have you die to prove it,” I snapped back.
That stopped them.
For a breath, even Mordred froze.
I rose from my seat.
Slowly. Quietly.
But the weight of my presence filled the throne room like a rising tide.
“You are my knights,” I said. “My shields. My swords. You are the lifeblood of Camelot.”
I paused for the briefest moment.
“But I am your King.”
I stepped in front of Mordred. “And I am your father. I wish for no harm to come to you.
His head was bowed now, shadowed beneath the golden light of the hall’s stained glass. I saw his shoulders tremble—not from fear, but from fury unshed. The kind that breaks kingdoms if left to fester.
“I would burn the world for you,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “And you wouldn’t even let me try.”
I reached out and placed a hand on his shoulder.
“I know,” I said. “That is why I didn’t.”
The hall was still.
No one moved.
The storm had passed—but the damage lingered.
Tristan stepped forward at last. “Then… what now, my King?”
I turned from Mordred and returned to the head of the table. The TemPad still lay where I’d placed it. Dim. Silent. Waiting.
“We move forward,” I said. “They have not appeared since, likely whatever wound I gave them has made them too afraid to try again, so we continue with our plans, but we remain alert.
Agravain narrowed his eyes. “And you trust this thing?”
I glanced down at the device. Its faint pulse reflected in the polished surface of the Round Table.
“I trust that I can deal with any traps and tricks it might contain,” I said, raising the TemPad and letting its golden light flicker across my fingertips. “And if not... well, then it will learn who it belongs to.”
No one argued.
But none of them looked reassured either.
-----
Mordred leaned against a stone pillar in one of Camelot’s outer corridors, arms crossed, jaw tight. He hadn’t said a word since the meeting ended, though his silence spoke volumes. The corridor was empty—almost. He knew the two presences behind him before they spoke.
“Still seething?” Agravain asked dryly, his boots echoing as he approached. “You made quite the spectacle.”
Mordred didn’t look at him. “I didn’t say anything you weren’t already thinking.”
“No,” Gawain said, stepping up beside them both, “but you forgot yourself, you spoke out of place.”
Mordred scoffed. “Father needs to be told the truth, if not, aren’t we just lying to him?”
“No,” Gawain said firmly. “We advise our King. We do not accuse them.”
“You call what I said an accusation?” Mordred turned, eyes flashing. “Then maybe you weren’t listening.”
“I was,” Agravain said, voice cold. “Every word. And for once, you didn’t sound like a fool.”
That gave Mordred pause.
“But,” Agravain continued, “next time you shout in court, direct your rage at the enemy. Not the one who bears the crown.”
Mordred looked away, scowling. “He should’ve told us.”
“He shouldn’t have needed to,” Gawain said quietly. “He shouldn’t have had to fight alone at all.”
That struck harder than any rebuke.
The silence between them tightened.
“Your duty now,” Agravain said after a moment, “is to protect him while you’re out there. Not to argue with him. Not to shout. To guard him. Quietly, if need be. Fatally, if it comes to it.”
Mordred didn’t respond right away.
Then, softly, almost bitterly: “He shouldn’t need guarding.”
Gawain placed a hand on his shoulder. “Maybe not. But he still deserves it.”
Another silence. This one softer. Thicker.
“I’ll do my duty,” Mordred said at last. “But if they come for him again…”
His jaw flexed.
“I will burn the sky.”
Agravain gave a rare, approving nod. “Good.”
Then both knights turned and walked away, their cloaks catching the torchlight as they disappeared into the corridor.
-----
Dawn broke over Camelot, the light of the sun reflecting off the pure white walls, from a distance, the city seemed to be glowing.
And for the second day in a row, all my knights were gathered in the throne room. Different from all the other times this happened, it was my outfit.
Normally, I always wore my armor, and while I often wore the more revealing one, I never sat on the throne without it. But today, I was dressed differently, no longer was I the King of Knights, now I was just a totally normal woman.
Or that was the idea. I didn’t have many outfits that fit into that theme. I couldn’t fit into most of my outfits, given they were meant for the eternally fifteen-year-old me.
And my bunny suit didn’t really fit the situation. Neither did my more goddess like outfits, nor the maid outfit, which fit… but the fact that it fit wasn’t helping at all, it was… tight.
So instead, I had another outfit made for me. One I was sure would be fine, it should fit right in over in the states.
I wore a tailored black suit, crisp and modern, with a pristine white shirt and a sharp tie knotted at the collar. My golden hair was braided and pinned back in a regal crown that hinted at my heritage.
Confidence, not royalty. Not legend. I looked like I was heading to a boardroom, not a battlefield. Or at least that was the plan. (outfit)
Beside me stood Mordred.
