Notes: I am finally posting this, after years of indecision. And no, the genders in the opening scene aren't a mistake. I know there are very similar stories out there, but I feel comfortable that this one is distinct enough where no one will be accused of anything dishonest.

Oathkeepers
A Fate Series Fusion by
Nate Grey (xman0123)
Chapter 0: The Once and Future Kings: The Lost Tale of Mordred, Heir of Arthur

"KILL KING ARTHUR, MY MORDRED! RIP HIM FROM HIS THRONE OF LIES AND PUT HIS ROTTING CORPSE ON DISPLAY!"

In that moment, the king did not know which was the greater source of pain: the agony constantly sent racing through his body via the dungeon's cursed bindings, the bloodcurdling shrieking of the thing that had once been his sister, or the indecision in the eyes of his only child.

No, their only child, he reminded himself with a twinge of disgust. How far his sister had fallen.

And how masterful her scheme was.

Even once he knew where Mordred came from, even once he guessed what his sister had in store for them all, the king found he could not act at all. Mordred was an innocent: guided by the false words of a mother who had long ago ceased to truly be one, and desperately seeking acceptance from a father he had only just begun to know as such. To blame Mordred, or to punish him, would only make Morgan more determined to dethrone the king, and if she had already gone this far, there was no telling what she would prove capable of with the next plot.

The king tested the bonds once more. There was no give in them, and his efforts only rewarded him with further pain. He sagged in exhaustion as Morgan's laughter assaulted his ears.

And Mordred stood some distance behind her, gazing at each of his parents in turn, an unreadable expression frozen on his face.

"Mordred," the king whispered, and the young knight's gaze swung to him at once. "My son. I cannot imagine what you are feeling right now. And I dare not add to your burden. But if this is to be my last moment alive, then there is something I would say to you."

Mordred said nothing, but his hand gripped the hilt of the stolen sword Clarent even tighter.

"A proper king is allowed precious few selfish joys. But you need to know: these last few months, watching you grow as a knight, then learning the truth of your identity. Spending time together, not as king and knight, but as father and son... they have been the best months of my life. I must thank you for that pleasure. Even if it occurred in a way that neither of us would have asked: thank you for being born, my son."

Unable to stand it any longer, Mordred tore his eyes away from the king's earnest gaze. "Father... I'm sorry." Then his form tensed and blurred forward.

Morgan was laughing and screaming, hands raised in victory.

As one of the few alive who could follow Mordred's speed, the king saw the overwhelming pain his child's face, as well as the grim determination to do what had to be done. And then he understood what Mordred had truly been apologizing for, and could not look away.

Clarent burst from Morgan's black heart, and her shrieking turned to outraged death wails.

Mordred buried his face in his mother's back, holding her firmly, even as he bore her frenzied scratches, even as he twisted Clarent again and again. For killing Morgan le Fay could never be a simple, quick task. Eventually, her struggles weakened, and Mordred lowered her carefully to the ground, caressing her hair and murmuring apologies in her ear until the darkness faded from her eyes, leaving them blank and still.

The bindings held even after Morgan's death, but the king did not dare to request Mordred's help just yet. With Clarent still in Mordred's hand, the danger had not passed for either of them. Already, the king could sense a malevolent aura growing around the blade. If it wasn't dealt with immediately, Morgan's plans could still succeed, even without her bearing witness to them.

Finally, Mordred left his mother's side, and used Clarent to slash through the magical bindings. He would not or could not meet his father's eyes.

"I meant everything I said to you, Mordred." The king slowly reached out and placed a firm hand on the young knight's shoulder.

For the first time, Mordred did not seem to welcome the pressure, but he did not pull away.

"Will you not look at me, my son?" the king asked.

"I am unworthy-"

"No. If anything, you have just proven that you are worthy. For any other Knight of the Round, this would have just been their duty of protecting their king. But for you, this was a cruel test of loyalty. And your devotion will be rewarded."

Mordred raised tear-filled eyes and glared at the king. "You think I want a reward for this?!"

"Just as with evils, rewards are not something we always desire. But they may be thrust upon us, or earned through our actions. And no matter how you see it, you both saved and spared my life tonight. You have every right to question me in my role as your father. But I will never be the sort of king that could ignore something like this. Just as you are not the sort of son I will hide any longer."

Mordred's eyes widened. "F-Father, what are you saying?"

"Kneel before me, Knight of the Round, and present your sword to me."

They both knew that Mordred had stolen Clarent that very night, for use in Morgan's plot to slay the king. It was not rightfully Mordred's sword. And yet, for the king to refer to it as such, could only mean one thing.

With shaking hands, Mordred did as ordered.

The king held Clarent in his hands. "You know the significance of this sword, or you wouldn't have chosen it. You know what it is capable of, when awarded properly. And you are such a knight that, even as a stolen sword, you were in no way prevented from making excellent use of it. But I cannot allow you, of all people, to use a stolen sword. Yet it is clear to me that this sword was destined for you." The king carefully placed Clarent into Mordred's hands, relieved to see the dark aura around the sword was already lessening. "I award Clarent to you now, as gratitude for protecting your king, as well as proof. Let all who see it know: you are my son, my heir, and the next king."

