– Seven years before The Fall –
The sky above the canopy was clear, the air contained no hint of rain, and the orchestra of birds steered into the grand finale of their symphony. In short, today was the perfect day for an adventure. If not for the teeny-tiny fact that Lance's cousin was hellbent on ruining his plans.
"You shouldn't go," Cynthia said, but Lance shrugged her advice off and concentrated on maintaining his balance on the uneven surface of the turned-over tree trunk with a diameter as large as two grown Fairies. "I mean it, Lancelot, dad told us countless times that he can only keep an eye on us as long as we're inside the boundaries of the Fairy King's Forest."
"You focus too much on what other people tell you instead of focusing on what's fun," Aeral huffed and swung a playful punch at Lance that he evaded with a calculated stumble. "The Holy War is over, no one's seen a single Demon in three years, and there's nothing out there that is dangerous. Relax."
"You don't understand! If you go, bad things will happen!"
Beyond frustrated by Cynthia's persistence, Lance cut his pretended fight with Aeral short and catapulted himself from the bark to drop to the ground in front of his cousin. With swinging ease, he deflected the force of impact by bending his knees against the grass cushions. Aeral didn't bother to join them and instead performed a string of risky flight maneuvers by flapping his new wings. Showoff.
"Is this about the dream you had?" Lance asked, but he wasn't too interested in an answer.
Cynthia had jolted out of sleep due to nightmares for three days in a row, zealous to say that what woke her were real images instead of dreams, and no amount of loving comfort and attention from her parents had weakened her conviction. At first, Lance had shown empathy towards Cynthia's disturbed state of mind, but her insistence had long passed the point of annoyance.
"It wasn't a dream," Cynthia snapped as anticipated. "Dad doesn't take this seriously, but that doesn't give you any reason to push your luck. The world outside the Fairy King's Forest is dangerous."
"Mind you, I happen to be gifted with exceptional luck," Aeral said and cut his self-centered performance short to land beside them. Although he was short by human standards, he beat Lance by about half a foot, a constant source of light-hearted mocking between them. Which, in most cases, rendered Lance as the butt of the joke.
"Lance, please, don't go," Cynthia pleaded while flexing the muscles of her right hand. The hand scarred by Demon magic.
"Why don't you annoy your siblings, Cynthy? If you crave attention so badly, I'm sure you'll find some there," Aeral said and flapped his wings to signify his impatience.
Lance took to the hint and set his feet into motion. He directed them through roots, moss, and low-growing foliage with natural-born talent and without needing to pay attention to their movement. Excitement at the upcoming journey replaced the annoyance in his veins, and his feet became lighter in accordance. But Cynthia refused to let him go without a fight and followed him on her shorter legs.
"If you keep going, I will never speak another word with you!"
Lance only waited a heartbeat longer to place his next step. "I can live with that."
The path Aeral chose meandered through the mighty conifers Lance was so familiar with, where the ground was even and easy to traverse, before Areal led him to an area Lance chose to steer clear from whenever he had the option. In this part of the Fairy King's Forest, the population thinned out, and only once in a while the buzz of Fairy wings could be heard behind the boughs. The influence of the Fairy King fleeted. Trees grew without restraint and order, engaged in a battle for the life-preserving energy of the sun that filtered through the leaves of older vegetations. Lance pulled tempo out of his walk and navigated through the maze of roots that erosion had dug up from the ground, but even with the difficulties of terrain in mind, he pondered too long before he heaved himself over a gigantic root sprawled in the middle of his path.
Aeral had little kindness to spare for his slowness. "I know your arms are super short and super weak, but you could at least try to outpace the snail next to you," he mocked and disappeared between a curtain of vines hanging from the branches overhead. "This is the first time I get to step outside the border and not just hover in front of it. Megine's gonna be so jealous. And Ivy will probably punch you straight to the Capital of Dead because you didn't tell her."
His cackle grew fainter as he rushed on ahead.
Lance sighed and hurried to catch up, even though he suspected Aeral had long circled around and was sneaking up on his back to pull an unimaginative prank. But despite his friend's bouncy attitude, he failed to prevent his hand from shaking as he pushed a branch out of his face. Lance told himself the trembling was nothing more than the giddiness in the face of a groundbreaking adventure towards where no other Fairy had gone before.
That sounded a lot better than nervousness born out of the nightmares of a six-year-old.