Her hair, though the same sun-touched shade as mine, was pulled up in a messy ponytail, wild and free. A red jacket hung loosely from her shoulder, more an afterthought than a fashion choice. She wore a sports bra and ripped denim shorts that showed off her toned abs and long legs, paired with black combat boots stamped with skulls. She didn’t just defy decorum—she kicked it down and lit a match.(outfit)
Where I looked like I belonged at a diplomatic summit, she looked like she’d walked off the stage of a punk rock concert.
We were opposites in every sense: composed and chaotic, formal and rebellious. But there we stood, side by side, ready to go out into the world together.
Two Pendragons.
One in a suit. One in boots.
And heaven help whatever got in our way.
The silence in the throne room was thick enough to choke on. Not even the banners dared to stir.
Gawain’s jaw worked uselessly as he tried to reconcile the image before him with the figure he had sworn fealty to. “My king,” he said at last, voice hushed with reverence and alarm, “where… is your armor?”
“It’s called a suit, Gawain,” Mordred said, grinning like a troublemaker in detention. “Keep up.”
“I know what it is,” he muttered, flustered. “I just never expected to see our king in one.”
“Neither did I,” muttered Lancelot, eyeing me with something unreadable—half pride, half worry. “And yet you wear it like a second skin.” He dipped his head slightly. “You do look… distinguished, my King. Though I’ll admit, it is unsettling.”
“Unsettling?” Gareth whispered, cheeks pink. “She looks… radiant.”
Agravain, ever the tactician, narrowed his eyes. “I assume this choice is strategic. Blending in. Going unnoticed.”
“Yes,” I replied. “It’s hard to ask questions when you look like a diplomat or a CEO.”
Agravain gave a single, curt nod. “Reasonable. Though I would have preferred plate over polyester.”
Beside him, Palamedes tried not to stare at Mordred too openly—but failed. “And you—you’re not even trying to blend in, are you?”
Mordred tilted her head. “I am blending in. Just… with the part of the world that listens to metal and gets in bar fights.”
“She looks like a tavern brawler,” Tristan sighed, exasperated. “Or a bandit.”
“I’m the heir,” Mordred said, smirking. “You get what you get.”
“I don’t hate it,” Bedivere admitted, though his tone was cautious. “It’s just… a lot of leg.”
“Showing people what I will kick them with should they get too friendly with father.” Mordred winked.
The knights groaned almost in unison.
I lifted a hand, silencing them.
“You all know that Mordred wouldn’t wear a dress, and since we aren’t going in armor, let her go as she wants. If anything, we don’t look like the king of knights and the knight of rebellion.”
The room quieted again. The knights, though uneasy, held their tongues. There was a certain weight in the air now. A finality.
I stepped down from the dais, heels clicking softly against the polished stone. Mordred fell into stride beside me. No sword on my hip. No armor on my shoulders. But every step still echoed with the gravity of a monarch.
I approached the open floor between the throne and the gathered knights and lifted the TemPad.
I barely got this thing working, so I’m not able to go through time. I'm not sure if they disabled that feature from their side or what, but it will get us to where we want to be. While we are gone, I trust you all to keep Camelot and Albion together.”
“Fear not, Your Majesty, we shall give our lives for Albion and for Camelot.” Agravain said, and everyone nodded.
I smiled faintly. “I have no doubt, but please, Gareth, ensure that none of these fools get themselves killed while I am away, as the only woman left, I entrust you with that.”
Gareth blinked, startled by the sudden responsibility. “Me? But—”
“No buts,” I said, gently but firmly. “I’m counting on you.”
Her eyes widened, then narrowed with resolve. She stepped forward, placed a hand over her heart, and bowed her head. “Then I’ll watch them all like a hawk, my King. I swear it.”
Kay raised an eyebrow. “We’re not children needing minding—”
“No,” Gareth interrupted, shooting him a rare look of warning. “But you are men. And men do stupid things when left alone.”
That got a chuckle from Mordred, and even Lancelot smiled faintly.
I nodded once. “Then it’s settled.”
The room fell quiet again, this time not from shock or argument—but reverence. My knights straightened, one by one, hands to hearts, heads bowed.
“Go well, my King,” Bedivere said. “And return whole.”
“Bring us stories,” Tristan added, “and a new song, if you find one worth singing.”
Palamedes crossed his arms. “And if you need us, call. We’ll find a way.”
I gave them all one last look—at the family I had built. At the kingdom we had forged.
Then I pressed my thumb against the TemPad.
A soft golden shimmer began to open in the air before us, a doorway to a world far beyond Camelot.
Mordred cracked her neck, grinning. “Finally. Let’s go cause some trouble.”
“Let’s go find a solution,” I corrected, stepping toward the light.
And together, we vanished into it.