Mordred let out a loud whoop of pure joy and leaped up, protocol forgotten as he dropped Clarent and threw his arms around the king.

For his part, the king froze, and then tenderly embraced his son. Never before had either dared to hope such a thing might be possible.

That felt unusual enough that Mordred immediately realized what he'd done, and quickly jumped back, face burning in shame as he knelt again. "I sincerely apologize, my king!"

"There is no need for that, my son. Now, pick up your sword and prepare yourself for what is to come. As for me..." The king paused and sighed heavily. "I must bury my sister." For that had been the thing that Mordred was truly apologizing for.

Mordred opened his mouth, possibly to protest and insist on helping with the task, but finally nodded and did as ordered.

The king stared at his sister's body for a long moment. "Is this truly what you wanted for our child? To force Mordred to betray one of his parents completely? Is motherhood no more to you than using a child as a tool of destruction?"

There was no reply.

"I will not let Mordred be your final plot. I sense your corruption in him, even now. I know that he stands upon the precipice between our two legacies. He lacks the capacity to be king, as he is. But he has a lion's heart, and what he lacks, I will plant and grow in him, until he is fit. And your taint will not even be a whisper in the pages of his legend. I promise you that, sister."

The heated response came not from the fallen witch, but from everywhere all at once.

"You lie to yourself, false king! You recognize that child as your heir only because you know he would destroy you otherwise. My Mordred is strong and clever and unstoppable! You play on his feelings for you, because you know his hatred is the one force you cannot hope to stand against!"

"Just as my recognition is the one force that can overtake your lies in his heart." The king bowed his head. "This is not the end I would have hoped for between the two of us. But know this: from this day forward, Mordred is mine alone. You have lost all right to call him your child. And even if you hadn't, my heir will not have any further dealings with one such as you."

Unknown to the king, Mordred had paused just outside of the dungeon, and had heard every word. The idea that his father was only naming him heir in an effort to save or control him would normally have been a source of great and terrible anger in Mordred. But all he could focus on was the big picture.

He wasn't fit to be king. Not now. But instead of casting him aside and choosing someone more suitable, the king was going to improve him, until Mordred was fit. Someone else would surely be an easier choice, but for whatever reason, the king wanted Mordred to have the throne. And that was all that mattered.

"Father... chose me," Mordred whispered, tears spilling from his eyes. "Father... wants me." The grim determination flared in his eyes once more. "I will not fail his faith in me. I will be worthy! I am the one and only Heir of Arthur!"

The Future and Forever King 1

No mortal man will ever see the Throne of Heroes.

There are numerous reasons for this.

The most complicated reasons are a simultaneous problem of location, access, and ability to comprehend.

The simplest reason is that the King of Heroes would never allow mongrels to look upon his pedigrees in the place especially set aside for them.

So it must be immediately assumed that any mortal who claims to have seen, or attempts to describe, or even postulates the nature of the Throne of Heroes, is one of three things.

A dreamer, a liar, or both at the same time.

And yet, some mortals must dream of the Throne of Heroes. How could they not? What more legendary gathering place could there possibly be?

So there are men who dream of the Throne of Heroes. In all likelihood, no mortal dream could ever hope to compare in the eyes of those who have actually been there.

But let us pretend, just for a moment, that the Throne of Heroes is exactly what a man might dream of. Where heroes live. Where they can gather to drink, feast, be merry. Where they can freely swap stories of their ever-growing legends, and boast of feats they still intend to accomplish.

It would be so easy to find a king in that fabled hall. No, many kings.

But it would be easiest of all to find the King of Conquerors. For whenever the finest of wine flows, the music is most pleasing, and heroes can view each other as both excellent comrades and greatest rivals, no voice is more boisterous, or more wine-drenched, than that of Iskandar.

And if Iskandar is loud and pleased and drinking, then there is only one hero he would have in his company. Or rather, there is only one hero who delights in the company of Iskandar when he is in that state. Or perhaps, there is only one hero who can stand to be in his company under such conditions. They never met in their respective lives, but the instant they encountered each other in that place, a bond of brotherhood was born.

The eternal conquering spirit and the eternal rebel heart. Their natures were far too similar for them not to be brothers at first sight. They clashed, of course, and their battles were fierce and terrible to behold. And then they would drown their differences in drink, loudly plotting to overthrow the King of Heroes while others looked on in horror. Often they were too drunk to notice that the King of Heroes himself was standing three feet from them, so it was not as if he remained unaware.

So, if nothing else, never let it be said that Iskandar and his favorite drinking companion had failed to amuse the King of Heroes. For surely that was the only reason this drunken and obvious nature of plotting had never resulted in any serious punishment. Although, if one had temporarily ensured that the quality of their wine was decreased a few grades, and the pair failed to notice, then that one might be appropriately smug.