The trees became sparser, shrubbery changed from light-averse mosses and mushrooms to grasses and the occasional clover, and the air carried lighter scents. But there was more to the change, a feeling of something that had accompanied Lance all his life severed and taken from him. With the trees thinning out, so too did the aura of Fairy magic. In its stead, a hollowness invaded the depths of his gut, and he hesitated to make the next step.
Then, from one moment to the next, they had left their home and stood on the open field of northern Liones.
"Everything's so spacious out here," Aeral said with a stupid grin. "Look at all that sky! What do you think, how long will it take to fly from one edge of this plain to the other?"
"Many days," Lance said and squinted against the brightness. Unlike Aeral, he had stepped out of the forest before but never without the company of his parents. "The human land goes on until it hits the ocean, a lake that stretches until the end of the world. I've seen it on a map."
"The ocean? That sounds amazing! Lance, you and I are gonna go to this ocean one day. This world has so many adventures, and we've only scratched the surface of it all. I bet no Fairy before us has seen this ocean, but we'll be the first ones."
"You bet we will!"
The unfiltered sunlight chased away the worries Cynthia had planted in his head, and Lance hurried through the rolling hills of grass almost as tall as him. Late-blooming sunflowers reared their heads towards the light, and from time to time, Aeral shot down from the sky to push Lance in good fun. Lance repaid him by flicking a handful of dirt into his face.
As Lance ran from Aeral's retaliation, he stumbled into a strange metal item that lay hidden between the grass blades. He stopped in time to throw the thing on the ground a puzzled look when Aeral bumped into him from behind, and together they tumbled to the earth in a mess of arms and legs and wings.
"Ow," Aeral complained and brushed crumbs of dirt from his wings. "If giving up when someone chases you is your new tactic, let me tell you it's usually not this effective."
Lance was too transfixed by the strange item resting a few feet away to answer. The metal of its surface reflected the light and made it difficult to examine its outline and purpose, but the object appeared to be can-shaped and about the length of his forearm. Ornate bronze-work ran down the length of its body, curved symbols of an ancient language, but Lance failed to remember where he had seen them before.
Aeral sat up – he happened to use Lance's body as a cushion in the process – and noticed the metal can. The gleam in his eyes spread and sparked a grin on his face.
"Do you think it's from humans?" Aeral asked and robbed closer. "It looks like it's from humans. This is so awesome! I've never seen something like it before. What does it do? Does it do anything?"
Lance rummaged through his brain but couldn't place the familiar vibes he felt radiating from the can. A type of magic with a clear intent… "If it's human-made, why does it lie out here, so close to the Fairy King's Forest?"
"No clue, but finder's keeper's seems fair game to me."
Lance eyed the can with increased apprehension as the metal harmlessly reflected the sunlight. "We don't know what this is. Maybe we should ask someone first. Dad should know what it is if it's from humans."
But his warning remained unheard. Enamored by the tempting shimmer of the can, Aeral left Lance's side to reach out for the item. His fingertips hovered a foot away from its surface when the can snapped open. Strings of energy and light spilled out of the can and wavered for a split second to taste the air. They twisted and turned, and grew until they were as thick as ropes. The greedy slings wrapped around the one who had awakened them, and Aeral screamed as they buried themselves into his flesh. More slings shot out of the can to weave a net around Aeral's body, strangling, cutting, deforming. He gurgled as the pressure around his throat increased. The symbols on the can glowed, fed by stolen energy.
Lance stayed put. Without the ability to move, he watched the live being dragged out of his friend. Aeral twitched. Lance stared. Speed of time froze until Lance could see each of Aeral's muscles spasming out of control as the can robbed them of their energy. The fight took long, so long, the process continued, and Lance saw all of it play out with a fraction of time's speed. The victor was decided from the beginning, and yet the battle did not end. The can took more and more to satisfy its hunger, feasted on despair and magic, swallowed every ounce of energy the strings could rip out of their victim. Aeral struggled to free himself, clawed his hands into the dirt, coughed for air and life and help that would not come. The slings pulled tighter, his breath ran shorter, his movement slowed.
"Lance." Aeral's voice was only a whisper. "You need to get back… get home… save yourself…"
But Lance stayed.
Stayed until Aeral's wings were sliced into fragments as the slings cut into them like wire, stayed until Aeral's eyes looked at him without recognition, stayed until the can had done its devilish deed, and its runes glowed white. Time moved on without him. The birds resumed their song. His hand was half-outstretched towards his friend, but some time along the way he had forgotten how to move.
