Author's Note: Yo, before you go any further- the Altria you knew and the Altria here are two different persons. While Altria of Grand Order is a Divine Spirit acquiring her power after she was laid into a tree after the battle of Camlann, the Altria here chose to wield Rhongmyniad. Try reading bits of information on my other story Fate: Grand Order 'Glimpse of Her Past' chapter so you will be enlightened. So ta- ta, this is mostly her experiences raising a child in her time and the shenanigans it brings to her perfect life. I'll use a modern but more refined set of statements to a few conversations though- I'm not really that deep in literate. So, here goes.
CHAPTER I: START
In the dead of the night, inside a castle of stone, a wailing reached the ears of the King of Camelot.
Laying in a sheet of white inside a cold room of her status away from meddling wizard, boisterous knights, chittering servants and out of the line of sight of her Queen, she thought she would be given a peace of mind after her raid to her sister's kingdom a few days before. Reminiscence of her journey and the uncontrollable effects it bestows upon her kingdom with her honest mistake, everything has come into a fruition she unwillingly needs to be responsible of, lest she bear witness to her wife's ire and her buried desire to set aflame once more. Yet, as another bound of sound penetrates her ears, the King could only wonder where have her judgement takes a wrong turn after experiencing a peculiar feeling which blossoms inside her chest.
It's been a complete failure on their part, as they sauntered in the castle of her witch sister- Morgan Le Faye- bask in confidence to end her violent antics to grasp her kingdom out of fury to their late father- Kung Uther Pendragon. However, as they fought beast of the vilest kind and creatures out for their blood, victory was in their hands, until it was sapped by disappointment- where they find the castle of the witch void of its mistress and knowledge of her plans... all except one. With the exception of object she tried to eliminate but failed to do so, now she will suffer the consequences of such action to amplify the fate laid upon her by an insufferable dolt of a wizard.
She inevitably sits up to her tense position at her bed, laying her feet to the cold stone structure of her home and dismantling the sigh of exasperation into an action to stand up and wear her garb, completely masculine and thick- covering her true gender from the world, unsettling her mind to gauge a calm visage of power.
Finally, without much left to do but to see the disruption herself, Altria Pendragon sighs for a reason. She could not fathom the judgement she enact at bringing the cause of the interruption of her slumber within her walls, but, try as she might to ignore it- the qualms of the chain of persistence indulge her to listen and enhance her senses, captivating the soft hushes and lulls of her wife at the far end of the castle. She move in accord, pushing the thick mahogany doors to behold the hallway of marbles, paintings and furniture absent due to darkness with little lamps and candles not enough to radiate a light to guide the wallowing silence of her castle.
She hears the howls of wolfs, the snores of irresponsible soldiers and the gush of wind of winter outside, serenely instigating fear within the hearts of her citizen, while she remain intact- completely bristled by a turn of events- until she laid foot outside of the reason of her vehemence, weeping amidst the song of comfort her wife was creating for the world to behold. She entered a room to where it was laid- wrap softly within Guinevere's arms- surrounded by servants who immediately went out of the premises when she entered, leaving her besides the Queen, tired and apologetic to the chaos within the room.
Guinevere, her beautiful wife garb in a red nightwear perfectly bewitching and enhancing her curves bestowed by God, hair white as the first snow of winter, with eyes colored as the vast orange tint of summer sun, is smiling at her with her rosy lips out of her tender care for forgiveness, before she yet again glance at her arms to peek at the wailing creature, wrapped in the most expensive fabrics of Camelot. She takes no further thoughts to dispute her doubt and half- planned suspicions to the creature, and step a foot she did, closer to her wife. Altria walks forward, long blonde hair swaying with every move she took, and behold the little bundle, with the same face as her own.
It's crying its heart out to the world, cheeks red in heat, eyes crunch in discomfort with its hands bawling near its face. The small turf of blonde hair in its head are flatten with sweat, mouth open it displeasure as tears rolled out of its eyes. Altria could only stare neutrally at the display, trailing its form to its predicament, as Guinevere sways it gently and bobbed up and down a few times, yet it is all for naught- it won't stopped its antics and now, it was coughing due to the lack of air in its tiny little lungs.
Still, Altria did not move to help and sedate the little baby, wrap up in her thoughts- completely analyzing the small bundle of her mistake. The bastard daughter of hers and Morgan Le Faye.
The bundle is all what's left in the vicinity of her sister's workshop- burbling in innocence the first time she laid her eyes upon it. She wanted to know if this is but a cruel jest of her sister or a bait to lull her to madness. Or is it a simple mistake on Morgan's part or a gain of coincidence that she left her most precious 'daughter'? Altria did not know, and thus her desperation to stay away from it as far as possible. Nonetheless, with all her talk and pessimistic way of viewing the tool of Camelot's fall, she's at her limit to question her action unbefitting to her title as the most vicious king of all. Add to her perplexity are the thoughts of assurance that this is but a child created as a machination to destroy, a child created with her flesh and blood. What's most intriguing is what gave her the reason to spare its life.
She all have the purpose to kill it then and there, with Rhongomyniad poise to strike it's heart and end it as painless as the bundle would not realize. But with a single cry of the accurse word from the baby, the determination of her motive crumble like a wildfire.
She felt scared, protective, confused and possessive. All at once in a spur of moment, deflecting her decision for Camelot's prosperity, instead, it made her so human. So normal.