And perhaps, one day, the following conversation might take place...

"Rejoice, Iska-san!" the blonde said. "I have been chosen!"

"So," the redhead responded with a grin, "my sworn brother at last has his turn to seek the Holy Grail. In that case, there is only one thing left to do." He grabbed his enormous wine goblet, drank deeply from it, and then immediately smashed it over the edge of the blonde's chair.

Some might have seen that as an act of disrespect.

The redhead stood up, swaying slightly on his feet, and addressed the entire hall. "I proclaim this seat to be the Siege Perilous!" he roared. "None may touch it until my sworn brother returns to us with victory in hand! So says Iskandar, King of Conquerors!"

The room went still, and all heads turned to the King of Heroes, who occupied his usual throne on the second floor of the drinking hall. Even in a place reserved for relaxation and merriment, he had to be above them all. Without a word, and with no obvious interest in what had just been said, Gilgamesh merely raised his own goblet ever so slightly, and then sipped from it.

It was law, then.

A brilliant smile spread across Iskandar's face, and he turned back to his companion, who had still failed to be angry about being showered in wine and bits of goblet. "My brother. Go and seek the Holy Grail. Add to your legend, so that when you return, you will finally be fit to call yourself the greatest of Iskandar's commanders!"

The blonde grinned, exposing pointed fangs. "When I return, you will finally join my court, Iska-san."

They glared at each other, then roared in laughter and embraced firmly, pounding each other's backs heartily. As they released each other, the blonde nodded, turned, and began to walk away.

Iskandar seized a new goblet and thrust it into air, spilling wine in several directions. "One last toast for my brother, who has been chosen! We eagerly await his successful return! All of you, raise your wine for the Heir of Arthur! The Peerless Wielder of Caliburn and Clarent! The Future and Forever King!"

There was no need to name the chosen any further. All who drank the wine of King of Heroes knew of Iskandar's sworn brother. They knew of the infectious fanged smile, the eyes that burned with the hunger to overthrow, and the heart that was only filled to bursting when set ablaze in the heat of battle.

As one, every person in the drinking hall raised their wine. And though the King of Heroes remained silent, his eyes were firmly on the proud back of the chosen as the others roared, "TO MO-SAN!"

And with a wide, eager grin splitting the always youthful face, Mordred Pendragon raised a fist in salute.

Sometimes, the truth of legends is twisted, lost, forgotten, or hidden.

Sometimes, history tells the story it thinks we should hear, rather than the one that happened.

There is certainly a Knight of Treachery named Mordred.

But there is also a much-revered heir who succeeded Arthur as King of Britain, united the fractured people under her own charismatic banner, and far surpassed every expectation of her. This heir is also named Mordred, and was awarded her family's name of Pendragon well before that.

Perhaps the Knight of Treachery was summoned in one world, because the Heir of Arthur already existed in another. Or perhaps the reverse is true. Who can say for sure?

One King of Knights, and Morgan le Fay, possibly. But each is unlikely to reveal the secrets of their child.

The King of Heroes, surely. But he keeps his own counsel. And does not often lower himself to converse with mere mortals. Certainly not on matters which he would say are none of their concern.

What should concern all, however, is that Mordred, in any form, is the name of a born rebel. So that any Mordred would be summoned for any Holy Grail War, meant that great change, awesome or terrible, was sure to follow.

End of Chapter 0.

Continued in Chapter 1: One Last War

Shirou wanted to save Kiritsugu. To do that, they must free Illya. And to do that, they must prepare for the world to burn again. But this time, it will be no accident.

Endnotes:

Since Apocrypha is set in a parallel universe, I concluded that the Mordred summoned there might be different from one summoned into the Stay Night universe. And then I realized, of course that would be the case. I don't think there's anyone enough like the original summoner to summon the exact same Mordred, in the exact same class, into an entirely different situation.

Arthur's ideals directly clash with Mordred's views of kingship, so you're likely wondering how Arthur trying to grow "capacity" in Mordred could possibly work. It wouldn't, they're two very different people, Mordred is defiance where Arthur is order. So they'd make for two very different kings. And perhaps a complete departure from the old way was what was sorely needed at the time.

I tried to craft a Mordred that was based on the original Servant, but with the added twist of having been accepted by Arthur and eventually rising to become king. Some things are the same, others not. Noble Phantasms will, and should, be different (as the game of Hot Potato with Clarent should indicate). I will eventually provide detailed bios for any Servant I've edited, but doing that in full, at this point, would reveal too much. So I will most likely trim the bios down to what has so far been shown in the story, then add more as needed. Best to start in the next chapter, when there will be two Servants, so you can better compare them and more accurately complain about how broken I've made Mordred. I should note, however, that for the most part, I've left stats unchanged (and when I haven't, that will be stated), so I won't bother including those.

I encourage questions and comments, as I'm sure my taking artistic license (better known as straight wrecking stuff in some circles) with certain elements has raised a few eyebrows.