His fingers still hovered in the air when the Fairy King found him.
"Lance, he is gone. I can't heal him anymore. I need to get you back to your mother."
But wasn't he the Fairy King? Didn't he have the power and the duty to keep all Fairies alive and well? Lance wanted, needed to see hope and determination in King's eyes, but there was nothing to latch onto beyond an ocean of guilt, roared up by the storms of regret.
His hand was shaking when King enclosed Lance's fingers with his own and picked him up. And even though Lance wanted to scream at his uncle that they couldn't leave Aeral behind in this forsaken vast land out there, where his magic would soon belong to the desperate, greedy human who had sat up this trap, he kept his mouth closed and his eyes open until Aeral's mangled form had burned itself into his memory.
The way back home rushed past Lance in a blur, but the worried face of his mother broke through the haze as she tore Lance out of her brother's arms.
"Another cylinder outside the borders," King said. His voice sounded hoarse, as though the task of carrying Lance had used up his emotional and not his physical reserves. "Lance and Aeral must have stumbled right into it. I should have made sure there were no more around, I should have been more observant, I should have…"
Elaine lacked the courage to deny King's claims, nor was she able to look at him for longer. When she spun around to flee, Lance caught a glimpse of Cynthia, who stared through Lance's skin and heart and memories to read what she had long seen in her nightmares, all while flexing the muscles of her right hand.
The hand scarred with Demon magic.
The capital of Camelot presented itself to them as a gloomy ruin. Liones might have displayed distant sorrow over the death of King Arthur in the state of its flags or in nervous tension with citizens and travelers alike, but here, the grief was omnipresent. All matters of custom and commerce had been put to rest, despite the wide-open gates inviting to the heart of the kingdom. What little townsfolk passed through the streets spoke in hushed tones if at all, and hurried to their places to be with lowered heads, quick to leave the unprotected alleyways. The silence of a graveyard hanging over the city weighted down their minds.
The military presence had also shrunken since Ivy's last visit. The two low-ranked guards at the gates went by their duty for the simple sake of normalcy amidst the turmoil. They didn't pay Errin a second look as she passed through, while Lance and Ivy flanked her with a few steps' distance. Not a single patrol roamed the insides of the city.
Errin had resumed to work her jaw in utter silence. Ivy wished Katrina had stayed with them for a little longer; she might have been able to keep Errin from brooding or better her mood with a handful of empathetic words. Ivy herself had no idea how to approach Errin on a normal day, and, frankly, she was too tired to try.
Alas, Katrina and Gaius had left for Belialuin as soon as Gaius had deemed his magical resources sufficiently filled to attempt a second high-distance teleportation, and the pair had bid them goodbye before they had reached the city walls. Ivy hoped they would keep their heads out of trouble because a city ruin that had once been swarming with all types of power-hungry magic-wielders and that had since been shunned by humans and non-humans alike called for more misfortune than the two needed.
When Errin stopped walking for no apparent reason, Ivy nearly bumped into her.
"Something the matter, Errin?" Lance asked, but Errin denied him an answer and stared on ahead to where the street narrowed to the archway marking the entrance to the castle complex. As the city itself, the palace appeared deserted. Even the doves had abandoned the structure.
"It hasn't started yet…" Errin muttered before remembering her company. "You two go on ahead without me, I have something else to do."
Ivy frowned. "What do you mean with 'something else'? You were the one who wanted to tag along – Errin, wait!"
But Errin had taken to her heels and disappeared into a sideway and around a corner. Ivy and Lance remained on the empty road, stunned out of their mind. Now that had been uncalled for.
"What's gotten into her all of a sudden?"
Lance's eyes were locked onto the alley into which Errin had disappeared. "Don't know, but she seemed pretty distressed. You know, more than usual. I wonder what she meant that hasn't started yet…"
"You might wanna probe your brain for that thought while walking," Ivy said. He wore the lost expression his face always donned when enthralled by a riddle. He had, in fact, acted quiet and thoughtful since they had left Liones.
Soon enough – with some pushing and pulling from Ivy's side – the archway lay behind them to reveal the castle's grand yard beyond. The palace's walls and towers surrounded the plaza from all but the northern side and created an almost perfect rotunda with paths leading towards the military quarters, royal halls, and gardens in their respective directions. Every step Lance and Ivy made was accompanied by the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet. Against the silence from before, the noise rung too loud in Ivy's ears, and she scanned the yard for unwanted listeners. But once again, no guards came forward to prevent them from going further.