So needed, more than her subjects and knights combine. And thus, she held the bundle back to Camelot- a surge of emotions clashing and clustered nearly breaking her stoic face and mental capacity. Why, why is it? Why can't she slay the baby like she ought to be? Is it because her morals have lain upon a rule of undistinguishable justice to forbid killing an innocent life? Is it because of the flesh and blood of the dragon, concentrated and latching for the warm of her own core? Or is it because... she long for something she could not quite make with Guinevere? A child of her own, a being who will love her to the very moment it is born.
"Dada! Dada!" the baby wailed again and again, just like she used to when Altria had strike to aim. And how powerful it wrought, for it dismantle any thought of vengeance from within Altria's heart, replace with an emotion long forgotten. Or is it a new feeling rightfully felt by the parent who owns such child? Again, the baby hurdles and sobs its needs, and like a doll completely wrap with just those little words from the baby, Altria bend to stroke its cheeks with her thumb, drying off the tear stains in its chubby face.
The effect is astounding. The little hatchling cease her cumbersome noise, opening her watery green ocean hues to look up at the head of a figure in her wobbly vision, and as if recognizing the silhouette, she raise one lithe hand to grasp a strand of blonde hair. She touch and pull gently for several moments, then finally, she laughs in content, surprising the two adults, looking at each other in wonder, albeit Altria's more like a blank accusation.
"My my, dear husband. What a pleasant surprise this is." Guinevere merrily giggles, her melodic voice jolting the baby as it stares at the white haired woman with wide eyes, blinking softly. "Oh, have I surprise you, little one?" she then asked the child, bowing down close its face.
Now that it's completely calm and curiosity babbles its way in her throat, the baby's other hand graze her face, supporting the innocence of such child before laughing again, almost like yelling its satisfaction with a squeak of her voice.
Altria watched in absolute silence, still not moving out her hair form the child's grasp, lest she wants another bountiful cry to resonate in the castle. How much damage will it brought to the behaviors of her subjects tomorrow morning, she wonders. Now, with a pacified baby in the arms of her wife, she reflects to the changes of the fate Merlin have said once before she exchange Excalibur with her holy spear, Rhongomyniad.
She cannot change her fate, Merlin said once in conviction, but with the entrance of this child in her life, she's sure there's no backing out anymore. She will suffer the great burden of responsibilities and consequences sparing the life of her death. She knew the world will end differently than what the wizard proclaims in that dead of night at her father's grave.
No. She will proudly take everything in stride, encompassed everything with her ideals and live a life she will devote with next to her wife.
Yes, let the world hate the Perfect King standing now crumbling to the hands of a small life- a life of her doing- a baby of her own born to her desire. Merlin spoke of her life ending tragically is it not? Then she will rise to the grave and meet it halfway- for she cannot find in herself to reject this precious creature in front of her.
She cannot turn her back to the call of her child for her father.
She is not the foolish King like she was before, unleashing the Promise of Victory until her dying breathe. No. She will be her own person, Lion King of Camelot, the father of the bastard daughter, 'Mordred' Pendragon.
"Mordred..." at last, she spoke the name of her child. It tastes foreign, but oh so sweet and right. Both the woman of her life and the burbling baby looks incredibly surprise at her voice, the baby much more obvious as it went rigid and tense, before easing up at the arms of Guinevere.
"... husband?" Guinevere asked, trying to confirm if it's only her imagination or Altria truly did talk. It's surprising to say the least, Altria didn't start any conversation without meaning after all.
"... Mordred." Altria said yet again, brushing the turf of hair with her palm, earning a rambunctious squeak from the child. "Her name is Mordred Pendragon, Guinevere."
"...!" Guinevere could not respond, too frozen to think clearly when she witnesses a smile of serene happiness at her husband's face. Where have she seen it before? Probably never. And it brings her great joy, even though they are married for a decade, this is the first time her husband have grace her a smile out of genuine merriment, not because of politeness and authority.
Altria looks her in the eyes, compassion within the calm orbs radiating like fire- blaze with determination, her heart beating rapidly to the changes of events bestowed. "Mine wife..." she called, attention focused only for her alone.
"Y- yes, husband?"
"... I vowed to keep my own cub safe, will it be a burden to ask of your assistance..." Guinevere's breathe hitched, the thumping of her erratic heart increasing, a moist of tears glistening at the corner of her eyes. "... to take responsibility as a mother and father to this child?"
"Yes," Guinevere sobs in joy, looking down at the bundle which she carried without remorse. She still remembers the time Altria arrive in the castle, bathed in blood with the coldest eyes she ever saw, holding a small bundle, which she presented to her alone. Imagine the surprise of her life, a baby was given to her by her husband. She could not answer back then, could not even utter a line, as she held the baby sleeping coated in blood- with a huge resemblance to her wonderful husband.
She felt it, the strong bond of maternal instinct, to protect a precious one with all her might. She crave the presence of a child in her life, and now, as she cares and succumb to the bliss of doing a work only mothers could do, the fear of leaving the child alone, or someone taking the baby away from her. She knows not what Altria thinks back then, she merely gave the baby, but she did not assured that they will keep the child.
And now, with her questions answered, the tears of those anxiety shed its way flawlessly, akin to a mother seeing her baby out of her womb. She let everything free, thank the God for His kindness- and seek the warm of her stoic husband, nuzzling Altria's neck with a quake of her shoulders, the unusually still baby nestled between.
"I will gladly take your offer, my love." Guinevere murmured to her husband, before she smiles at their child.
"Would you look at that, little one. I'm going to be your mother..." she hushed, and was gifted with a toothless laugh.