Ivy opted for the way straight ahead, deeper into the inner castle complex, but Lance waved her to follow him to the descending path to their right. Voices from the lower terraces of the garden travelled towards them, and since it was as good as any place to start the search for Mordred, Ivy trudged after Lance.
The path meandered through zigzagging archways and hedge mazes, sometimes adorned by tunnels of ivy and roses, sometimes flanked by orange trees, always leading down the hillside. Here and there, marble busts with wise, old faces watched their way through the garden. Somewhere out of view, a fountain splashed. Ivy had visited the garden before, but the layout was foggy in her memory, and she could do little more than head to where the voices originated and hope they would lead them somewhere other than a dead end.
When the garden design changed to replace flowerbeds with an open area of cut grass neighbored by archways on ornate pillars, Ivy realized what Errin had alluded to before she had disappeared.
The yard was packed with people. A great many of them wore the crest and armor of Camelot, but delegations of other nations stood to the side, and the symbols of Demetia, Gwydden, and Liones dotted the crowd. When Ivy tiptoed to make up for this cursed tiny human form, she spotted Gilthunder and Margaret amongst them. Both wore the grim faces of sorrow. But compared to the delegation to the far left, the cluster of nations appeared like a crowd of sameness.
The Seven Deadly Sins stood out like a splash of color on a black-and-white drawing, and their magical presence overshadowed the human crowd by such a leap it could make one dizzy. The elite of Fairy, Giant, Goddess, and Demon, and two who could hardly qualify as humans. Legends among commoners. Only Merlin was absent from their ranks.
And then, in front of the assembly, his face and statue all too familiar, Mordred commanded the scene. His eyes were bare of the cold-hearted killing intent that would come to fill them later, but the edges of his chin had sharpened to erase the softness of youth from his features. Ivy knew him well enough to see the slight tension in his shoulders, but to most people in the crowd, he had to appear as a man of strength and confidence. A front he had perfected since Ivy's last visit to Camelot.
Behind Mordred, the stone image of his late father marked the reason for the extensive gathering, a figure of legend and heroism. They had never looked less alike.
"King Arthur of Camelot was often referred to as the greatest king of his time, by his allies and his enemies alike," Mordred said, and his voice carried to the furthest corners of the yard. "His death does not lessen his achievements and the goals he has striven towards in his lifetime. Or at least it should not. He had acted with the best for Britannia in mind at all times, defeated the barbarian tribes, and forged Camelot into the strongest and most expansive nation mankind has seen since the beginning of time. But most of all, his reign ensured the twenty-five years of peace we all have been blessed to experience. His legacy is one of greatness." Murmurs of agreement rolled through the assembled people, and Mordred paused to increase their effect.
"It is my duty and my honor to continue my father's work where he had been robbed of the chance to do it himself. In his remembrance, I will serve Camelot and the entirety of Britannia to the best of my abilities, so that my father's wish of one single realm of unity may come to fruition. The way there is paved with uncertainty, with conflict, maybe even bloodshed. But throughout three thousand years of wars fought beyond our understanding, mankind has persisted. Whatever it may cost, I will pay the price to ensure it stays this way." Sparse applause emerged from a group of royal loyalists, and Mordred displayed that shallow smile of his. "A great man, who took it upon himself to teach a boy others had given up hope for, once told me that the best of us are the first ones to leave this world. But if we all aim to follow their footsteps, their sacrifice will never be in vain. For mankind!"
The chant was quickly picked up by the crowd, and a hundred voices joined the anthem. "FOR MANKIND!"
As Mordred left the stage and the rows grew thin, Ivy and Lance pushed deeper into the shadows of the archway that surrounded the burial ground for the royal family to avoid recognition by familiar faces.
"Do you think the council denied him the crown because he didn't finish with 'For Camelot'?" Ivy asked and followed Gilthunder with her eyes as he led his circle of knights and mourners down the path she and Lance had taken.
"Well, it's certainly an incident some people won't be too happy with," Lance said while scanning the crowd for the members of said council. "But I'm pretty sure they've had that scheme in mind before Arthur took his last breath. Everyone knows they're corrupt. Mordred's young age just gave them the perfect excuse."
"And yet they always keep their seats because the trade they bring in fills people's pockets. Humans are awful."
Lance nodded but didn't seem to share her sentiment. "At least we can all agree that Mordred's speech aged very poorly."
This exact point kept nagging at Ivy. Because somehow, despite all the crimes Mordred was about to commit, crimes he might have already laid out as his twisted masterplan, his speech had sounded sincere. As though he did believe in peace, unity, and all these other noble concepts King Arthur had held in such high regards. Yet, in less than one moon circle, Mordred would deceive the words he had spoken at his father's grave.
Did Mordred's change run so deep that she could no longer tell his honesty from his lies? Had he already decided to murder her parents who were taking their turn to express their condolences?
Lance had never spent the time with Mordred to call him a friend, but he took no disliking of his character. On the rare occasion that Lance had crossed path with the crown prince of Camelot, he had found him to be sympathetic and thoughtful, attributes Lance valued as some of his better ones. As often as Mordred had an open ear for someone else's worries, he could switch to reserved and aggressive behavior in an instant if situations developed contrary to his liking. In that regard, he shared a set of similarities to Errin.
At the moment, however, Mordred leaned into neither of his emotional extremes. As the graveyard cleared of visitors, conspirators, and speculators, Mordred remained a lonely entity before the graves of his parents.
Eighteen winters had turned Guinevere's tombstone into a sight of decay, and frost had eaten its way into the stone to crack its structure many times over. A figurine donning her features stood in the small alcove below her name, and a set of white flowers had been placed in front of her stone image for the occasion. Compared to the grand monument built for King Arthur, the tomb of his wife looked small and transient. Theirs were the only graves in the area; Arthur's royal bloodline didn't reach farther than himself, and the crypts housing the bodies of Camelot's previous kings had burned alongside the city near the end of the Holy War.
Ivy made no move, even though the yard was nearly deserted, so Lance figured they would best stay hidden behind the pillars of the half-opened walkway until Mordred would leave. Or at least for as long as they might face exposure from Meliodas.
The Captain of the Sins had stayed put where his fellows and Elizabeth had left the scene, his expression unusually troubled. When he thought to be alone with Mordred, he stepped forward, but Mordred denied him the chance to open the conversation.
"Harlequin has already told me that things will eventually get better, so don't bother. I can't claim I've never been thankful for your advice, but I doubt it will be of any use today."
"Well, then it's a good thing I wanted to ask you how things are going. That way you can do all the talking, and I'll be the judge on how much use my advice will be," Meliodas said.
"What do you think?!" Mordred spit out, and the hand lying on the hilt of his sword tightened its grip. "Now that my father is gone, the remnants of the tribes and nations he's made peace with threaten to revolt – Carados has been outspoken about it for days. The kingdom of Orkney sent their 'condolences' to the king's passing and apologized for being 'unable to attend his funeral'. They are likely planning the expansion of their territory as we speak. At least they did send a message; Errin didn't even bother with that. No one has seen her since yesterday."
There it was, the familiar anger Lance had been waiting for Mordred to display. But this time, the heat of his words was accompanied by a hollowness, the hollowness of the defeated.
"Give her some time," Meliodas said and reached out to Mordred, but he never touched his arm. "She'll return once she's sorted her mind."
The fury plain on his face, Mordred turned half a step to restore the distance between himself and his longtime mentor. "I no longer depend on her sorting her mind. If this means that I have to put up with disloyal tribes and greedy kings on my own, so be it. I've prepared for this all my life."
"You're not alone in this, Mordred," Meliodas said. Mordred huffed a humorless laugh. "King and I and the rest of the Sins will always have your back. Just like with Arthur."
"Yes, he's told me of your shared adventures. Many times." Mordred paused, and, for a moment, the cold in his eyes emerged. A cold so complete it drove him to conceive The Fall of Liones, in spite or because of the deaths the act would cause. "Unfortunately, you are the last person who could help me with what I must do…"
Mordred's words grew into a threat, certain and unforgiving, the executioner looming over Meliodas' head with his blade raised for the final swing.
But Meliodas refused to give up the man who he had helped form. "Did you mean it when you said you want peace for mankind?"
Mordred halted but did not turn back. "You still doubt me?"
As Meliodas gave no response, Mordred continued his walk with the wide steps of a man who had other places to be, other problems to solve. Defeated, Meliodas stood in the shadow of Arthur's statue. He raised his eyes to the stone face, perhaps to ask for advice or forgiveness. But Arthur, greatest king of Britannia, was dead, had left this world before his time, and his silent image had no words to offer to Meliodas. No words to restrain Mordred.
The ghastly feeling of helplessness invaded Lance's gut. He needed to act.
"Where are you going?" Ivy hissed and grabbed Lance's sleeve when he attempted to follow Mordred.
"I'll see if I can force Mordred to make a mistake. We need to find out what sort of magic trickery he used to defeat the Sins. We promised Errin to at least try. If he realizes that we know about his plans, he will get nervous and lead us right to the answer."
"Or he will just stab you."
Lance met Ivy's worried gaze. "In the worst-case scenario, that could be the way to get Mordred arrested for murder before he can start a war. But it won't come down to it as long as you are around."
Ivy bit her lips but let go of Lance's sleeve. Meliodas failed to notice them, his attention rested on Arthur's tomb, and as soon as they had left the burial ground, Lance and Ivy broke into a sprint to catch up to Mordred.
He had taken a detour on his way through the gardens, and only through luck did Lance and Ivy ran into him before he reached the palace and his company of Round Table knights that awaited him there. As he heard the two pairs of hurried footsteps approaching him, Mordred stopped in front of a three-layered fountain. Figurines engaged in combat adorned the basins, a liberal depiction of one of King Arthur's victorious battles. Water sloshed past the marble ankles of the defeated knights of Stronghold. A conflicted expression that was impossible to decipher distorted Mordred's features as he recognized his pursuers.
"Ivy, Lance, I was unaware of your visit," he said over the roars of the fountain. "I'm afraid I don't make for an outstanding host at the moment. Perhaps someone else can show you around…"
Lance ignored the offer and Mordred's pretended civility. "Arthur's death was a shock to everyone. You are handling the situation as well as you can, given the circumstances. After your impressive speech about peace and the survival of humans, I'm sure everyone in the crowd felt the same."
Mordred nodded but showed no sign of wanting to dwell on the topic. His eyes jumped between Ivy and Lance in search for an answer to their unexpected presence in Camelot; they fact that the two had not been with their parents had aroused his suspicions. Drops from the fountain collected in his hair and the white ceremonial cape draped around his tensed shoulders.
"It sounded like you had concrete plans in mind for your time as his successor," Lance continued. "Did you already lay out a strategy on how to deal with the other kingdoms? Liones, for example? The minds and hearts of the northern people might not respond so enthusiastically to the prospect of one single realm of unity. And don't forget the Sins; if they happen to disagree with the course you have in mind for Camelot, they would pose a hurdle almost impossible to overcome, wouldn't they?"
Mordred's eyes widened for a heartbeat before he regained control over his features. He had no confirmation that Lance and Ivy knew more than they should, but if Lance increased the pressure a little more, his paranoia would get the better of him. He opened his mouth for another remark on The Fall, but Mordred beat him to the case.
"Has your trust in this world ever been challenged, Lance?" he asked and made one step forward. "Did you witness something so unfair, so unjust that you swore to yourself that you would do anything in your power to make sure disaster would never repeat itself? Have you seen the desperate greed of others ruin and end the life of someone too weak to defend themselves?"
Lance staggered backwards as Mordred made another step. He couldn't know, why should he? Aeral had been the victim of a terrible accident. An accident that repeated before his inner eye when he placed his head on a pillow to sleep, an accident Lance had failed to prevent. An accident that had driven him to become a Holy Knight. To safe those too weak to defend themselves…
"Power has never been shared," Mordred said, "but if no more than seven hold the majority of magic in the world, what remains for the rest? Now, if you excuse me, I have a council meeting to attend to and further business that demands my attention afterwards. But I will look forward to resume our talk some other time."
Ivy's hand and voice trembled when she raised both towards Mordred as he passed them. "Don't go, Mordred. There have to be other ways..."
Mordred regarded her with a look of pained affection, but his resolve did not waver. "Do me a favor, both of you. Stay out of this."
Then he was gone. And when he returned from the council meeting two hours later, uncrowned but all the more confirmed in his belief, he assembled his Knights of the Round Table and left Camelot without a minute wasted. The one-month window had shrunken to a fragment of the time.
Like last time, the afternoon of King Arthur's funeral faded into drizzle. For most people, the weather held no particular meaning since they had all crawled into the coziness of their homes, and as long as nothing of great importance came along to deal with, they wouldn't bother to set a foot outside. The training ground on the palace's opposite side from the gardens failed to attract the pairs and groups of knights it saw on other days, and the rivulets between the cobblestones were by no means the sole excuse for the lack of activity.
Errin didn't take exception to the lousy weather. She rejoiced at the absence of spectators.
She set one foot forward and followed up the motion with an upper-cut. The slippery ground stole the precision out of her steps, so Errin buried her teeth deeper into the insides of her cheek, moved her back foot aside now that it no longer held her balance, and continued the chain of attack. One full turn brought her back to the opening position. Raindrops soaked her hair and eyebrows. She repeated the combination.
Every single muscle strain of this basic sword skill sequence had long been ingrained into her memory, but she paid extra attention to her form and drove each movement to perfection. Three-hit-combo, upper-cut, wide slash. Push the enemy backwards, rob them of their balance, strike to the opening. Always anticipate a retaliatory attack.
Mordred's advice repeated like a mantra in her head, and she struck her imaginative foe with more vigor. Raindrops splashed on the blade of her sword as she caught them midair. Mordred, Mordred, it was always Mordred who haunted her mind. So much of what defined her life was tied to him.
Errin had dreaded to hear his funeral speech a second time. She dreaded the betrayal in his eyes he would cover by an understanding smile. Instead she had trusted her instincts to flee, as she always did when someone came close enough to hurt her. Last time – a time Mordred would never know had happened – she had stood by his side. But even then, the words and the responsibility had all been his, and Errin had barely stayed in the capital long enough to hear the council deny Mordred the crown.
Left, right, forward, upward, low-aimed slash.
She thought she could handle to see him, could stand the guilt that had grown between them. But she could not overcome this wall. Or maybe she was too weak to try.
Perhaps she should turn her back to all this mess. Let Lance and Ivy continue with the path they chose to take. In the end, Mordred would either be dead or the tyrant ruler of Britannia. And the only worry she would have to deal with would be the burning question of whether or not she could have made a difference.
The easy way out.
Her sword weighed heavy in her hands, and no matter how frantically Errin clawed her fingers around the hilt, wetness and exhaustion made her grip feeble. She couldn't run away, not this time, otherwise she would never be able to bear her own reflection. Mordred had always been beside her, had been supportive and understanding, had become her guiding light and lifeline when she had had no one else to count on. When the world had turned away, he had offered her a hand. She needed to repay this debt.
While her heart pitter-pattered from the adrenalin of the fight, regardless of its low stakes, Errin used her dripping sleeve to rub the water from her blade before letting it slide into its sheath. She had traded her heavy armor for a protective doublet over light chain mail that would in an emergency barely protect her torso. But the movability advantage made up for the reduced defense if she managed to capitalize on the speed bonus. Lance wore no armor at all, and he was doing fine.
When Errin emerged from the trance of her training session, she was surprised to no longer have the yard to herself. Mark, one of Mordred's loyalists and known for his quick tongue, was approaching her with an overt grin.
"Are you training so hard because you fear the next time we two get to duel each other?" Mark asked and fidgeted with the weapon hanging at his side. "Guess you know it already, but Mordred's been looking for you."
"I wanted to speak with him right away, but I lost track of time," Errin deflected. Mark was an honorable knight, albeit a little too nosy for his own good, and she didn't want to give him an opening to pick apart her thoughts.
"You should hurry then, he might already be on his way out of the capital," Mark said. Errin stared at him as all logical thought process escaped her.
"He's leaving?!"
"Yeah, right after the council meeting that should have ended… about now. Turns out Gawain stumbled over some juicy information on his mission, and you know Mordred, he wants to investigate right away."
Errin felt like the more Mark talked, the less likely she was to understand a word of what he was saying. "Wasn't Gawain at the funeral today?" she asked. The fellow Holy Knight had attended Mordred's funeral speech last time – the same as every other member of the Knights of the Round Table.
Mark swept a handful of raindrops from his once shiny shoulder plate; a fruitless effort considering the torrents pouring down on them. "That's why you should check in with the Round Table more often. No, Gawain was asked to do some research in Belialuin for Mordred. Apparently, he found some obscure cross-references about the location of a hidden source of magic buried underneath the City of Wizards. If you ask me, there's a reason for why people stay clear of that place. Common sense is the word I'd use."
"Gawain is still at Belialuin?" Errin asked. Panic seared her throat. Katrina and Gaius would have no fighting chance if they were ambushed by one of Mordred's most competent followers.
"He and his two braindead trolls, Iseo and Ronal. I'm just glad I don't have to put up with them for a while. Though I should probably be insulted that Mordred didn't order me to accompany him."
Errin fought her unease with a deep breath tasting of rain and metal. She had no way to reach Katrina and Gaius in time; she would have to trust their capabilities to protect themselves and use the magic powers at their disposal. But while she could do nothing for them, Errin could prevent Mordred from laying his hands on the source of magic power that would no doubt give him the edge over the Sins and their allies in the battle for Liones.
When she addressed Mark, her question brimmed with calm resolve. "Where did Gawain sent Mordred?"
"Avalon. One of its many springs is supposed to accommodate the magical power of an entire nation."
As Errin's hopes sank further, the spark of determination reignited inside her, if for no other reason than for the prospect of stopping Mordred before it was too late. Before he could commit a crime he would be unable to atone for.
"Mark, do me a favor and send for someone to prepare my horse. I will go after the crown prince," Errin ordered and made use of the steel of superiority with which she rarely strengthened her voice.
Mark bowed a notch, a motion born out of drill and reflex. Judging from his expression, he was surprised to have done so, maybe as much as Errin was. "It will be done in no time. Excuse me asking, but will you be travelling alone as usual?"
She hesitated for a heartbeat. "No, I will be accompanied by two people I trust."
A handful of minutes later, Mark personally handed Errin the reigns of her horse, escorted by his Holy Knight colleague Laurelin. The older woman was holding the two additional horses Errin had ordered with a displeased expression on her face.
"You shouldn't leave the capital at such dire times, Lady Errin," Laurelin said, and the term of honor made Errin scowl. "Especially now that the crown prince has left on such short notice."
Errin had no time to deal with Mordred's devoted followers. "This is the exact reason why I must go. Mordred needs to be brought to his senses before he will create an incident that will surely escalate in war. Who's in charge of the Holy Knights at the moment?"
"Sir Escanor," Laurelin answered. "Since Sir Nashtar is accompanying Sir Mordred, he will oversee the Knights of the Round Table on top of his own men."
"Good. Keep it that way."
Errin was about to contemplate as to how she was supposed to meet up with Lance and Ivy – sending Mark to search after them seemed unfair – when they emerged from the gates all on their own.
Mark grinned as he saw them. "Hey Lance, care for a rematch fight? The last one was – what, three months ago?"
"You're only asking because you beat me without even trying," Lance said with a sour expression. "I'll pass."
"What about your companion? Princess Ivy, wasn't it?"
"Just Ivy. And we're in a bit of a hurry." Ivy turned to address Errin. "Mordred headed out of the capital a few minutes ago; we need to go now if we want to catch up."
"I know," Errin said and mounted her horse. "He's on his way to the springs of Avalon. We have to assume that whatever it was he used to enact The Fall is located there."
"Lady Errin, you don't suggest you will be travelling with them?!" Laurelin cut in and scrutinized Lance's and Ivy's scuffed appearance. To be fair, they were not in their most presentable state, and weeks' worth of traveling and fighting had left their marks on their clothing. But Errin couldn't care less.
"As a matter of fact, yes, I do intent to travel with them," she said. "I would exchange any of Camelot's Holy Knights for their company in a heartbeat. Now, be so kind and hand Lance his horse."
Laurelin gaped at Errin's audacious remark but did manage to catch herself to do as told and drop the two sets of reigns into Lance's lose palm. He barely noticed, however, as he stared at Errin in a daze. His expression matched Ivy's to a T.
"May we?" Errin asked.
After shaking his bafflement, Lance climbed onto the saddle of one of the horses, and proceeded to pull up Ivy to sit behind him, which made the additional horse obsolete. Ivy grumbled something about walking as soon as they would leave the city walls.
With a click of her tongue, Errin set her horse in motion and directed the animal through the archway and thereby out of the castle complex. The remains of daylight vanished behind low cloudbanks, which promised more rain for the night. Errin ordered her mount to go faster. She refused to give into the illusion that they would reach Avalon before Mordred did, but they might be able to get there in time to prevent worse from happening.
Her resolve might have wavered before.
But not anymore.
(A/N) Nnt canon Lancelot was not what I expected. That one-shot was wild, and I needed some time to process what happened, hence why this chapter is late. Now I feel bad for giving my Lancelot some more trauma to deal with. He needs a break and a hug.